Hellstrøm’s Dream No. 226

I dreamt I was wearing cozy sheep-skin house-shoes, but I told them a funny story, and they had to laugh and in so doing became a single tiny pink sheep. It had a magic wand, and it told me I had three wishes. Do you want to be shot to death? it asked, hovering in front of me. No, I don’t want to be shot to… Two wishes left, said the sheep. At this point I’m not sure what happened, but the upshot of it was that the sheep had fucked me over again, and I had only one wish left. Clever little ruminant, dammit; or perhaps I was just too drunk.
So there I was, my feet getting cold, thinking hard about what my last, my one and only best wish, might be. The one thing I cared about above all others. When I finally told it my wish, the sheep laughed. You’re kidding, it said. That’s it? Not world peace, or death to the pope or something? That’s it, I said.
Wallah! it said, waving it’s minuscule wand at me. I was fairly sure it wanted to say voilà, but I made allowances for the fact that good French pronunciation might not be numbered among the assets usual to a magic sheep. Then again, perhaps it was a word utterly sheepish in origin.
I have been blessed by a little pink ruminant, I thought to myself on waking. Anything that comes after that can only be better.
We shall see if my wish comes true.


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