Weird dreams 🤷🏼♂
The forest was my sanctuary, a place where the only things I expected to chase were my own thoughts and the occasional squirrel that had stolen my trail mix. The air was crisp, smelling of pine and damp earth, and I was humming a tune that had been stuck in my head for three days, a terrible pop song about a glittery disco ball.
That's when I heard it. Not the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves, but the distinct, rhythmic thwump-thwump-thwump of something heavy and determined. I stopped humming. From behind a thick oak, a creature emerged. It was, without a doubt, a wild boar. A big one, with tusks like curved daggers and eyes that burned with a primal, unhinged fury.
But this was no ordinary boar. This boar was wearing fishnet stockings.
They were stretched taut over its , hairy legs, the black mesh a stark, bizarre contrast against its coarse, bristly hide. One stocking had a suspicious run near the ankle, as if from a previous, equally confusing encounter. It paused, snorted a cloud of what smelled like rage and old truffles, and locked its gaze on me.
My brain, a reliable organ for most mundane tasks, simply short-circuited. All my survival knowledge, play dead, run in a zigzag, don't show fear evaporated, replaced by a single, overwhelming thought: Why?
The boar lowered its head and charged.
I ran. I didn't zigzag. I didn't play dead. I ran like a man who had just seen a fashion forward swine intent on ending my existence. The thwumping of its little cloven hooves was terrifyingly close behind. I vaulted over a fallen log, a feat of athleticism I hadn't managed since high school, and landed in a patch of moss that did little to cushion my fall.
I scrambled to my feet and risked a glance back. The boar was gaining, its fishnet clad legs pumping with a horrifying efficiency. It was the most absurd and terrifying thing I had ever witnessed. I could feel the vibration of its charge through the soles of my boots.
Desperate, I veered off the path and towards a stream. I splashed through the icy water, hoping the current might slow it down. The boar, however, was undeterred. It plunged into the stream with a furious grunt, sending a plume of water into the air. The fishnet stockings glistened, now dripping and clinging to its muscular form.
I was losing steam. My lungs burned, and my legs felt like jelly. I could almost feel the hot breath on the back of my neck. I was about to become the lead story on the evening news, a cautionary tale told to hikers for generations: "Beware the Stylish Swine."
Just as its tusks were about to make acquaintance with my backpack, I saw it. A low hanging branch, thick and sturdy, just ahead. With the last ounce of my strength, I launched myself forward, grabbed the branch, and swung myself up into the air like a clumsy, screaming pendulum. My legs dangled wildly as I swung up and over the branch, landing in a heap on the other side.
I scrambled behind the tree trunk, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped woodpecker. I peered around the bark.
The boar had skidded to a halt. It stood there, snorting, its chest heaving. It looked at the branch, then at me, its wild eyes filled with what I could only interpret as profound disappointment. It hadn't been able to follow. It shook its head, sending droplets flying from its tusks.
Then, it did the last thing I expected. It turned, gave a final, indignant snort that sounded suspiciously like a scoff, and trotted back into the forest. The thwumping of its fishnet clad retreat faded into the woods, leaving me alone, breathless, and deeply, deeply confused.
I sat there for a long time, just trying to process the existential horror of it all. I never did figure out why the boar was wearing fishnet stockings. Some mysteries, I suppose, are not meant to be solved. But I do know this: I can never look at a pair of fishnets the same way again.😌
I blame this on those blinking Christmas tree lights 😒😅
That's when I heard it. Not the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves, but the distinct, rhythmic thwump-thwump-thwump of something heavy and determined. I stopped humming. From behind a thick oak, a creature emerged. It was, without a doubt, a wild boar. A big one, with tusks like curved daggers and eyes that burned with a primal, unhinged fury.
But this was no ordinary boar. This boar was wearing fishnet stockings.
They were stretched taut over its , hairy legs, the black mesh a stark, bizarre contrast against its coarse, bristly hide. One stocking had a suspicious run near the ankle, as if from a previous, equally confusing encounter. It paused, snorted a cloud of what smelled like rage and old truffles, and locked its gaze on me.
My brain, a reliable organ for most mundane tasks, simply short-circuited. All my survival knowledge, play dead, run in a zigzag, don't show fear evaporated, replaced by a single, overwhelming thought: Why?
The boar lowered its head and charged.
I ran. I didn't zigzag. I didn't play dead. I ran like a man who had just seen a fashion forward swine intent on ending my existence. The thwumping of its little cloven hooves was terrifyingly close behind. I vaulted over a fallen log, a feat of athleticism I hadn't managed since high school, and landed in a patch of moss that did little to cushion my fall.
I scrambled to my feet and risked a glance back. The boar was gaining, its fishnet clad legs pumping with a horrifying efficiency. It was the most absurd and terrifying thing I had ever witnessed. I could feel the vibration of its charge through the soles of my boots.
Desperate, I veered off the path and towards a stream. I splashed through the icy water, hoping the current might slow it down. The boar, however, was undeterred. It plunged into the stream with a furious grunt, sending a plume of water into the air. The fishnet stockings glistened, now dripping and clinging to its muscular form.
I was losing steam. My lungs burned, and my legs felt like jelly. I could almost feel the hot breath on the back of my neck. I was about to become the lead story on the evening news, a cautionary tale told to hikers for generations: "Beware the Stylish Swine."
Just as its tusks were about to make acquaintance with my backpack, I saw it. A low hanging branch, thick and sturdy, just ahead. With the last ounce of my strength, I launched myself forward, grabbed the branch, and swung myself up into the air like a clumsy, screaming pendulum. My legs dangled wildly as I swung up and over the branch, landing in a heap on the other side.
I scrambled behind the tree trunk, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped woodpecker. I peered around the bark.
The boar had skidded to a halt. It stood there, snorting, its chest heaving. It looked at the branch, then at me, its wild eyes filled with what I could only interpret as profound disappointment. It hadn't been able to follow. It shook its head, sending droplets flying from its tusks.
Then, it did the last thing I expected. It turned, gave a final, indignant snort that sounded suspiciously like a scoff, and trotted back into the forest. The thwumping of its fishnet clad retreat faded into the woods, leaving me alone, breathless, and deeply, deeply confused.
I sat there for a long time, just trying to process the existential horror of it all. I never did figure out why the boar was wearing fishnet stockings. Some mysteries, I suppose, are not meant to be solved. But I do know this: I can never look at a pair of fishnets the same way again.😌
I blame this on those blinking Christmas tree lights 😒😅
