A Collision of Worlds
When I nodded off, pillows at my back, laptop propped on my knees and browsing BNHA fanart, the last thing I expected was to wake up with a stranger sitting at the foot of my bed. Dad worked nights, and the shape was much too masculine to be my mother or sister. At 12:34 AM there weren’t many possibilities that didn’t involve me being robbed, hurt, murdered or all of the above. The man was shrouded in darkness as he turned his head to look at me. I dared not scream. What if my mom or sister came running in and he hurt them too? No. This man I’d have to face alone.
Reluctantly, I reached over to my nightstand and clicked on a lamp. The cast caught the man’s features just right for me to see. I let a sigh of relief. It was only Hitler. I must’ve been dreaming.
Lucid dreams don’t typically run in my family, least of all with me. I’m usually a slave to the midnight machinations of my mind. So this was...definitely new.
“Hayyy,” I mumbled awkwardly. “Wattup, dawg?”
“How dare you call me a dog!” he barked, his accent heavy. “Is that how you address your Fuhrer?”
“Relax, dude. It’s just an expression. What, uh...what are you doing here? You realize you’re in the bedroom of a fifteen-year-old girl at midnight. It’s kinda’ weird. I’d kinda’ like an explanation for that, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’m as confused as you are. I’ve heard our dimension occasionally collides with yours, leaving us partially perceivable to the living. But it’s never happened to me before. This is amazing! I have finally found a means to communicate with your kind. The intersections are said to commonly last five, ten minutes. I...I have so many questions. I can’t waste time with this—young as you are, you’ll have to do!”
“This is a weird dream,” I mumbled. “Okay, Hannah, you can wake up any time now.”
“What is my legacy?” he asked, a nervousness in his eyes. “It almost pains me to know. History is never kind to those who lose. But I suppose ignorance would be twice the torture. I’ve marinaded in it for years.”
“Well. They made a few movies about you. Like, films, picture shows.”
“Dare I ask?”
“I didn’t watch it, but there’s this one American film from the ’40s, The Devil With Hitler. Cinema Snob reviewed it, pretty much play-by-play. They took a few creative liberties.”
“How creative?”
“You got shot in the butt with a missile and died.”
“Well, I’m glad they kept it dignified.”
“Pretty sure this was before your actual...yanno’. So maybe they were just hoping,” I shrugged. “Another one was called They Saved Hitler’s Brain. Didn’t watch it. Watched the Snob review. It looked...fairly terrible.”
“Did I get any good films?”
“Well, Tarantino made a good one in that it’s well made. But it still hates your guts.”
“Let me guess. Another missile?”
“Nah. You’re just machine-gunned to pulp and your bullet-ridden corpse gets blown up afterward.”
“Glad he had mercy.”
“But a lot of people die in that movie. It’s not just exclusive to you. Mercy in a Tarantino movie is like a needle in a haystack.”
“I see,” he glanced around at the sketches hung on my wall. “You are an artist?”
“Unofficially. I’m terrified to commit. Those art snobs can be vicious.”
“They know nothing!” he exploded (metaphorically, unlike in the Tarantino movie). “You could vomit on a canvas and they’d call it fine art. I applied for the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna twice and they rejected me on both counts. My art had promise. Even as a foolish child I knew that. But they...they couldn’t see. I needed a hand up, and they smacked mine away.”
“Things would’ve been a lot better if you became an artist. That’s for sure.”
“Is that what passes for art nowadays?” he looked at the laptop screen, where I was now scrolling through images for kawaii.
“Pretty much. It ain’t bad.”
“Ain’t bad? These supposed people don’t even look like people. The proportion is all off. The eyes take up half the head. Like a terrifying beast pulled from the depths of a nightmare.”
“Oh, that’s just anime. They’re not meant to look realistic. That’s the design.”
“The beast, it stares into my soul...” he shuddered.
“Huh. Maybe I’m just desensitized.”
“What are you eating with?” his eyes found the salad on my nightstand, and the curious utensil resting up top.
“Oh, this? It’s only the greatest invention ever conceived by man. It’s called a spork.” I grabbed it and brandished it enthusiastically.
“Someone combined...a spoon and a fork? Do you Americans not consider this an abomination? You’re crossbreeding utensils!”
“Nah. We think it’s cool. Some think it’s pretty useless; but you have naysayers with everything.”
“Get it out of my sight,” he growled, receding into the corner with a strange hiss.
I pulled the nightstand drawer open, paused for dramatic effect, and dropped it in.
“The spork was invented by Germany,” I muttered under my breath.
“WHAT?!”
“Just kidding.”
“What is that!”
“Oh, sorry. Clicked the wrong link. We didn’t need to see that. DeviantArt has a lot of...deviancy.”
“Degenerate swine.” He pressed further into the corner. More strange hissing.
“I wouldn’t take it that far. Though that was pretty gross. Gotta’ be careful when browsing the interwebs.” I paused to think. “Hey I got a paper coming up. You think you could help me out? Though, I suppose it would be in poor taste to cheat like that...so...nevermind.”
“Indeed. If you rely on being given the answers to everything you become soft in the mind, and turn into a malleable imbecile.” He hesitated. “But...we’re losing focus. What became of Germany?”
“Well, they lost, as you probably figured. They’re still around though. It’s no horrible dystopia over there, to my knowledge.”
“But Germany...doesn’t rule the world?”
“No.”
“Not even Europe?”
“Nope.”
“And my birthday isn’t celebrated as an international holiday?”
“It’s 4-20, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then yesss. But don’t ask what for. It ain’t you.”
“Hannah, is everything alright in there?” I heard a voice outside my door.
“Yeah, it’s all good,” I called back. The footsteps slowly disappeared.
“Is that your mother?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. The voice was just familiar. For a moment it almost reminded me of my own mother. She died when I was just a few years older than you. Never was my sadness more unbearable than the day of her passing.”
“I’m sorry. I guess that was part of the reason you banked so much on art school. My mom and I are really close. I can’t imagine missing that acceptance in my life, looking for it somewhere else just to get shot down at every corner. I wish someone had been a little nicer to you back then. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to try so hard.”
He slouched in defeat. “You are wise for someone of your age. Were you alive in my time, you would’ve set a good precedent to follow. A balance of knowledge and emotional maturity. It’s admirable—” A current of static rippled over him, and his already-transparent body began to fade. “The dimensions are starting to diverge again. I won’t be able to stay here much longer. I may have another minute at most...”
“Okay,” I said. “But there’s one thing you should probably know before you leave. Two things, really.”
“What?”
I shut my laptop, and gently planted a finger above my name, first and last. My parents had gotten it personalized for me for my birthday.
His expression changed a bit when he read it.
“That’s you?”
I nodded.
“You’re...you have to be joking.”
“And I’m autistic. Aspergers. So in your book I’d be owe for two.”
For a long time, it appeared he’d lost the ability to speak. I didn’t intend it as revenge; rather to show him the people he so vehemently hated were still just that. People.
He vanished before he could get any sound out, but his expression was quite memorable.
Nothing more to do, I reached over to my nightstand, got my salad, and continued eating with my spork.
*****
And just like that, I woke up. Totally called that one. I’m sure my therapist will love when I tell her Hitler made a cameo in my latest dream. First Epstein and now this.