When I was younger I used to have this recurring dream that my skin attracted rats. The dream was essentially always the same, but little details would change. Place, people and time were fluid, never the same, but the rats were there. They were constant.
In one version, also the one I remember the clearest, I was, strangely, the son of Michael Landon (the father from Little House on the Prairie). He took me to the doctors office to see what was wrong with me. I sat in the office, wearing suspenders, short pants, and a blue shirt. The doctor asked to see Michael Landon in the other room to discuss the diagnosis. I didn't want him to go, because I knew what was coming next. In these dreams, I'm not sure how many I had, I couldn't be left alone for an instant. The second I was by myself hordes of rats would appear, scurrying toward me and they would bite and chew and gnaw.
Luckily, the point of view in my dream would change as soon as the rats started biting, however, I would then have to watch myself getting devoured in tiny bites. Oddly, my dream-self never fought back. It was as though I was resigned to my fate. I just sat there, letting them nibble until Michael Landon opened the door only to find a little skeleton where I was sitting. The reaction wasn't shock and horror, but more of a disappointed acceptance. As if he were saying to himself "Ah, Oh Well".
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