Strange, Troubling Dreams

I'm in the bathroom. Some rest stop between here and somewhere. So technically I'm nowhere.

I step out of the bathroom stall. Some other guy is at the urinal between me and the sinks.

I'm washing my hands when he clears his throat and he says: "They call you the Punchernaut..."

I'm not in uniform. I turn to him. I can't see his face. He's hidden behind one of those cheap aluminum privacy walls between urinals.

"Who are you?" I shake the water off my hands.

"They call you the Punchernaut," he says again... He zips his jeans and then he steps back and I see his face.

He's me.

He's me, but he's a sick gray-green color. There are stitches going down the side of his face, down his neck, and under his shirt. There are stitches around his wrists. Something about him smells wrong. He's got that odd, comforting smell of fresh dirt. That smell that's somehow old and dirty, but clean and refreshing at the same time. His voice sounds the same, dry and scratching and forgotten for ages.

"So, Punchernaut... So let's see how you punch."

My hands clench into fists, and so do his, and then we're running at each other.

Before my fist connects I wake up, the sheets clinging to the film of cold sweat that covers my entire body. My right arm jerks forward so fast, there's a sound like a whip cracking. I'm out of breath. My eyes go wide and scan the room.

Why am I dreaming about that again?

I don't like this.