Scooter Libby's Nightmare
The mirror black surface is not comforting for Scooter Libby as he laboriously treads water with his bum leg. It's been some time now since his republican cohorts gave up on him and paddled off for calmer waters to regroup and lick their wounds.
Scooter's eyes dart left and right as the periphery of his vision plays tricks on him. Periodically, his subconscious makes him stop breathing so his sense of hearing will be sharp and pure. A straight and true black fin pierces the obsidian plane directly in front of him and he catches the look of horror on his own face in the wet reflection.
Something large brushes up against him and he recoils in horror, thrashing wildly backwards as he slams into his headboard and sits up panting in his bed. Thank goodness it was only a bad dream he thinks to himself momentarily.
Suddenly the waking dream of his present reality comes rushing back in and he fumbles for the barbituates and glass of water on his night stand. As he knocks the pills back and goes to wash them down, he is faced with the same nightmarish reflection of his face in the surface of the water in the glass. He solemnly puts the water back down without taking a drink, chokes the pills down with a grimace and lays back to welcome the relative escape of sleep. For even a nightmare filled slumber is a respite compared to the growing shadows of reality.
Sleep tight Scooter. It won't be long now.