The other night I had a dream that a dog ripped my throat out.
No worries. The attack had already happened, it was afterwards. I had a gauze pad taped to my throat with medical tape… though the blood had seeped through, I think it needed a changing.
Now the real reason I bring you here today: To share with you a dream I had the OTHER other night. It wasn’t a very long one, but it was so absurd that I must attempt a scripture! It was more like watching a movie, with cool camera angles and visuals and such.
…And it starts:
A man went to pay a visit to the grave of his wealthy business partner and friend, as he had done frequently over the past two years. He twittled with delight, almost unable to suppress the giddiness that accompanied him as he showed his I.D. to the guard who let him through the cemetery’s golden gates. This wasn’t your ordinary cemetery. This cemetery was reserved solely and exclusively for the million and billionaires who had shelled out nauseating amounts of money to assure that their burial site would be as lavish as the mansions they had lived in.
The man, let’s call him Ichabod, and his now-deceased business partner had always been avid enthusiasts of ancient civilizations and mythology. Many a year they had spent traveling together to all parts of the globe in search of treasures only heard about in ancient legends. Of course, to most people, their excursions seemed to be no more than a couple of old billionaires with nothing to do, and money to spend. Little did anyone know, nor could they have thought to have known, the secret the two men kept.
For over 40 years, they had delved into the underlying mysticism that surrounds the ancient mythologies. Unfortunately, the two men mainly used their knowledge of ancient rituals and other-such magiks for the pursuit of greed and money. What they learned, they kept between the two of them, to be taken to the grave. In more ways than one….
Ichabod approached the grave of his comrade, with an ear-to-ear grin he couldn’t hide. He was excited; this was his high, and his secret he kept from the world…. Making it all the more sweet for him. The grave’s headstone was actually a fountain made of marble. The fountain was lined on the bottom with amethyst shards and other assorted crystals in smaller pebble-like forms. The water flowed out of a chalice and onto the crystal bed. In a holder next to the chalice was a small bowl carved from stone. He picked up the bowl and with it he took a scoop of the amethyst crystals and put the bowl back into it’s holder.
When he was sure that there was no one around, he recited the ancient words and placed a big ruby into the eye of a skull he brought with him, or something of that nature, which instantly transported him to another realm. This realm was where Ichabod liked to take time off to play in ways he couldn’t do here in this realm. Such play would, for the most part, be physically impossible in our realm, with our barriers of space, time, and flesh.
As much as Ichabod was a pompous ass in our realm, so was he in this alternate realm he loved to visit. The people and creatures there are just like you and me, although death isn’t really an issue… and some bazaar shit goes on there, but to them it is as normal as breathing air to survive is to us.
He arrived at his “play ground”; sitting in a big fancy chair at the head of a very long dining room table in a gothic, Victorian-style mansion. The place had a very uneasy dark feeling to it.
“Now come here…” Ichabod riled, almost hissed, the words with his grin full of malice. He furnished a long leather whip of ridiculous proportions. He wasted no time in getting started.
“What… Are you going to whip me, you pervert?…”
From the shadows walks out a young woman, her age anywhere from 18-24… it was hard to tell. She wore a white bathrobe, but from underneath you could see the horrific site that was the mangled flesh and sewn-together parts of her body, she had been abused, to say the least. Her ribs were held together with bolts. Stitches ran in the form of a V from her shoulders down to just below her clavicle where the two lines met. Parts of her body, limbs and patches of skin, had either been torn off or simply amputated and sewn back together, like some sort of rag doll to be used over and over again.
Her face, however, was still her original face and was without any stitches or other major atrocities, though her skin was pale…. Actually it was post-rigamortis looking, blotchy with pale blues, purples, and yellows. Her hair was, at one time, blonde. Now it was simply colorless. This was one chopped-up, paper doll of death, morgue-resident of a girl. She had no emotion in here eyes, and she spoke in a nearly monotone voice that carried with it a hint of “Ooo, I’m scared.” sarcasm, but only a hint. It was as though she barely cared enough to put any inflection into it.
Before Ichabod could reply, down swooped a figure from seemingly nowhere.
“Don’t hurt the ladies.” The figure said, as if to intervene and save the young woman from certain disaster.
The young woman turned around to see who’d swooped in; it was a woman of about 36 who gave off the impression of being a superhero. Her outfit was all white, with a cape even. She yielded two katana-like, curved swords with red energy for blades (like lightsabers) instead of steel.
The young corpse woman’s expression turned from that of bored disinterest to mildly ammused annoyance.
“MOM.” She said, in a way that a girl would address her mother if she had pried into her personal affairs with some sort of embarrassing remark. The lady in white was indeed the girl’s mother, who wasn’t really there to save her daughter at all. The mom was practicing with her new super-hero cape and outfit she had just got, along with the nifty swords. Her daughter was embarrassed but not surprised.
The scene backed out and warped into the cemetery scene again, where Ichabod unfortunately had to cut his little “visit” to the nether realm short, due to a lunch appointment. He removed the ruby what-have-you’s from the skull and dumped the amethyst crystals back into the fountain, below which his deceased, and equally demented, comrade rest in holy unpeace.
In such a twisted realm of existence, horror and randomocities mix together. To the people and other inhabitants, this is just every-day life. Ichabod was merely exploiting the fact that these people had never known the joy that we all take for granted here. He kept them in the dark and only visited to play, he never had to stay in the hell that he helped create. the dick!
Uhh the end O.o
It was just one scene, sorry folks, perhaps there will be a prequal.
P.S. [I’ve been having lucid dreams almost every night recently, so I’ve been exploring them more. Kinda like a scab, it’s there so you gotta pick it ? It’s cool, because in the dreams every sort of surface or object feels like it does it real life. Even the corresponding noises when you pick up an object such as the crinkling noise of the tag on a stuffed bear, it’s all there
_ ;) Love you all!]
As written originally for my MySpace blog. I have not edited it for this site.
The dream described in this story was most certainly not a lucid dream. I did not know I was dreaming at the time. My lucid dreams are pretty basic, with no other character interactions going on ever :( But I can touch stuff. woot! Just wanted to clarify that.]