He looks down at his body laying in bed. It looks peaceful. Of course it does. Its asleep. He looks around, from right to left, scanning his bedroom. Whether what he was seeing was some sort of supernational extension of existance of just a manifestation of his memory, he would never know. All he knew was that he was free. At some point during his slumber, he 'woke up'. He fled his mortal coil into the ether of the infinite mind.
So there he was. At the bottom of his grandmothers street. He doesn't know how he ended up there. Dreaming is unlike any story you've ever read, any movie you've ever seen, any life you've ever lived. There is no beginning, no end. Just the middle. As he walked along the street he looked down at his hands inquisitively. He knew it was all an illusion, but he liked to humor himself. A small chuckle at trying to find something in common between the world he knew and the one in which he now existed.
They were his hands alright. He saw what was the same general size and shape, and he even moved his fingers around to prove he was really in control. The eerie thing was that he felt his hands moving from the dreams point of view. He could touch and feel. It made him uneasy at how easily he has crossed the limits of perception and reality already in his lifetime. If I am here, where else am I? Where else can I be? What does the world I percieve around me as awake mean if I can just... leave?
He jumped, to see how far his mind was stretching the illusion. Yep, there was gravity. He even heard a familiar clap on the ground as his feet fell back to Earth. Apparently his mind thought fit to give him shoes. The gravity seemed a bit off though, as though he had 20 pounds of blankets draped on his shoulders. Not too much to carry by any means but the extra weight made him give pause, requiring a moment to reaquaint himself with his new gravitic circumstances.
Or maybe there was no issue with the gravity at all, but at the last second his subconscious screamed "What If?" loud enough for it to be interpreted by the dream's ether and manifest itself as an actual problem. Its almost better to just go back to sleep when you are awake inside your dreams. Then you never second guess yourself.
Dreams are made up of a few things. Common locations that can be broken down and disassembled into an idea, specific locations that can be reassembled for specific informational awareness, and the preception of the dreamer themselves, as well as common idea threads, emotional associations based on how you feel about who and what in your life as well as key item recollection and a few others I can't remember right now. Combine these all and you have a farmiliar playground with which to live out your most depraved fantasies. So, without further adiu, lets get to it!
Hm. So many houses to choose from. He walked down the center of the street with complete impunity, knowing ther there were no cars coming. There were no police coming. No rescue of any kind would be coming to any of these people. Not until he tricked himself into thinking they were coming, anyway.
The houses on the street were your standard post WW2 cookie cutter housing you see all across America. A few were two stories, one was all red, one all green. But for the most part it was a quiet and innoccuous neighborhood. He walked up to the bright red house and looked in the front window. His mind had circumstanced to create him a sunny night to play in, leaving the people in the frontroom quite visible. Just an old lady and an old man sitting at the tv. They will be for later, if they are still there.
He turns to the left and feels the difference in how it feels to go from driveway to grassy lawn to driveway again. He almost slipped once when stepping one foot on the driveway and taking one from the grass. It is quite hilarious how dreams work sometimes, and sometimes most unfortunate. As long as you stay focused and have a strong will and emotional inner strength then you can find harmony with your inner workings and fiddle around with any wires you like.
He looked in the next window. He saw a housewife standing in the kitchen at the far end of the house. She was 5'7'', maybe 145-155 pounds. Long brunette hair, in a pretty blue dress with flowers on it. She had a fat secretaries ass and decently sized b cups. She looked like his 5th grade teacher. She was perfect.
While she was fiddling around with something, her husband sat in the living room motionless. He must be some sort of prop. Hurry, don't think about him anymore or he will need to become cogniscent! He may even disappear if we pay him little enough attention! Avert eyes! Avert eyes!
Ok, phew.
Murder is always necessary but it honestly isnt always my favorite.
The Rape. The Rape is the best part.
I walk up casually as ever and knock on the door. She walks up to it and opens with a smile.
I stick my hand out and shake her velvety smooth palm.
"Hello, What can I help you with?"
"Are you aware ma'm that the entire back end of your garage has sunken into the earth? Why don't you come look at it with me? It's quite urgent."
I'm thinking of using this as a basis for an entire novel. The book will be quite graphic, but a lot more is going to go on so it won't just be rape rape rape end of book
Is marijuana addictive? Yes, in the sense that most of the really pleasant things in life are worth endlessly repeating.
