Perchance To Dream
Why Sleep Is Evil
Nightmares. Have I mentioned I hate those?
It's a beautiful autumn/summer day, by a lake. One of those days that turn the water, trees, grass golden and green and translucent.
A friend and I walking there, enjoying the scenery, having a nice time. There's a very pretty willow forest on the edge of the lake, golden, serene, beckoning. So we wander down, playing a game--tag, maybe? under the willow trees.
Slowly, without anyone noticing, they grow thicker, darker. Closer, more menacing. I stand to leave, and a huge yellow and red spider, at least twice the size of my head, clambers onto my back. Biting and biting, spinning its web--like when you pull a plastic bag over your head, it clings and chokes and distorts. I scream to my friend for help.
"I don't see anything," he says, confused. Swatting at my back, ineffectually, the spider chewing into my spine. "There's nothing there."
"For the love of god, help me!" The spider crawls over my neck, over my head, feasting on my face as I scream and scream--a tangle of bloody muscle and glistening facial bones, spider-venom opening holes in my face. The thing climbs into my mouth...
I force myself to wake up. 2:15 AM. 4:45 AM: I can't keep myself awake. So I clamber back into bed.
And it starts again. A warehouse. A slaughterhouse. Processing area, right? Only it's people, human beings, in translucent bodybags. Unconcious initiates who think that this is the path to the Next Life, dropped one by one into a massive grinding machine. Serene and quiet and numbly accepting of their deaths.
I am onesuch. Only I wake up--I alone among hundreds, thousands, understand the deception.
"You can't do this!" Scrambling free of my cocoon. "I'm alive! I'm alive!" Hanging, screaming. My feet are caught--the scissoring force of the gears breaks both of my legs. I claw to the top, slipping, sliding wetly in my own blood. "Please! Someone! I'm alive!"
And two or three more like that, progressively more graphic.
I don't have them often, but when I do *crumples, head-in-hands* oyy...They ALWAYS attack in packs, in series.
At least the last dream I had before waking was nice--some syrupy ineffectual dream about Pikachus in outer space. I have very powerful subconcious nightmare-controls: I can actually force age-regressions, simply to avoid them. :^P
I could go into the history of my dreaming habits, but that'd bore y'all stiff.
(Yes, yes, I really do say "y'all" in real life. Roll your eyes if you must; it's simply how I talk. And STOP that snickering--it's not polite to mock people for the way they use words. Really. It's not bloody fair, ol' chap. >;^P)
In a completely unrelated side-story: based on an article in "Us Magazine", Greg the Bunny looks like an interesting new show. Should be fun. I dunno if you should trust my tastes, though: I actually liked Third Rock From The Sun.
Uh yeah, whatever. I babble when I haven't had enough sleep >_<
