Led_Astray
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2008
- Posts
- 1,455
Imagine the world has been taken over by monsters. Not amiable Godzilla types, but alien monstrosities from another dimension, massive, so that all you see of them is a rope of tentacle arching across the skies or a column of naked, skinless, muscle, meters wide, erupting from the ground and stretching into the sky, out of sight. Their presence warps reality, lets your nightmares loose to take form, weird hodgepodges of half remembered myths, recent experiences, faint desires and desperate wants. All of it laced with a sense of deja vue - these are from your head, after all - and yet randomly assembled so that you might be walking through a university campus one moment then turn a corner and find yourself in the foetid cave of some ancient irish formori, that you have to somehow defeat in battle by hammering shards of metal into its head whilst swinging upside down from a rope tied around your testicles because that's what some irish folk hero did AND THEN bizarrely make a tv commercial for the brand of pins that you used to slay it whilst sitting on a high shelf surrounded by capering parts of the corpse.
Then plunge into the bloodstream of a giant beast and whilst hurtling through the arteries do battle with strange lobsterlike slugs (and I don't even know how that works as a description, but thats what they are) that are trying to drag you off course and into even worse nightmares, and if succesful you end up in a 1940s dance hall trying to stay close to the mentally handicapped guy because he loves dancing so much that when the scene tries to change to some line-shaded 16th century vision of hell he just keeps dancing and hell flickers out and we stay in the dance hall (although, with noticeably fewer dancers because those that were too far away didn't come back with us) - and if that means you have to wave a frying pan and sing "vindaloo" at the top of your voice thats still better than the alternative. Scene after scene plays out as if in some mad first person adventure game where you can never die, only suffer, rushing through nightmare landscapes (with the occasional short whimsical, romantic or even erotic scene, just to throw the more horrific parts into sharp relief when they end), a cavalcade of horrors that put HR Gieger or Hieronemous Bosch to shame.
Through all of this you battle, seeking your prize, a small white cardboard box containing the meds you forgot to take that morning, and in spite of all the horrors you reach it, you achieve your goal, its right there in your hand... and then you wake, your empty, clawed hand still locked around the imaginary box.
"Well, that fuck that's over," you think, quietly, relieved to be free of the nightmare but somewhat disgruntled that you now have to get out of bed and go downstairs to get the meds. Except it isn't over, because you are not really awake, you only dreamt that you woke up and now its starting all over again... and again... and because of the inherent deja vue you don't really know how many cycles you have been through, you only know that there is no fucking way you are fighting that irish giant again, but wait, there is a trusted friend or loved one, they could get the meds for you if they only understood how important it was, so you start to explain it, imploring them to listen, beginning your explanation in the same level of detail - with the same words, even - as I started this text with, except halfway through the conversation they get a phone call and patronisingly explain that that's all very interesting but they have to fly off to another country now so you'll just have to manage and then, this being a dream, they are gone and all you can do in your incoherent rage is shout "BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!" so hard it hurts your throat at the aircraft flying overhead that you know they are on, and you battle on and this time, perhaps fueled by that rage or just lucky, this time its a relatively easy journey, and you grab your meds and wake up.
You wake up, this time for real, and even though it feels like you have been physically doing battle for days, its 4 am and you know you were still awake (though not by choice) at 2:24. You stumble down the stairs, stuff your mouth with cold leftover oven chips because the meds mustn't be taken on an empty stomach and your brain couldn't cope with making toast right now, wash the offending capsule of meds down with a cup of cold water and then, mentally exhausted but still coursing with adrenaline from fighting nightmare monsters, you sit down to ponder what you did to make your brain hate you so much until you feel, half an hour later, that maybe you are calm enough to go back to bed and if that fucking giant shows up again you'll bite its fucking face off.
****
I guess the moral of this story is don't forget to take your meds.
Then plunge into the bloodstream of a giant beast and whilst hurtling through the arteries do battle with strange lobsterlike slugs (and I don't even know how that works as a description, but thats what they are) that are trying to drag you off course and into even worse nightmares, and if succesful you end up in a 1940s dance hall trying to stay close to the mentally handicapped guy because he loves dancing so much that when the scene tries to change to some line-shaded 16th century vision of hell he just keeps dancing and hell flickers out and we stay in the dance hall (although, with noticeably fewer dancers because those that were too far away didn't come back with us) - and if that means you have to wave a frying pan and sing "vindaloo" at the top of your voice thats still better than the alternative. Scene after scene plays out as if in some mad first person adventure game where you can never die, only suffer, rushing through nightmare landscapes (with the occasional short whimsical, romantic or even erotic scene, just to throw the more horrific parts into sharp relief when they end), a cavalcade of horrors that put HR Gieger or Hieronemous Bosch to shame.
Through all of this you battle, seeking your prize, a small white cardboard box containing the meds you forgot to take that morning, and in spite of all the horrors you reach it, you achieve your goal, its right there in your hand... and then you wake, your empty, clawed hand still locked around the imaginary box.
"Well, that fuck that's over," you think, quietly, relieved to be free of the nightmare but somewhat disgruntled that you now have to get out of bed and go downstairs to get the meds. Except it isn't over, because you are not really awake, you only dreamt that you woke up and now its starting all over again... and again... and because of the inherent deja vue you don't really know how many cycles you have been through, you only know that there is no fucking way you are fighting that irish giant again, but wait, there is a trusted friend or loved one, they could get the meds for you if they only understood how important it was, so you start to explain it, imploring them to listen, beginning your explanation in the same level of detail - with the same words, even - as I started this text with, except halfway through the conversation they get a phone call and patronisingly explain that that's all very interesting but they have to fly off to another country now so you'll just have to manage and then, this being a dream, they are gone and all you can do in your incoherent rage is shout "BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!" so hard it hurts your throat at the aircraft flying overhead that you know they are on, and you battle on and this time, perhaps fueled by that rage or just lucky, this time its a relatively easy journey, and you grab your meds and wake up.
You wake up, this time for real, and even though it feels like you have been physically doing battle for days, its 4 am and you know you were still awake (though not by choice) at 2:24. You stumble down the stairs, stuff your mouth with cold leftover oven chips because the meds mustn't be taken on an empty stomach and your brain couldn't cope with making toast right now, wash the offending capsule of meds down with a cup of cold water and then, mentally exhausted but still coursing with adrenaline from fighting nightmare monsters, you sit down to ponder what you did to make your brain hate you so much until you feel, half an hour later, that maybe you are calm enough to go back to bed and if that fucking giant shows up again you'll bite its fucking face off.
****
I guess the moral of this story is don't forget to take your meds.
