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DAY OF ALL THE BLOOD

THIS IS THE STORY OF A DAY WHERE THERE WAS ALL THIS BLOOD. A MAN WAS WALKING AROUND AND BLOOD STARTED COMING OUT OF HIM EVERYWHERE. THERE WAS SO MUCH BLOOD THAT IT FILLED UP AN ELEVATOR. HE WENT TO THE STORE AND THERE WAS JUST BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE! PEOPLE WERE SLIPPING IN IT AND THEY WERE ALL GROSSED OUT. HE TRIED TO GO SWIMMING AND ALL OF THE SHARKS WENT NUTS AND BITTENED EVERYBODY. HE GOT CHASED BY ALL THE VAMPIRES EVER. ONE TIME THE BLOOD GOT A KID AND A DOG. AT THE END OF THE DAY EVERYONE DECIDED THEY WOULD SEND HIM TO SPACE SO THAT HE WOULD STOP GETTING BLOOD EVERY WHERE. THE SCARIEST PART IS THAT THE MAN WAS YOU!!! (OR HE WAS A LADY IF YOU ARE A LADY) AND YOU FORGOT THAT THIS HAPPENED

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You should probably go visit bogleech.com today.

The Lilies Are Bleeding

My lilies are my most prized possession. Hand picked. I will only take the most supremely beautiful specimens. They must be white as an angel’s wings, and so soft and delicate to the touch that you must be careful of the harm you bring to them. Perhaps it is selfish of me to hoard them as I do. But as it is I who takes them first, it is I who shall enjoy them, their sweet, intoxicating scent and their soothing elegance.

To listen to the lily’s voice is to hear the sound of unrestrained magnificence, fine tuned to stir the soul into a passionate uproar. It is for this reason that I keep my lilies, one dozen at a time, at all times. I must hear the cry of my recherché beauties, bear witness to their bleeding, revel in the need they have for me. At first, even I, pious as I am, questioned this desire, but finding the answer proved such a splendor in its own rite. It is seeing my lilies weakened into such a state that I am all they have left, as they are all I have left, that I derive a satisfaction indescribable to one who has not experienced it themselves. But nothing is perfect forever. One of my lilies has wilted. I must be off immediately to replace her.

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Credited to Poizn.

The Algorithm

Sometime during the third consecutive night spent huddled over the toilet, insides heaving and shuddering as I vomit forth seemingly everything I’d ever eaten, I realize what’s happening: He’s trying to poison me. It’s all so elegant, so perfect, and so clear, that I almost laugh, but another barrage of retching forces me into silence

The next morning I throw everything in the kitchen away, wrapping it three times in black plastic and burying it deep in the apartments communal trash cans, to prevent an unfortunate transient from crossfire of His wrath. I am out the door of the complex and halfway to the corner store when I realize: He knows, must know, where I would shop.

I pick a direction and walk, enjoying the chill winter air that soothes the ragged shreds of my inside. I turn at random intervals, following an improbable path out of my familiar neighborhood, until I find a small shop with an unfamiliar name. Once inside, I hurriedly fill a small plastic basket; brands that I never have eaten, strange tins of ethnic ingredients I can’t recognize, foods that I’d never thought of buying. Soy milk. Tofu. I can feel my stomach reborn in anticipation of an untainted meal.

I prepare the meal in a fog of nervous anticipation, trying to focus on savoring the aromas and the grease spitting sounds of the frying pan. It tastes clean, but then, so has every other meal before this. I try to tell myself that the mounting pain inside me is simple fear and anxiety, but before the stroke of midnight, I am again crouched in the dingy bathroom, surrendering the days work into the porcelain mouth of the sewer.

The next day, I pack up the remaining food and dispose of it with the same care. I eat out that day, layering debt onto the last of my credit cards at restaurants on the opposite side of town.

He is more clever than I could ever imagined, and I am awash in despair as I spend another sleepless night gagging and sobbing on the tile floor. I imagine the Algorithm, the perfect predictive models at His disposal, brilliantly charting my every move across the city; every time I thought I’d outwitted Him, I was willingly walking into his web.

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Call Me Tomorrow, Okay?

Still no messages on my phone.

I guess he wasn’t going to call me back after all. I can’t really blame him, maybe I came on a bit too fast yesterday.
I had noticed him long before he noticed me. His shiny black hair and unnatural blue eyes. I wasn’t the only one watching him, that’s for sure. His movements were elegant in a boyish way. And his smile…his smile.
I would die for that smile.
Still no messages…
I thought about calling him, maybe apologize for going too fast yesterday. I’m a coward, I know, but I just couldn’t bring myself to dial his number.
Besides he’d promised he’d contact me when he’s ready.

So I’ll wait. I’m patient.

I know, I’ll just casually stroll past his house. Just to see if he’s home. Maybe he’s out, that would explain why he couldn’t call me yet.
He only lives half an hour away anyway. Maybe he’s shy and is scared to call me. Silly boy. I’ll go to him and tell him that he doesn’t have to be scared. That I don’t mind if he needs time.

He lives pretty secluded in a farm on the outskirts of town. I can hear the sheep in the stables as I approach. My heart skips when I see there’s lights burning inside. He must be there, he told me yesterday his parents would be gone for the weekend. They left him to look after the sheep for those days. Poor baby, that must be hard work. He was probably just too busy to call me. I’ll have to stay here until his parents come back and help him take care of all those sheep.

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The Visions

It’s a cool, calm night. You worked hard that day, and you feel ready for a good night’s sleep. You climb into your bed and turn off the light. You notice that, considering you live alone, it’s unusually quiet tonight. Ever since the death of your next-door neighbor, the loud rap music woke you up in the middle of the night no more. The police were quite reliable in these parts, but you can’t help but feel a little disturbed that, for all the blood that was spilled and mess that was caused, the investigators still don’t seem to have a lead. You tell yourself not to worry, the community is on their toes, no sensible killer would go sneaking around this town.

You lay down and close your eyes. As you drift off into sleep, a clear view of the front of your house floats into your vision, lights off except for the television in the downstairs window that you must have forgotten to turn off. You sit up. What kind of dream was that? No, it was more vivid, more distinct than a dream. Strange. Oh, well, you think as you lay back down. Not long after you close your eyes, you get a similar vision of your front door. Again, you wake up. What’s going on here? No matter. You left all your doors locked. Still, you feel a bit disturbed as you lay back down.

The stairs leading up to the upstairs hallway fill your mind. The picture at the top of the staircase grows larger as you seem to be moving slowly up the stairs. You try to remain asleep, but abruptly sit up when you hear the wooden steps creak outside your door. Paranoia gets the better of you and you pull a small pistol out of your nightstand you kept around for self defense. Holding it doesn’t seem to give you as much comfort as you thought it would as the steps continue to creak slowly as whatever it is slowly ascends to the hallway. You get up and poise the gun at the door. The creaking stops.

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The Onieronauts

We are Onieronauts. We are explorers of the Dream World. We blur the line between waking life and sleep.

And we’re watching you.

It’s strange how many people forget that you spend 1/3 your life sleeping. People have forgotten the importance of dreaming. Less and less people even remember their dreams, and instead get up in the morning, shower, drink their coffee, and drive to work. They’re lives are repetitious and safe. They feel secure in their 2-bedroom condo overlooking the city, and they don’t dream. Instead, they plan their next day. They browse through clothing and furniture catalogs. They watch their cable TV with 999 channels. And yet, they don’t dream.

We do. Not only that, we know we’re dreaming. When you realize you’re dreaming, you realize you’re free. You instantly lift yourself off the ground and fly through the Dewy clouds. You Become a Jedi and eat ice cream while receiving a blow job. You’re free to do anything you please.

Over the years, a select few of us became profoundly gifted. We pushed the limits of the reality within. We would taste the color of nothingness, see 360 degrees around us, and, most astonishingly, communicate with each other. That’s right, we learned telepathy. We learned to enter each others dreams and explore the world together. After that venture, the skies the limit.

Then, the most startling, most shocking discovery of all was made.

We learned how to transcend the dream world. We learned how to communicate, from our dreams, to the waking world…in fact, This is my dream. You’re reading the words I’m currently dreaming. How does that feel, to know that reality and dreams are no longer separated?

–
Credited to Coff_Syrup.

Willkommen zu Der Dunkel

I’m trapped in a nightmare.

It’s dark all around me. Even though there’s a lamp shining next to me, I’m still suffocating in the complete darkness. I’ve never felt so isolated in my life, yet I know…

I know that I’m not alone.

Outside, the sun is high in the sky. It’s taunting me. Mocking me. I see it shining in the heavens, but somehow it’s still dark here. I can see so very little, no more than five feet in front of me. It’s as much of a curse as it is a blessing. Lights glow, but don’t illuminate anything. I can just barely discern the movement of something traveling on four legs from my peripheral vision.

I don’t know where to run. No sense of location is left in me. I’m utterly lost. A feeling of complete helplessness engulfs me. I wish I’d never woken up this wretched morning.

Trapped in oblivion. It’s repeated over and over in my head. I hear claws scrape against the pavement not far away. I’ve been wandering outside for god only knows how long now, practically welcoming my death. My only hope at this point is that whatever is stalking me makes quick work of my demise.

It appears I’ve stumbled into a dead end. Footsteps echo behind me. As I turn around, all I can make out is two luminescent glowing red eyes. I thought I couldn’t be any more afraid than I already was. My heart is beating so fast that my body feels hot.

Closer. It’s getting closer and closer, snarling at me, bearing what I’m sure are its teeth. Something is dripping from its maw. Finally it steps before me and I know my hell is soon to end.

The beast lurches forward and holds me in a god like vice. Cold blood runs from my neck, cooling my overheated body. The pain is indescribable, but I’m sure it’ll all be over soon. I clench my eyes shut as tight as I can, my teeth grind as I try to ignore the sounds of my flesh being torn from my body.

Suddenly I spring forward, my eyes still closed. Only a fragment of the pain remains, and I feel a familiar fabric in my gripping fists. It’s my blanket. Finally I can open my eyes. It’s still night outside, but I’m so joyful that the experience was all in my mind. I pull the switch on my bedside lamp, eager to bathe in light once again.

My heart sinks. The lamp glows, but my room is still dark.

I’m trapped in a nightmare.

–
Credited to Poizn.

Falling

We’ve all felt it.

You’re up late. Working, studying, watching a movie, reading on the computer. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, it’s the feeling you get. You’re tired, your eyes burn and have the gritty feeling you get after not sleeping for a while.

Ok you can’t go crawl into bed right now, but close your eyes for a couple minutes? Try to get a little moisture back into your eyes. That couldn’t hurt anything right?

Then you’re falling. Like stepping off a cliff, you’re in free fall, though your body isn’t even moving.

Then like a bungee cord snapping back, you’re jerking awake, heart thumping a little faster, blinking quickly wondering what just happened.

Doctors call it a hypnagogic jerk, a natural reaction they say, to your brain thinking you’re dying, when your breathing and heartrate slow as you fall asleep.

What the doctors don’t know is, your brain is right. Every time you let your self nod off, every time you feel that ‘falling’ sensation… you’re not falling. You’re being pulled down.

And one day…your brain won’t be able to pull you back up.

They will have you.

–
Credited to Dru.

Sick

I slept fine last night. Didn’t sleep so well Sunday though. It was my own fault, really. I did tell him he was welcome in if he pleased.

My dream began like one of those horror games you might see, like Silent Hill or Alone in the Dark. It was night out, and almost pitch black. I was holed up in some building, hiding from something. Or waiting. I peeked out; the door was glass and had some rule stickers on it. I suppose I was in a corner store. Upon looking out, I see a deserted street, lighted by a few dim streetlamps. The street was dead empty, dead silent. I seemed to be in the middle of a city… yet there was nothing.

I tentatively opened the door, creeping out into the cold night. Ever have on of those dreams where you can feel what’s happening? This was one of those dreams. I turned left out the door and began walking. The street was sloped, and I was going down. Suddenly I stopped in front of a building. Looking to my left at it, it seemed like a small house. Not one like you’d see in the city. It was in shambles, a light grey blue color. I felt the need to go in, to see the inside. I crept up to the door and turned the handle.

Opening the door, I looked in. There wasn’t much but a few boxes, a table, and a bed. I moved silently towards the bed. On it slept a person. I glared down at her for a few moments, her sleeping figure taunting me. I bent down, picked up an object, and swing.

The brick ensured that she would not wake up soon. Dropping the bloody, hair-matted brick, a message flashed through my mind, clear as day, a dark, deep, raspy voice speaking through my mind. “The sinew will sew together the darkness and damnation.” I only know of one kind of sinew; it’s the stuff inside of you, connected to your muscles and bones, that let you move the way you can. Looking over to the table, I saw the moonlight glinting off something. I walked over and there sat a knife, placed perfectly in the center, the blade facing away from me. He knew I was coming. He knew he could tell me to do this. He knew I would oblige.

I picked up the knife and walked back over to the unconscious form in the bed before me. Her blonde hair was spilled out around her, her head bleeding profusely. I feel now as though I recognized her… but I can’t be sure. I tore the sheet off of her and brought the knife down to her, stripping her flesh from bone, until he muscles were all visible. I began grabbing at the sinew, slicing at it, and piled it all up. Once I’d gathered all I could, I began wrapping it around itself. It formed a blindfold.

I put it on, and all was black. Until the darkness was filled with an image. A house far off, silhouetted against the night sky. Atop it was a figure, and a dog. The dog howled, and the figure turned towards me. His tattered cowl flapped in a soundless wind. His blazing eyes bored into me, the blood red beads that were his pupils boring into my soul. He grinned at me, knowing he’d just gotten one step closer to corruption. I began calling him. Like in many dreams, there were things I could not control; my voice was strained, and even though I shouted as loud and hard as I could, the sound traveled mere feet. I woke up soon after that, feeling as though I had not slept at all.

And I knew I hadn’t. That wasn’t sleep. He’d brought me into his world. He’d done so many times before, and he’d watched what I did as I was placed in a deserted carnival, in a school of ravenous creatures waiting to devour me and my closest friend. He’s there sometimes, my friend, but I think I know why. I think he’s sick too.

I looked around and knew where I’d been. I knew what I’d seen. “The sinew will sew together darkness and damnation.” And it had. He’d shown himself to me. He was no longer what he’d been. A shapeless shadow. A shadow with eyes. One with a cowl and a demon grin. One who’s eyes glowed hot with flames. One who spoke to me, and caressed my face with clawed, shadowed hands.

No.

He has a shape now. He’s real. He’s come so far there’s no way I can get rid of him now. He needs a vessel, and he’s chosen me.

Besides, everyone is a little sick, even if they don’t want to believe it.

The Fourth Wish

You awaken with a high pitched ringing in your ears. Gradually, the sound becomes softer, like the humming from your refrigerator, and eventually, it stops completely. Even after a peaceful night’s rest, your eyes are not ready to open. Your instincts urge you to KEEP THEM CLOSED, but you find no reason not to open them.

The florescent lights blind you as your eyes are adjusting to the brightness. You are in a perfectly square, white room with one door. One door. There is nothing strange about the door, yet you find it strange how the door seems so ordinary. You are now sitting up in your own bed, in an unfamiliar room. You are not surprised. You don’t know why. But you are not surprised. Your gut is telling you to go back to sleep, telling you not to be so curious, telling you not to….. too late. You notice an elderly man, possibly in his late 70′s, sitting in the corner of the room. He is wearing a cheap brown suit and a pair of sunglasses. There are several pieces of cardboard signs, resting on his lap. He opens his mouth and begins to speak… he makes no sound. After a few moments, his lips stop moving and he grins. He grins. It reminds you of the smile of a mischievous little boy, stealing toys from his siblings. The man lifts up the first sign, it is written by hand. “Hello, my name is Micheal, do not be afraid of me. I will not hurt you.” He continues to smile, showing his decaying teeth. He switches to the second sign. “I will grant you three wishes, if you want them. Any information I reveal will count as a wish. I will not hurt you.” He waits. You nod your head. He switches to the third sign. “If you use up all three wishes, I will give you another three, but once you start to use the next set of wishes, you will have to give me something… valuable. I will not hurt you.” You immediately want to know, “Tell me why I’m in this room.” Before your lips begin to produce any sound, his mouth begins to move. You notice his crooked yellow teeth. It keeps moving as though he is talking, yet he makes no sound. You feel somewhat frustrated and cheated by the mute man. You get up and walk towards the plain white door. The man gets up, slowly feeling for the corners of the bed, he crawls under it, it is obvious that he cannot see. You approach the door, turn the knob, and open it. After opening the door, you find that the door is still closed, and you are holding a piece of cardboard with your own writing on it. You read it. “You have one wish left, don’t open the door” You check on the old man, he is still under the bed. He is grinning again, this time, the grin stretches across his face. His decaying mouth begins to laugh. A soundless laugh. You start to realize that the situation is hopeless. You want to go home. You want to wake up and realize that it was all just a dream. You say to the old man, “I wish this was all just a dream and I won’t remember it when I wake up.” How stupid, you notice it only now. You are deaf. You will never notice this, but you used four wishes.

You awaken with a stinging sensation in your eyes. Gradually, the pain becomes less intense, like a wound starting to scab, and eventually, it stops completely. Even after a peaceful night’s rest, your eyes are not ready to open. Your instincts urge you to KEEP THEM CLOSED, but you find no reason not to open them.

Your gut is telling you to go back to sleep, telling you not to be so curious, telling you not to notice the old man with the rotting smile, staring intently at you.

-Brian Chua