A Public Service Announcement: Not For You Sca-weemish Types
It was a different time. A different place. Looked like some sort of desert.
I couldn't remember all that had happened to me, other than intense pain. I knew it wasn't good. Pain raked through my entire body, both inside and out. Hundreds of cuts and abrasions roared in agony as sweat trickled uninhibited into the wounds. There was no way of wiping the sweat away: my arms were bound tightly behind me. I think one was broken.
I had stopped fighting long ago. At first, I felt the shame. Now, I only feel the craving for death. I just want this to be over. I keep telling myself that this is only a dream, a nightmare. But everything seems to prove me wrong. I can feel the pain. I can taste the blood from my stove in face. I can smell the stench of something rotten.
One of "them" makes his way over to me. I feel at least one rib break under the hard kick to my side. He's saying something, but I can't make it out. I'm pretty sure it's English, I just can't hear much over the ringing in my skull. He grabs my hair, and twists my face to the side. (Now I know I'm dreaming... I haven't had long hair in years. I start trying to wake up.) Another man is just a few feet away, and "they" are reducing him to rags. There is something very familiar about the poor soul, but I can't see his face.
As I watch, his hand is forced open, and fingers are cut off. He just moans. No screams, just a growling moan. I'm losing it. I try to turn my head away, but once again my head is forced to the side. I try to close my eyes, only to have fingers jammed against my eyes. I open them.
One of "them" is holding a burning log. I think that "they" are going to start burning the other, touching all over with the burning stick. I'm wrong. A quick flash, a sharp gasp from the other, and his arm below the elbow is gone. Now the log is applied. "They" don't want him to bleed out. I try once again to turn away, but my face is shoved into the sand. Unable to breathe, I turn my head back to the scene. (I'm starting to cry... I can't wake up no matter how I try.) Still, the other hasn't screamed. (More goes on, but I've almost managed to escape by waking up. I'm not really aware, nor do I care about what's happening next to me.)
A warm spray, and the smell of insides brings me back to the nightmare. Now the other is screaming. I open my eyes, and find myself covered in fresh blood. The other has his guts opened up, and the entrails are laying all around the ground next to him. "They" shove something inside his abdominal cavity, and he grows quiet. I think he's passed, when he turns his face towards me. Now I'm the one screaming. Screaming and sobbing.
The other was me.
(I awoke covered in sweat, throat hurting, tears streaming ... and swore the coppery smell of blood was still filling the room.)
"Hi, everyone. My name is That 1 Guy, and that was an actual nightmare. One of my very own. (Turns for side angle) What would cause a person to dream something like this? Good question. The answer is cheap drugs. (Front angle ... big smile) No, no, you silly people! I'm not talking about any illegal substances. What I'm talking about is generic versions of your regular cold medicines. In this case, a generic version of NyQuil.
What could be the harm in taking an off brand?
(Close up on angry face) Didn't you read the above story, moron? This stuff will mess a person up!
(Smiles once again) After this nightmare, I swore the stuff off. However, due to my current fondness for feeling ill, I resorted to taking some again. The first night wasn't too bad. I had goofy dreams, but nothing serious. Last night however, I had the same nightmare as the one above. Only this time I was able to wake up earlier. Of course, not until after one of my eyelids was cut off. Don't ask me. It just happened.
Anyway, in this glorious cold and flu season, may I recommend that you use the real deal. Settle for no cheap substitutes. Curl up with a bottle of hard liquor, and drink yourself to health. Or to your health. Whatever works for you. Cheers!"
I couldn't remember all that had happened to me, other than intense pain. I knew it wasn't good. Pain raked through my entire body, both inside and out. Hundreds of cuts and abrasions roared in agony as sweat trickled uninhibited into the wounds. There was no way of wiping the sweat away: my arms were bound tightly behind me. I think one was broken.
I had stopped fighting long ago. At first, I felt the shame. Now, I only feel the craving for death. I just want this to be over. I keep telling myself that this is only a dream, a nightmare. But everything seems to prove me wrong. I can feel the pain. I can taste the blood from my stove in face. I can smell the stench of something rotten.
One of "them" makes his way over to me. I feel at least one rib break under the hard kick to my side. He's saying something, but I can't make it out. I'm pretty sure it's English, I just can't hear much over the ringing in my skull. He grabs my hair, and twists my face to the side. (Now I know I'm dreaming... I haven't had long hair in years. I start trying to wake up.) Another man is just a few feet away, and "they" are reducing him to rags. There is something very familiar about the poor soul, but I can't see his face.
As I watch, his hand is forced open, and fingers are cut off. He just moans. No screams, just a growling moan. I'm losing it. I try to turn my head away, but once again my head is forced to the side. I try to close my eyes, only to have fingers jammed against my eyes. I open them.
One of "them" is holding a burning log. I think that "they" are going to start burning the other, touching all over with the burning stick. I'm wrong. A quick flash, a sharp gasp from the other, and his arm below the elbow is gone. Now the log is applied. "They" don't want him to bleed out. I try once again to turn away, but my face is shoved into the sand. Unable to breathe, I turn my head back to the scene. (I'm starting to cry... I can't wake up no matter how I try.) Still, the other hasn't screamed. (More goes on, but I've almost managed to escape by waking up. I'm not really aware, nor do I care about what's happening next to me.)
A warm spray, and the smell of insides brings me back to the nightmare. Now the other is screaming. I open my eyes, and find myself covered in fresh blood. The other has his guts opened up, and the entrails are laying all around the ground next to him. "They" shove something inside his abdominal cavity, and he grows quiet. I think he's passed, when he turns his face towards me. Now I'm the one screaming. Screaming and sobbing.
The other was me.
(I awoke covered in sweat, throat hurting, tears streaming ... and swore the coppery smell of blood was still filling the room.)
"Hi, everyone. My name is That 1 Guy, and that was an actual nightmare. One of my very own. (Turns for side angle) What would cause a person to dream something like this? Good question. The answer is cheap drugs. (Front angle ... big smile) No, no, you silly people! I'm not talking about any illegal substances. What I'm talking about is generic versions of your regular cold medicines. In this case, a generic version of NyQuil.
What could be the harm in taking an off brand?
(Close up on angry face) Didn't you read the above story, moron? This stuff will mess a person up!
(Smiles once again) After this nightmare, I swore the stuff off. However, due to my current fondness for feeling ill, I resorted to taking some again. The first night wasn't too bad. I had goofy dreams, but nothing serious. Last night however, I had the same nightmare as the one above. Only this time I was able to wake up earlier. Of course, not until after one of my eyelids was cut off. Don't ask me. It just happened.
Anyway, in this glorious cold and flu season, may I recommend that you use the real deal. Settle for no cheap substitutes. Curl up with a bottle of hard liquor, and drink yourself to health. Or to your health. Whatever works for you. Cheers!"
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