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( ) EX LIBRIS ( )
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P E A R L
As of writing, this is by far the absolute worst. By this point, my brain has understood the assignment: come up with the worst things imaginable. We got necrophilia, bestiality and a lot of gore. This is nasty stuff, somehow even worse than the dead kids, globs of raw pork coated in chocolate and that one guy bent into a flesh chair.
With any good horror tale (told involuntarily and recalled like a soon-to-be-corpse), these are not especially representative of myself as a person. I write what I see, no matter how disturbing. However, I want to stress that I'm not going to demand you look at them if you don't want to, nor am I going to tease you on your way out. So, if the themes of these entries are way too intense, try some of the earlier pages for something lighter and sillier.
"I hear trolls. I'm sorry Mother." - Viranus Donton
I was sitting on the floor of my home office ripping fish into shreds and putting them into bins. A few little fish escaped and I had to go round my office grabbing them as they flopped about. Sometimes I'd squeeze one and watch as white slime squelched from its poor anus.
A bunch of Augusts (yes, multiple) were trying to bring down an Augomet. Augomet is a seperate character in Dancing with the Dead, being the dream manifestation of Rozzlyn, who dislikes August and everything he represents in the waking world. August and Augomet appear almost identical, minus the horns, hooves, tail and fuzzy pocket-penis. Compared to his boorish and pampered counterpart, Augomet is a sadist who relishes in turning Rozzlyn into heavy-handed visual symbolism. Last time he checked, he almost dipped her in a vat of fondue. But now onto the dream. Augomet didn't regard them much, but after a few jabs of their spears, recognised that his nap time would be somewhat interrupted by this. In response, he punted one with a cloven hoof, swallowed another whole and captured the rest as his sex slaves. They were all fine with this, even the two he apparently killed. So, agreeing to a truce, they did many things. They engaged in various sex acts, ranging from massaging his giant penile sheath, to letting him sit on them and rubbing his fat fucking belly (with an August apparently cosy inside). It was essentially a giant clone orgy and then I woke up.
I was captured by a vampire cult with a base in an overgrown, overcast, gloomy park. I was passed cages full of victims as their leader, a seven-foot behemoth in a cream suit, bragged about having them. He called them vain, then followed with how everyone was going to suffer once they played his game, which was literal. I called him out as a hypocrite, and suddenly I woke somewhere else in the field, under some bushes. I guessed immediately that he'd thrown or beaten me and that I had a concussion, but wondered why I wasn't dead. I got out from the bushes and saw his henchmen dragging out his limp body. Someone had saved me before he could flatten me.
I was in an underwater haunted fortress with other survivors, seemingly a game where I could respawn. Had to hide with a girl at a slumber party and kill a possessed Furby as a noob enemy.
Humanity was trying to wipe itself out, and who was to blame them? The sky was a dim polluted green, animals were going extinct in their millions, infrastructure had deteriorated so badly I'm sure they forgot how to invent the wheel. Anyone trying to improve anything was tortured, which had been reinterpreted into a holy act. I wandered the snowy wastes, trees jutting like desiccated limbs in the endless cold. Nobody appeared to be around, at most I saw corpses gathered around a small frozen pond. To its left, I found a ruined house. However, as if to apologise for the prior entry, this dream broke its character in the best way a dream can. My mother appeared and asked me, while we stood in a ruined shack, roof caved in, floor coated in six inches of polluted snow...what I wanted for breakfast. Then I woke up.
I was in a shadowed patch of forest with a pack of wolves, all with white fur. For some godforsaken reason, I copulated with all of them. That's all I'll say about that one.
Prior to this sleep, I'd read Anil Aggrawal's Necrophilia: Forensic and Medico-legal Aspects and then followed that up by looking at pictures of corpses on the internet. I asked for demons from the pit, so my subconscious delivered.
I was in my garden for a rarely-taken dose of direct sunlight. Only the grass was riddled with holes of all sizes, and in them were the dismembered limbs of many women. These corpses were in various states of decomposition. Some resembled waterlogged bodies, skin glossy and pliable with gaped mouths and hollowed eyes. Others looked more traditionally bloated, while others were fresher, yet to even enter Livor mortis. However, what provoked my horror was not the sight of the dead, but the living with them. Groups of unkempt men had come here the sole purpose of gathering and raping these corpses. The acts ranged from what I’d read of, the fondling seen in less aggressive necrophiles to the forced oral violating of many severed heads. As I drew nearer, they looked up from their holes and stared hatefully at me. I woke before any could make a move.
I was flying through a forest of giant trees with an umbrella. It was twilight, with a sparkling purple sky and pink glow on everything I saw. As I flew, I landed into nests and befriended flocks of parrots and corvids. I'd touch by lakesides and fields, until I remembered civilisation existed and decided I hated it. I then proceeded to enter a town (as miserably English as one can get) and fly all over the place. People scattered at the sight of me, terrified of this flittering portent of death that approached them. The birds followed suit, and at one point, a tiny cockatiel hijacked a forklift and drove it through the streets while I sat nonchalantly. We ran over several people, many of them women and children. The killing then escalated into a town-wide fire, presumably claiming more lives while we flew back home as if nothing happened.
I was in a candlelit bedroom at what I recall was three in the morning. There I was desperately trying to summon a vampire by flipping open a thick tome full of noodles, stabbing it with a fork and putting them in a bowl. I thought it'd work because I recalled The Lost Boys. He did not arrive.
I saw August with a total facial evulsion, lying in an open casket. Unlike my intended coloration for my story's vampires, his flesh was an incredibly saturated red. He was surrounded by moths, presence like an undead beelzebulb. His body was grotesquely bloated yet he did not seem to be in pain. His lidless eyes stared directly at me, rotting, oozing. Curious. I felt unsettled, but attracted to him.
I was playing a game where I was watching a Victorian style house, but its dead owner, a ghost scientist with huge claws, was trying to kill me. It'd alternate between first person and top down, and I'd free other, friendlier ghosts who hated him and wanted to kill him. These were his past victims, people that I could end up like. Unfortunately their zeal did not translate to skill, they were completely incompetent and near-impossible to organise. The dream ended during one of his ambushes, scattering many of my ghost friends all over the floors.
I owned a tower staffed by two muscular monster men. One resembled a melanistic werewolf with elaborate dreadlocks and the other a snow leopard with blue eyes. They were roughly seven feet tall. Both vied for my attentions and affections, and I felt deeply attracted to them in return. The wolf was more boisterous while the leopard was measured, speaking in a soft, syrupy manner. The wolf carried a lot of hand axes, while the leopard carried a spear. I was tired of the outside world, and having suffered several gibberish-flavoured nightmares before this session, ready to stay in my tower. For context, I had to fight several cult members, who happened to be children wielding sharpened sticks. After escaping them, I retreated to an island fortress only to watch a fourteen-foot tall Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa karate-kick someone into a wall. But back to my refuge. It had a gothic victorian aesthetic, clad in blacks, purples and silvers. I ascended a winding staircase to my rooms. I had several padded rooms for any prisoners I took, padded to stop them from harming themselves before whatever nefarious ideas my henchmen had in mind. I ended the dream by hugging the both of them, relieved to be away from it all, only to remember the cultists lived a stone's throw away from me.
I was in a crowded jazz club. It resembled a dusty library, with a mixture of bookshelves and mounted vinyl records. The smell in the air was musty with foxed pages, but carried an underlying sweetness of brandy. I was quite content here, but suddenly, Dave Brubeck appeared with his entire band. They immediately started Take Five, and Dave took two of the drummer's sticks and did this insane solo all by himself. Everyone (myself included) went ballistic at the sight of this, but he responded in kind by pretending to drag one of his bandmates by his tie. I'd describe it like the motions of a mime, and his bandmate followed suit by pretending to choke and die. The others just kept going as Brubeck then dragged him down the aisle while we were screaming "SACRI-FICE! SACRI-FICE! SACRI-FICE!". Then I woke up.