Well it was inevitable, God came to me in a dream.

Ok this is kind of weird. I mean I always have extremely peculiar dreams. Last night I had one that really made me wonder. It wasn't the dream I had about an indestructible zombie race completely ruining my school trip (which was quite freaky) but it was the other dream I had this morning. The one about God.

Now I did see God. God wasn't a man, nor was God a woman. God was a...well it was God. I couldn't possible describe Gods appearance from my dream, nor could I describe God's voice (I'm using the word God as apposed to writing he/she/it).

So we (God and I [sounds like a cheesy musical]) were in what seemed to be hell. We were playing chess.

I was winning, for some reason (despite my real life appalling chess ability; I try but I fail) and just before I was to get God in check-mate, God started storming off.

I told God I'd make a deal, if he (sorry it's getting too difficult not to use the word 'he') was to take all of the evil from the world, I would let him win.

He agreed.

And so me and everyone else, including people who had died, watched the world change shape. There were no more massive corporation buildings. No Macdonalds (sob). No roads. No nothing.

Just hills covered in food and people.

This was great I thought. We were living in a Utopian society where there was no crime, no death, no hate, one religion (I'm not saying one particular religion is correct), no poverty, and one absolutely massive bobsleigh course (don't ask).

Plus heaven, which still existed despite there being no death (God has to live somewhere I guess) was a large bowl in the sky which, if enough people were to stand on each others shoulders, could be reached.

Anyway I thought I'd share that with you, I'm trying to get my head round whether God actually came to me in a dream, and there was a serious message (build a giant bobsleigh course?) or whether I am and have always been, completely insane.

The Hills Block's Alive with the Sound of Nazis

Ha-ha, well this was indeed quite the entertaining one, for me anyway. Quite surreal, and, as it has no specific story line (more of a series of nonsensical events) it is probably going to be quite difficult to write, and even more difficult to read. Anyway…

So, well I forget the beginning, good start, I remember from a point where I and a few friends (who will remain nameless) are walking towards the Hills block at my school. Nothing strange (yet). So we reach the building, and notice that it has suddenly turned into the nunnery from the musical ‘The Sound of Music,’ and has become over-run by Nazis. ‘Odd’ I thought, and quite rightly too. I looked around, and next to me were C3-PO and R2-D2.

That’s when some of the Nazis spotted us. ‘Erm…oh boy this is awkward. Erm, these aren’t the droids you’re looking for?’ I tried. They just looked at each other with that confused look that’s in all crappy movies. They were buying none of it. ‘Run!’ I screamed at my friends, but it was too late; they recruited us. They made us climb through the window and into the canteen/bistro bit of the Hills, in which sat a myriad of fellow pupils, who had already presumably been recruited into the army (Don’t be stupid, be a smarty, come and join the Nazi party*).

So, inside the belly of the steel beast (well, nunnery) and without a plan, I started doing the obvious thing; thinking of a plan. I had one. Escape to another part of the nunnery where the nuns would be able to help us. I signalled to my friends to follow me and we left the bistro and followed countless corridors until we reached a large courtyard. It was night time now, and as I entered the courtyard, I said, to nobody in particular; ‘Haha; ‘Rolf.’’ For no apparent reason whatsoever.

So, we found some nuns and pleaded with them to help. ‘The power of Christ compels you!’ I don’t think that swayed their decision, but they agreed to help with our escape all the same. The plan was…well at this point it was ‘Run as fast as you can.’

So, that’s what we did, well, tried to do. A nun, much in the same way as a nun in ‘The Sound of Music’ takes a part out of the Nazis car to stop it working, walked in to the room where we were with a full engine. They opened the gates (which weren’t there before) and we began to run. But something was wrong. I could not run. I saw my friends escape, much to my delight, but I couldn’t run. I turned to see the Nazis trying to get through the gates. One was shouting at a nun to open it.

So there I was, trying to run, but completely unable to, and I found myself holding a German bomb, which I threw into a bush. I smiled a self-satisfied smile, but then remembered they didn’t want the bomb in the first place, and carried on trying to run.

The Nazis broke through the gate and started chasing me. It didn’t take long for them to catch me as I had moved the whole of about ten feet. They clubbed my head and I blacked out.

When I awoke, I was aboard a plane, with two other non-Nazis, and two armed Nazis. The plane was flying just a few feet off the ground, and the field we were flying over seemed to be cultivated by some kind of plant (no doubt corn) and I was reaching my hand out of the plane and brushing my hand against the mystery plant.

In a sudden act of bravery and/or stupidity, I grabbed the other two prisoners and leapt from the plane and landed with a roll on the soft crop. The Nazis looked from the back of the plane, with a look that said; ‘We’re going to be in trouble for that, thanks a lot.’

At this point the dream gets a little hazy. A number of things happen that I can’t really remember, and if I could, I’m sure I couldn’t describe them.

So for the bits I can remember… Well, we (me and the two now-not-prisoners-thanks-to-me [although corn played a big part]) had no idea where we were, having been knocked out before put on a plane, so we decided to find sustenance. We were at what looked like a landfill site (which was next to the corn-field) by the sea, and found food in the most unlikely place.

A seagull had landed on the ground, and was busy doing seagull-y stuff when my fellow escapee grabbed it. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, ‘I’m not eating that.’

‘You won’t have to’ He said, and proceeded to scrape something off of its wings. ‘This is what we eat.’ He let the bird go and it flew across the sea. I was really confused at this point. ‘It tastes nicer if you scrape it off with an old tire’ he said, smiling, with a mouth full of…something, I have no idea what it was, but I wasn’t going to eat it.

Then, something else probably happened, but I can’t remember what, all I remember is, I woke up.

THE END

Notes:

*This is a quote from the film ‘The Producers’ and in no way do I condone any of the ideologies of the Nazi party.

Also, if you haven’t seen ‘The Sound of Music,’ this story won’t make much sense. Having said that, it doesn’t even if you have seen it.

Additional: Somebody asked me; 'Why didn't you eat the corn rather than just scrape something off of a seagull?' Simple answer; I don't like corn.

There's a Ghost Rider in my Attic!

Here’s a dream from the night of 5^th July 2007. It was weird, and when I say weird I mean weird. But do I really mean weird? *Eerie music* (Note: Probably only one person I know will have got that).

Anyway, on with the story. At this point I should probably point out that it really would help if you’ve seen the recent movie ‘Ghost rider,’ as the bad guy in this dream is reminiscent of the good guy in the film, and the first bit is similar to a part of the film where Nicholas Cage is reading a book about the Ghost Rider. But if not, it doesn’t matter. I’ll shut up.

Right, well this is a weird one. I am on the floor in my lounge (well, it’s where my lounge is in real life, but it looks like a posh person’s library, full of many leather-bound books, and the smell of rich mahogany…). I am reading a book about the legend of the Ghost Rider, written in the 1500s-ish I believe. There, in black and white, is a picture showing a flaming skeleton with a flaming Katana (Japanese ninja-sword I believe. P.S. Never confuse ninjas with samurai), and he is holding this sword to a cowering figure. But something seemed…odd. Then I realised, the cowering figure was me. Oh dear. I read the caption, ‘The Reaping of the soul, July 5^th 2007.’ Wait, that was today. According to this centuries-old book, the Ghost Rider would come for me at midnight. The time was 2340. Oh joy. I panicked. Well, so would you if your soul was just about to be harvested.

I rounded everyone up, (by everyone I mean some of my family, there was my little cousin Hollie, my mum, my Auntie Anne and my slightly-less-little cousin Jessica). Now according to the book, the Ghost Rider would arrive on a horse, so I had an idea. The attic! How the hell would he be able to get a horse up ladders and into the attic? Devious. Very Devious indeed. (This was actually a plan borne out of a real conversation I had with my friend Jack. We are constantly discussing the probability of a zombie attack, and my plan, when this happens, is to escape into the loft and live there until the zombies realise there’s not enough brains to go around, and leave and form a marching band. This is because, in all zombie movies, I’ve never once seen a zombie be able to erect a ladder, climb it, open a hatch, and get through it. Plus I would bring the ladder into the loft so they’d have to form a rudimentary pyramid, much like cheerleaders in crappy American films. Anyway, back to the crunch…).

I climbed into the attic and helped lift my cousins, Auntie, and mum into the loft. I left the ladders on the landing for some reason and closed the hatch. I then searched for the dehydrated food I had stored up there in case of a zombie attack. Knew it would come in handy. That’s when the terror started. I heard the sound of hooves on cobblestones. (This was peculiar, as there are no cobbled streets near where I live, but at least it kept with the theme). They were getting louder. I had visions of a dark figure riding slowly up the street on a black steed. This terrified me. The hooves stopped. The rider got off, (well at least that’s what it sounded like, it was like the sound that the ring-wraith made when getting off his horse in the first Lord of the Rings film, where they’re hiding under the tree root). A loud smash. The front door. ‘Ah crap.’ I said.

‘What?’ Said my mum.

‘I didn’t take into account the fact that he could get off his horse.’

‘Oh...’

That’s when things turned nasty. Well ok, not yet. ‘Right, all we need to do is stay out of sight of the hatch, and I don’t think he’ll (although I think ‘it’ would have been a more accurate description) come up, everybody hide behind something.

My mum, along with my cousin Hollie hid behind a box on the right, my Auntie Anne and my cousin Jessica hid behind a roof support on the right, and I hid behind a black, battered suitcase in the middle. I could see the hatch, but I was sure if I kept still, I wouldn’t be spotted. Even though I could not hear the Rider’s footsteps, I could tell he was getting nearer. I was worried, mainly because my cousin Hollie is three, and therefore didn’t know the seriousness of the situation, and the importance of being Ernest, I mean silent.

The hatch lifted. A robed skull rose, just to eye level, and began scanning the loft for any sign of me. I felt amazingly guilty at this point, for putting everybody else in danger, when all he wants is me. (Kind of similar to what Jack Sparrow (sorry, Captain Jack Sparrow) does when the Kraken is after him in Pirates of the Caribbean 2).

After about five minutes of excruciating stillness, silence, and glancing at my cousin just in case she was going to start talking, or cough, or anything that might give us away. She seemed strangely serene, as if she understood. That was fine by me. Well, anyway, the skull disappeared and began searching other areas of the house (I’m guessing, I couldn’t see).

That’s when, foolishly, my Auntie Anne started talking.

‘Be quiet!’ I prayed, but she just gave me a dirty look that she often gives people who dare tell her what to do. She said something, and my cousin laughed. But, instead of having a normal laugh, a laugh that echoed around the whole house was let out from her. I knew this meant trouble. The hatch lifted again, but instead of just the top of the skull protruding into the attic, the figure rose, and saw me behind the suitcase. He threw the suitcase aside and drew his Katana (the one from the picture), but, much to my joy, it was not flaming, just an ordinary Katana wielded by an ordinary Skeleton ready to harvest my regular soul, as predicted in a regular 500 year old book. Anyway…he pointed at me in the way Nicholas Cage points at everyone in Ghost Rider (He seems unable to point right, his hand goes like the Hand of God on the Sistine chapel ceiling, but I don’t think that’s on purpose). I looked to my right, and saw, quite handily, a Katana of my own, again, not flaming, sadly. I drew it out of its sheath, and locked swords with the Ghost Rider. We had a fierce battle, swords flailing, but I seemed to manage to match every swing from this clear sword master. Until he got me. (I have already said in another dream I can feel pain in my dreams, and this was the worst. My body wanted me to wake up, but I refused to give in to the agony, and carried on anyway). I got angry and started hacking at his sword (much in the way Luke Skywalker does when he gets really angry at Darth Vader). I got his stomach (well, where his stomach would be if he wasn’t a skeleton…). I kept hacking at his stomach until, with the look of fear and surprise struck his face and he began retreating towards the hatch. He climbed down the ladders, still looking at me as if I was some kind of sorcerer (he obviously wasn’t used to getting beaten), and I took one last swing, and, thinking I had missed, was shocked when the blade of the Katana detached itself from the handle and flew at him, sticking in his shoulder.

I wanted to kill him, more than anything. But I knew to take it further would be foolish. He fled, back on to his horse and galloped as fast as he could into the night sky, sword still in his shoulder. I regretted not destroying him whilst I had the chance, but it was too late, he wouldn’t be harvesting my soul for a while. I laughed, and smiled, then, I woke up.

THE END

Fiddling on the Roof

Ok, so here’s a quickie from the other day. Quite disturbing to experience, and in truth the only reason that it was a short dream was because I forced myself to wake up before it turned bad.

So, well this is a bit hazy in my memory. We (me and an Asian middle aged woman, yes fully clothed, in a suit actually, she seemed to be some kind of legal person, but just what I have no idea) were walking in the grounds of a large mansion, we had obviously just exited from the building and were talking about the events that had happened inside.

‘So do you think we’ll get the permit then?’ I asked, although I had no idea what the permit was for. I remember looking to my left as I was walking along the gravel path, and looking at some carefully sculpted hedges, representing cherubs firing arrows with hearts for arrowheads. You know the kind; you see them on crappy Valentines Day cards. Anyway, I digress.

So we (the woman and I) entered her car, her driving and me in the back in the seat behind the driver. She turned and gave me a reassuring smile, reassuring what exactly I’m not sure, probably something to do with the afore-mentioned ‘permit.’

So I put on my seatbelt (I want to be safe, even if it is a dream), and we set off. As we start to drive along the long, gravelly driveway, suddenly things get very nightmare-ish. My vision darkens. The sky blackens. Day turns to night. Sunshine turns to rain.

Suddenly the car speeds up and the driver woman disappears, and before I know it I can see from the point of view of the car (like you can in some driving games etc…). I drive forwards and try to get out of the driveway of the mansion (now resembling a haunted house).

As I sped forwards, suddenly I felt a breeze against my face, as if I had been thrown out of the front of the car (going faster than the car, obviously, otherwise I’d have been hit/gone behind the car). Then I realised I was back as the human version of me, and I flew through the air and landed face first in the gravel. My cheek scraped along the gravel and I could feel it bleeding.

I could feel a presence behind me. So without looking back I got up and started to run towards the gate of the mansion that lead to a dense forest (ah, clichés. I have a really good cliché at the end actually; and I woke up, and it was all a dream…not to ruin it or anything). So as I was running to the gate, an idea struck me: ‘I know, why I don’t fly out?’ So, with a lot of concentration, I started to hover, but a feeling of dread crept over me. I wasn’t controlling where I was going. I felt like I was out of control, and was worried where it was whatever it was that was controlling me would take me. I had started heading back to the house.

I was flying up the side of the house now, with large windows up the whole height of the building. My vision was extremely blackened at this point, as I was trying my best to wake myself up right now. In each window there was a different figure staring at me.

In one there was the girl from the exorcist grinning demonically at me, in another were the two ghost girls from The Shining, and the last window before I reached being level with the roof was the body of the Asian woman from the start of the dream, hanging from a rafter, smiling, and staring at me (it was one of the soul chilling-est things I’ve ever seen, even in my dreams).

At this point I was panicking. ‘I’ve got to wake up!’ I kept thinking. I was looking up at the roof, flying up. Something was up there, I could feel it. Whatever it was would be the worst thing I’ve ever seen, I’m sure of it, so I rose up to nearly the height of the building, I was ready to scream like I’ve never screamed before, and as I reached roof level, so close…I woke up. Phew.

Notes

It’s really difficult to create the atmosphere I felt, because obviously I have nothing to compare it to, so the dream on paper seems a lot less effective than in real life.

Murder, Mopeds and Sambuka Pate

Ah sleep, presenter of ideas, revealer of motives, shower of true feelings…

Ok I’ll shut up and start the story. This dream happened the morning of 22^nd June, between about 9 and 10 am, as I woke up at 9 and went back to sleep (which is when I have most of my dreams). So here it is. Well here is what I remember of it…

Setting the scene, hmmm…it’s difficult to set the scene really as I don’t start with a place, but rather by getting thrown out of a speeding car on to the side of a dusty road. Around me there is nothing, I can see no landmarks, geographical features, buildings, settlements, any sign of human intervention whatsoever, except for the road. And the only sign of nature I see is sand (natural sand) and some small shrubs and plants growing out of the deserty (not a word) wasteland.

So I start to hear a faint buzzing noise, much like that of a moped with a person on it…so I turn around and see, quite unexpectedly, a girl coming towards me on a moped. The girl is someone who (I don’t really know) works where I work, and I see her pretty much every time I’m at work.

Now the first weird thing I noticed was that her moped happened to have bicycle-style handlebars at the front. Hmmm…weird. The second thing I noticed was the large dead body strewn across these handlebars (for some reason the out-of-place handlebars seemed more peculiar than the decomposing corpse).

Well, what happens next is pretty obvious. I’m trying to get a ride, and she has one. Simple. I signal her to stop, but she made the ‘I can’t hear you’ gesture, by putting her hand up to her ears. So I shouted for her to stop and when she wouldn’t I ran out into the middle of the road and pushed her off the moped.

She screamed at me. Well so would you if some weirdo who you had only seen briefly has just nearly killed you.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ She screamed.

‘Never mind me,’ I said, ‘Why the hell do you have a dead body sprawled across your handlebars!?’

‘I…I just killed him. I’m going somewhere out of the way to dispose of the corpse, so the cops don’t find out.’

‘Oh yeh, because it doesn’t seem in the least bit freaking conspicuous with a ROTTING CORPSE ON YOUR HANDLEBARS YOU RETARD!!!!!’

‘Erm…’ she seemed shocked from this sudden outburst, ‘can you help me get rid of it?’

A sudden wave of nonchalance swept over me. ‘Sure I can, just follow me, I know what we can do with it.’

So, I did what I always do, I turned around. And, in my vision there is an old, rusted, perhaps even derelict building. It wasn’t there before but I’m sure there was a reasonable explanation for it appearing suddenly.

I unlocked the large, white door and stepped inside. The interior was not exactly unlike a certain classroom at school, with fully fitted smelting pot (a device I made up, which is a large pit used to melt metal down), a place to make sand moulds in (which is where you make a shape in the sand, pour the metal in, it sets, then you take out the shape).

So, I said, ‘Right, we can kill two guys with one stone here, you fucked up your handlebars when you put a dead guy on them, AND you have a dead body on your hands. So here’s what we do. We throw the body into the smelting pot (which was merrily bubbling away) with some metal, you make a sand casting for some new handlebars, we pour in the metal/dead guy mixture into the mould, we reattach the handlebars we’ve just made onto your bike, and bob’s your zombie. You can then ride off, and none of this will ever have happened.’

‘Right.’ She replied, seeming a little confused, but also relieved that I seemed to know what I was doing.

She heaved the body onto the edge of the smelting pot, which was already nearly filled with molten metal, glowing white hot.

‘Erm,’ she began, ‘I don’t want to throw it in, can you do it?’

I sighed an all knowing sigh and threw the body into the pit. The guy, it turned out, wasn’t dead at all, but comatose, and woke up just before he melted to death. I can still hear his screams echoing around my head today. Ouch.

So, enough of that. We took the newly formed metal/person handlebars out of the mould and fixed them to her moped. Well I did anyway.

So at this point you may be thinking, ‘well, he hasn’t turned around to find something random in a while,’ so this is what I did next. As I turned round a bar had materialized, fully fitted with taps, glasses, and a mustachioed bar man.

I turned to the girl and told her to go get us some Sambuka to celebrate our victory against the law. We fought the law and we won. Truly.

So, she went to the bar and came back with a plate of toast and a tub of something that looked suspiciously like pate.

‘What the hell is that?’ I asked.

She replied; ‘Well, as neither of us are 18, the barman would only serve us the alcohol in pate form.’

‘Oh…’ I said, nonplussed. And I proceeded to spread the newly invented Sambuka pate on the toast, and I ate it. Naturally*.

So, we (the girl and I) finished up our toast and proceeded outside. She got back on her bike and said goodbye, to which I returned a brief smile and a wave, and she set off. I went back to hitch-hiking, and I saw a pack of dogs running past me, obviously smelling the decomposing meat on the handlebars of the moped.

I carried on down the road with a strange, self-satisfied smile on my face, wondering why I didn’t get a lift with the girl, and I began joyfully whistling.

Then, I woke up.

The end.

Notes

I should probably point out that I seem to be able to feel in my dreams. Hot, cold, pleasure, pain, you name it (albeit perhaps a reduced version of the feeling), and, I have to say, Sambuka Pate is gorgeous and I only wished it existed outside my dreams.

Disclaimer: Sambuka pate is a copyrighted idea of Sam Moulson inc. and anyone who attempts to recreate the ideas in this story is an idiot.

The Good, the Bad, and Me

Well, as far as I can remember, here’s what happened;

Ok, in my vision, there’s a bridge. An extremely…wooden bridge. The scene is clearly reminiscent of the bridge scene from ‘The Good the Bad and the Ugly.’ (TGTBTU). At the beginning of the dream, the plan was to blow up the bridge, much in the style of Tuco and Blondie from TGTBTU. Only instead of Clint Eastwood and Eli Wallach standing there, it is me, and somebody else (either I do not recognise them or I cannot remember them. Let’s call them (a) for the purposes of this). We were dressed in what only can be described as traditional cowboy outfits, complete with hats, jackets, six-shooters in our holsters and high boots fitted with spurs.

Somehow, I have managed to travel back in time, and (a) and I are stuck in the middle of the American civil war*. There were layered bunkers on a hill, with an army dressed all in blue* (as far as I can gather, the two armies in the American civil war were the Union and the Confederates. One of these armies dressed in blue, the other in Grey, which was which I am not sure. This is again reminiscent of the film TGTBTU). (a) and I climbed the hill, between the trenches, to retrieve a box of explosives which had been placed upon a stretcher*. We took the explosives down to the bridge, with musket and cannon fire going off all around us. We made it down to the bridge and into the water, where we waded and began to plant the explosives* (which seemed to be Dynamite). This was then laid along the main struts of the bridge*.

This is when I looked up at the bridge. I could see the blue-coats crossing from one side and the grey-coats from the other, they were meeting in the middle, fighting, a lot of the men were killed, falling off the sides of the bridge and into the river. I looked back at what I was doing (planting the explosives) then glanced back up at the bridge. There were no more men trying to cross, no more guns being fired. I looked over at the blue army. They were stood behind the trenches, just pointing their guns at the other army. The greys were doing the same, but from a rudimentary log cabin, but their army seemed considerably smaller. There seemed to be some kind of cease-fire, but I could not understand why.

I finished laying the explosives, like in the film, but unlike in the film I then crossed the river and crawled on to the bank before setting off the explosives. I watched as the bridge exploded and hundreds of dead bodies flew out into the river. I turned around (still on the floor) and I realised that both me and (a) were dressed, not in the cow-boy costumes as in the beginning of the dream, but in the uniform of the blue army (which did not seem like a good idea, as we just crossed over to the grey side of the river).

I crawled up the river-bank to be greeted by approx 4 or 5 grey-coats, stood in a long cut out window of a log cabin, all holding muskets (or some type of rifle, anyway). One of these rifles was aimed at me. The guy behind the rifle looked very young (around 18-19ish) and he looked very nervous. He, like all the rest of these people, was dressed completely in grey. I knew I was going to get shot if I didn’t say something. I mean a Blue-coat on the grey side of the river? ‘Erm…’ I said, ‘the reason I’m dressed like this is because...I’m a spy, yes that’s it, a spy…’ I laughed nervously. The grey-coat lowered his rifle. They seemed to accept my extremely poor excuse for an excuse. The other 3-4 men seemed to be older, grey-haired as well as grey-clothed. They beckoned me inside. I walked inside. It seemed well lit (which must have been difficult with no electric lights, but it was still light). Inside were the elderly grey-coats from outside, only now they were dressed as cow-boys.

One of the cowboys handed me a guitar. I started playing a few chords. Somehow this acoustic guitar sounded like an electric guitar. I played a guitar solo. The cowboys stared at me as if I’d gone crazy. ‘I guess you’re not ready for that yet’ (a very well implemented reference to the film ‘Back to the Future’ when Michael J Fox plays a hard-rock guitar riff to a crowd of 50’s teenagers, who haven’t been introduced to heavy metal yet). I thought that was it. I thought they were going to shoot me there and then. But they didn’t.

******Bit omitted, due to bad memory*******

That’s when, I woke up. I walked over to the window, and looked outside. I could barely see anything, and what I could see was upside down. ‘Oh Crap, what the hell’s happened?!’ I screamed. Now I was really confused, because I was convinced I was awake. But then something happened that explained it. I woke up.

Notes:

* = a reference to the film The good the bad and the ugly

The Vampire Fist-Fighter from the Future

So this is a dream I had last night (well this morning to be precise), and it kind of creeped me out a bit. It was not just the amount of blood, and the extensive use of the colour red that did it, it was more the feelings that I felt whilst I was dreaming it. So here it is. Well here is what I can remember of it…

So I’ll set the scene. This is going to be difficult. Right…

The atmosphere is very…atmospheric. The entire interior of this building is made of metal. Red, rusted metal. Smoke fills the room like a fat person fills a pair of jogging shorts. It is difficult to see because of the lack of light and the amount of smoke (appearing, apparently, from nowhere, as nobody in the room is smoking). The room is extremely claustrophobic, and there is (or at least there is an impression that there is) many people. In the middle of the room there is a square counter (sort of like a bar, but without any taps, and square…so nothing like a bar, more like a counter). The entire ‘counter’ is caged off with more of the red, rusted steel that seemed to plague the place in the same way that Reality TV plagues cable.
There were people inside the cage (this started out as maybe two or three people, but they mysteriously disappeared, leaving just one person). The person left inside the cage was an attractive girl, about my age. It might have been someone I know but I’m not too sure, all I can remember about her was she was blonde, fair skinned and attractive.
She was working inside the cage, taking pieces of paper from the ruffians that had cultivated in the room and stamping them. I could not tell what was on the paper, nor what was on the stamp. It must have been important as a lot of shady characters seemed to want these non-descript pieces of paper stamped (with a non-descript stamp).
I looked around. The people in here were stereo-typical biker types; Big, strong and hairy. Although (and I’m trying to work out why) across the cage from me, in a queue, was Jar Jar Binks (For those of you who don’t know who this is, he is a strange creature from the newest Star Wars films. The kind of thing that could easily turn dreams into nightmares).

So now the scene is set (at last), so this is what happened…

One of the massive biker-types (although this one was massively more massive that the rest of them) walked up to the counter next to me, and began talking to the girl behind the counter (which I had just been talking to about something I can’t remember, I don’t think it’s important though) there was something odd about the way he talked to her, something very…odd. Then I realized he was talking to her in a foreign language. Neither of us (‘us’ being the girl and me) could understand a word of what he was saying, but I could tell the language was either French or Italian. It didn’t seem to matter what he was saying, however, because as soon as the girl took the piece of paper off of him and stamped it, he began to walk away. I said to the girl “Was he French or Italian do you think?”
“I’m not sure” she replied, so I shouted after the man; “Au Revoir!”
He stopped and he turned, but not to me, to the girl behind the counter. He spake through the cage to her, in an extremely recognizable French accent.
“Do I look like I’m French? Do I look like I drink wine and wear bells in my hair?” (That didn’t make much sense, plus, he hardly had any hair). Then he turned to me.
“Oh crap” I thought, but didn’t have time to say it as he picked me up and threw me against the wall. He grabbed me again before I had time to get up and took me towards the bathroom. He kicked the door of the bathroom down and threw me inside. I got up and started to think of a plan. I was walking away from him with my back to him (slightly too nonchalantly considering the circumstances). I thought “Ok, maybe I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.” I looked up my sleeve. I didn’t have any tricks, but I did have a watch. (Just in case you’re interested, the watch showed twenty to five [I believe]). I thought of a plan, but it involved some preparation. “Ok” I started “Let’s make it fair. We each have one minute to get ready and then…” I was cut off mid-sentence by him grabbing my shoulders from behind and lifting me up and throwing me into the wall.
“I want a fair fight!” I screamed.
“Tough luck” he said, (by this point, his French accent has mysteriously disappeared). Then, suddenly, something happened that I didn’t expect to happen; He held me by the scruff of the neck, a clear few feet off of the floor, lifted his arm back to hit me, and I kicked him in the shin with what seemed like very little force, but for some reason he spiralled through the air and smashed into the opposite wall. He was barely conscious, laying on the floor, hardly moving. The blow had obviously hit him hard.
I went over to him and right-hooked him in the face. Although, as with the kick, I didn’t seem to be put any effort into hitting him, he went flying again, this time knocking down about three cubicle walls.
As he was getting up I jumped up and smashed his head between my foot and the wall. (This felt bad. I felt extremely angry, more than I can ever remember being). Blood was streaming down his face and his eyes were like two bulging globes of blood. I could not see any pupils, iri, or anything else in his eye sockets except for deep, blood red. It filled me with fear that I’d hurt him, but also with anger that he was still alive.
He started to move. By now he was face down on the floor trying to crawl towards something to haul himself up with. I could tell he was nearly dead.
“Ready to give up yet?” I laughed.
“Bastard” he said, well, tried to say, but I got the picture. I picked him up by his head and swung for him. He went through a large window which was on the bottom wall of the bathroom. I walked over to the window and I realized that I was in a large industrial zone, in what seemed to be an abandoned skyscraper (well it had the feeling of being abandoned, but obviously it wasn’t, I was in it). Everything around me had a blood red iron look to it, and the sky was red and polluted. It felt like a very bleak (and probably a ‘not so far from the truth’) vision into the future.

Now I need to fast forward 20 minutes (according to my watch anyway) and there were a few more people with me in the bathroom (Hello, sailor. No not like that). Now though, you wouldn’t have been able to tell it was ever a bathroom, as it had been demolished completely, (mostly from my fight, but the rest seemed to be taken apart by the people who were in the bathroom with me now). There were two people standing side by side, one was the large man I had recently thrown out of a window, only now he was wearing dark, circular glasses (presumably to cover up the balls of blood that once were eyes), and the other was a shorter, completely bald guy, about thirty-ish, staring straight ahead. The large man spoke; “Where did you learn to fist fight that well?”
“I don’t know” I lied, looking at my hand. I was expecting to see bruised knuckles after hitting that guy so hard, but my hands were completely unscathed. For some reason this thought entered my head: “Maybe I should tell them that I’m part robot. Never mind, I’ll let them figure it out for themselves.” I continued out loud; “Oh just one thing, I can turn into a bat.”
“What? Yeah right.” The fat man laughed.
“Look, I’ll show you.” I began to run forwards and leapt up into the air, and I felt my body changing. My vision became blurred and suddenly I could see everything as if looking through a red filter. I flew around a bit and circled the bathroom. Then my vision became filled with more and more red until all I could see was red. Followed by black. Then I woke up.


Notes
Ok, just a couple of things to add…
There are certain words in the story which may seem made up. There are two that I can remember; ‘Spake’ and ‘Iri’. Now let me explain, just in case you don’t get it. Spake is another word for ‘spoke’ (i.e. the past version of ‘to speak’) and I decided to use it just because it sounds better (in my opinion). The other word; Iri, is the plural of the word ‘Iris’ (the coloured bit of your eye), and I made use of my amazing pluralisation rules to come up with this word.
One other thing is that, due to my fantastically unique grasp and usage of the English language, some sentences or features of the story may seem to make no sense whatsoever, but, if you’re me, it all makes sense. So any ‘mistakes’ you may see within the story are completely on purpose and not a mistake of my writing at all, but your reading.

If you managed to read it all, well done, and stay tuned.