The Freakiest Fucking Dream I Ever Had

I know, there are few things less interesting than other people’s dreams. Why would you possibly care? You wouldn’t. Which is why I’m going to continue on.

So this is a few years back, the last time I was big into lucid dreaming, an activity I highly recommend to everybody, because it’s fun, it’s free, and oh yeah, you can fucking fly!

Anyhow, I’m at bat in a softball game. Or maybe it was baseball. It’s a meaningless distinction in my dream world. I notice that the pitcher is kind of warping back and forth between the mound and 2nd base, and for some reason that strikes me as odd. I think, “wait a minute…DREAM!!” And then I manage to pull off the tricky part, which is, of course, not waking up. Newly aware, I wander away from the game, not caring if my team wins or loses. Why would I want to play baseball when I can now do literally anything. Also, if I’m on the team, these people obviously don’t give a shit about winning anyway.

As I’m walking, I remember reading a thing on a lucid dreaming site (in waking life that is, lucidity being awesome that way) that said you should look at the sky in your dreams, and I’m like, “Hey, maybe I should look at the sky!” So I look up, and it’s breathtaking. The sky is a late-dusk shade of darkish blue, full of astonishingly bright stars, and several bunches of lengthy, sheer, translucent strips of pale yellow fabric, each maybe 18″ wide. They blow and flow in a gentle breeze, extending from just above the ground to vanishing points on the shell of the sky. I’m happy that this moment, so serene and surreal, will forever be imprinted in my memory. I cannot say the same about the events that soon transpired.

After gazing at the sky for somewhere between a moment and an eternity, I look down to find a path, a mosaic of impossibly smooth, glassy, black stones, each reflecting specular highlights in the whateverlight. I follow the path, and it leads to a small village of what seem to be handcrafted wood cabins.

Standing in front of one of these cabins was Hot Demon Girl. And man, she was a sight to behold (and why wouldn’t she be, this is my dream after all). Her skin was a deep red, and she wore a black leather one-piece that split down the front, each half covering little more than the nipples of her large-but-not-freakishly-so, gravity-defying  breasts. The leather joined just above the crotch to dip snugly between voluptuous thighs (and those, hips…damn!), coming up the back to cover not much of a perfectly formed, plump, fleshy ass the likes of which only exist in dreams and occasionally on Univision. Small horns protruded from beneath long hair of the darkest shade that never existed, and a remarkably stunning face was defined by generous, visibly moist lips and black eyes that pierced me to the bone. Her magnificence was only slightly betrayed by a demeanor and facial expression which implied that my existence, while merely a nuisance, was still utterly contemptible.

I knew immediately I had to talk to this woman. She spoke first as I approached. “Do you know what the road to Hell is paved with?”

Hey, I think I know this one! “Good intentions?”

“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “Human flesh.” She raised her left arm, and dangling from her exquisite, blood-drenched fingers was a long, thick, sloppy strip of person meat. Skin and hair were on one side, loose muscle and veins on the other, and chunky yellow fat in between. It dripped blood and quivered sickeningly as she lifted it. It had clearly been torn—there were no signs of precision here—from an unfortunate soul in an act of horror that’s better left unimagined, and the accompanying odor of filth, rot, and death was overpowering.

A voice inside my head screamed, “Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!” with animalistic fear. I followed its advice.