Strange Days

This was actually all a little disturbing, in a fun sort of way, and probably has quite a lot to do with a documentary about mental asylums I watched the other day.

Or it could be I should be in one!

--
Inside a classroom, I have a case open on my desk. My hand is hidden behind the open lid, fingers coiled around the handle of a knife. The blade is almost white in the sunlight leeching through the window. I stare across the room at the man in the white lab coat as he shouts at the people around him. I watch the little flecks of spit spray out from his mouth as he stabs his fingers into the girl's shoulder as he snarls his anger at her.

Sideways into his ribs is where I plan to stick the knife, perhaps with a little twist for that extra flourish.

Then perhaps downwards to gut the fucker.

He turns towards me, striding across the classroom knocking over desks and chairs as he bears down on me. He looms over me and I can smell his breath, count the hairs in his nostrils and see the veins bulging in his neck.

I don't hear what he says, I just smile as my hand moves, meeting only the slightest resistance as his eyes balloon open, a look of horror spreading across his face.

Gunshots from the other room.

The classroom is gone and I stand in a dark hallway. Through a doorway I can see people standing around a table, all dressed in black. One of them stands head and shoulders above the others, a giant of man, the flickering light from the failing neon tube reflecting off his dark skin. He is grinning and the air around him shivers.

I walk to the doorway and into the room. A number of people are scattered about the place, scrabbling for places to hide. Some are trying to push past me out of the room, some slither beneath the table for protection. At the far end, two figures stand pointing machine-pistols at everyone. One has a look of utter terror on his face.

The other raises his gun towards me and fires, his eyes wide with fear. People scream, but for me it's easy. I wave a hand and the air around me shimmers and the bullets deflect away, peppering the ceiling and the floor either side of me.

'That's impossible,' wails the man as his gun clicks empty.

'Not for me,' I reply. 'Or them,' I add nodding to the giant man. 'I taught them'

'Them?' he replies and then quite silently he drops to his knees and falls to his face and a short figure also dressed in black, wearing darken glasses steps from the shadows behind me. As he does so, the large man clubs the other shooter around his face and in an instant he vanishes.

The short man and the tall man step up either side of me and nod slowly. They are The Angel and The Clown. They are my enforcers, bringing my will to the world which I control. Together the Universe fears us.

And so it should.

Homeland security and the murder of fat people

Part 1:
I've murdered a pair of grotesquely fat people in their home. They were bad people and needed to die. However they need to be hidden. I find a vat of radioactive goo that will destroy their bodies. Before I have time to dump them in there, someone shows up: a family about to buy the house. I have to show them around the house, pretending that there aren't bloody handprints and spatters everywhere. I carry a rag with me that I discreetly try to wipe the blood off the walls with. Eventually the family leaves.

Part 2:
I've been apprehended by Homeland Security on unknown grounds (it's not murder, but possibly a political crime of some sort). They've strapped me down into a chair and applied electrodes to my face, so they can read my thoughts. As I sit in the chair, I find that I'm able to reverse-engineer the electrodes: my consciousness jumps from my brain into the electrodes and down into Homeland Security's database. It's visualized as a motel at night, with trees outside. I walk around in the different rooms, opening doors, wreaking as much havoc as I can. After a while I'm suddenly back in my own head: Homeland Security has decided to let me go. They've had a massive crash in their database and no longer have the information needed to keep me there. I'm wheeled out and released.

Part 3:
I'm back in the house from the first dream. I'm sitting in the tub of radioactive goo, eventually getting out because the flesh on my legs is burning away. I get out of the tub and watch as my flesh knits itself back together.

Frog Voyeur

The sun is shining and the flowers are blooming. All about the garden there is emerging greenery, creeping upwards towards the springtime skies.

Curiously, there is also a sofas arranged, at a right angle to each other, about a small pond - a rather overgrown affair with ferns and reeds growing out of it and a range of lilly pads floating on the surface. The sofas are a deep red colour, with big, squishy cushions into which I and my friends are all slumped, chatting happily in the sunshine.

Suddenly our attention switches to the pond as we see two frogs emerge onto one of the lilly pads. It becomes evident that the 'spirit' of spring is with them too, and quite quickly, they begin to energetically express their froggy love for each other, setting the lilly pad a'rocking!

We watch on, snickering quietly to each other as the little frogs go at it with a furious energy. We are however slightly surprised to see the pond transform into a beanbag, which begins to wriggle, twist and writhe with the frogs throws of passion. The net result is we dissolve into laughter as our frog couple reach the climax of their antics, and the quivering of the beanbag slows, gently twitching from time to time in their post orgasmic chill.

For those interested, I have a pond in my garden and I recently repaired the garden bench which sits next to it. As for the frogs, the water was quite literally frothing with their passion in recent times and there's a fairly epic number of tadpoles scooting about in there now!

Curiously, the froggy parents have cleared off out of the main pond into the small top pool.

I guess they're avoiding the kids.