Mzzkc's Mind Games

In memoriam.

??.??.2011

Death (Of a Friend) (DILD)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID



Fog encases the night, as I float there, hovering just above the street. Lights, headlamps, stream in from either side, a slow procession of ghastly vehicles, barely visible in chill, dry air.

I'm fading.

“Interesting, aren't they?” A voice speaks out in the dark, calling me back to the dream.

Tensing, I turn to see a mass of formless darkness, floating just beside me. An enemy, I conclude.

“Relax,” it says, “It's not like you can do anything to me, anyways.”

Is that. . . a grin. . ? Definitely a grin.

“Watch me.”

I cut away from myself, manipulating my most basic thought, the structure of the dream, calling, summoning. . . creating death. The manifestation of my intent appears, taking the form of a reaper, scythe and all.

“Ha, you can't kill me,” it says almost jovially as the reaper's scythe cuts down and I throw in the final touches, the final pattern, instantly wiping the mass of darkness, and whatever sentience it held, into non-existence. . .

He never knew what hit him.

Note: This entry marks an end to this formatting style. Expect changes down the line.

22.3.2011

Moonlit Mafia (Non-lucid)

★★★★☆

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Tall grass blows gently outside the locomotive, as the passengers spill onto the tracks. The train has stopped, some sort of malfunction the conductor says.

We have no choice.

By the end of the night, this dark, gravely track must be drenched in blood, deep and red.

“But who?” we wonder amongst ourselves, three groups, one innocent, the others not. In time the answer becomes clear: we'll vote, and the one we vote for will die by all our hands.

My group, my family of mafioso, begins planning, talking in hushed whispers within compartments, between train-cars. Our plan is a complex one, and it'll be hard to pull off, but the potential benefits outweigh the risks.

Step one, talk with the leader of the other mafia group, our enemies, convince him to join us and vote for the charismatic innocent riling up what would otherwise be sheep to our slaughter. He agrees, and the plan goes forward.

Step two, put forward our votes, and make contact with the leader of the innocents. Let him know we're on his side, as long as he votes for the leader of our enemy. He does, and before it's too late, we all switch our votes.

It's done. I think, grinning, as our victim is forcefully dragged away, into the swaying grass, where soon he'd struggle no more.

______________

I'm shot.

Dragging myself across the city street, I feel the hole in my chest, my lung. I sense the wet blood on my back, seeping through my blue dress shirt, mixing with the dirt and dust, still falling to the ground.

“Boss. . .” I spatter, reaching my hand up to the man in the purple suit and fedora walking away from me, revolver in hand. He turns, as I violently hack up blood onto the cold rocky ground. A raise of the arm, a pull of his finger, and another piece of molten lead fires into my back.

Everything fades to black.