Beefteeth

(This is a portion of a vivid dream that I had. It was some sort of play or movie that I was viewing at the time. This excerpt was spoken over a series of random images, sometimes correlating to what was being said. I may have a a bit of this copied down wrong, but I still remember this almost perfectly.)

Excerpt from Scalpman

As I examined the scalp of an older man
I felt his dying breath pass my hand.
The tangibleness of his essence confounded my inner thoughts as I now strolled through the snssispsing fields. It looked as if it would be a good yield this spring. My head had told me that if I was to accept this offering, I was to find a suitable orifice in which to store the now stale and rusty lock box. This box existed only between scalpman and myself, so I was sure that it was of some moderate value. One might intend on unlocking such treasures, but I was of a keener mindset as I discovered, in that singular moment, that I was alive.

Gripping the soul of a man who was either deceased or erased from my reality, I hurried along to the well, somewhere near the center of the fields. I threw one last glance behind my shoulder, towards the ruins that I had become quite familiar with. A mother that I never believed I knew. That place knew me. We shared a connection of an increasingly uncertain nature. This was her will. I was merely a vessel. I had never felt more free in my life. As my body was no longer mine, my mind was more willing to comply to my demands. I had control as I reached the well, dripping with a sweet nectar that my pores had so thoughtfully provided. I was doing something very important, she said, as I was flung into the well, package in hand. My last thoughts were of doubt and regret, which were swiftly and rightfully extinguished.