It is said that dreams can be a good source of inspiration for writing. In my case, they're the kind of dreams that stick with you to the point that they drive you to the brink of insanity. For the longest time, my dreams have been have varied from the mundane and the weird to the downright disturbing. The scary thing is that, when I experience them, I mistake them for reality. Suppose I have a chat with the girl of my dreams for the first time in the world of the unconscious. I would then be tricked by that dream into believing that she actually has an interest in me when she doesn't in the real world. I would ask her about the chat that happened "yesterday", and she'd ask back, "What chat?" Over the years, I have dreamt about stuff such as: being in an insane asylum; being attacked by SUV-sized bees; faces being pulled apart by meat hooks and revealing the still-living bloody skull underneath; an unconscious woman getting her eye gouged out by a spider and NOT REACTING; ejaculating blood; lizard creatures in sewers; a mentally-broken birth mother of a child given up for adoption, talking to me through fuzzy surveillance footage; a girl dropping dead after being stabbed by a spiked alien; a bunch of Akira-esque blobs screaming in pain, being dunked in semen from sacs dangling from the ceiling as pulsating veins spread through the floor like water.
Damn. My friend actually says I have a genuine taste in Nightmare Fuel.
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Yes, I'm still alive.