You may never feel as alone as you do in the middle of the night; lying in bed in your darkened room. You stare at the minimal light shining onto your ceiling through the window. Once in a while a car will pass by, its headlights briefly shining through your window to give your world a brief sense of life. But those instances are few and far between, and you feel as lonely as you ever have in your life.

Then you try to sit up, and thats when you realize youre paralyzed. You can feel your arms and legs moving, but as hard as you try you cannot sit up. Then you bring your hand up before your face, and you can feel it there as vividly as you ever have, but you see nothing. You put your phantom hand to your face, and you can feel the contact, both with your cheek as your phantom hand caresses it, and your hand as it slides across the skin of your face. But as you bring your hand before your eyes once again you see nothing there.

Remembering that age old trick, pinch yourself and find out youre dreaming, you attempt to pinch your cheek, but you feel no sting. You take it a step further, then, and slap yourself across the face, but you feel and hear nothing. Your phantom limbs are useless to rouse you from your slumber, and you begin to panic as you realize youre helpless in this darkened room--caught in the void between sleep and consciousness, at the mercy of any of your minds imaginings.

You struggle and you strain against your illusory bindings, trying with all your strength to rise to a sitting position. Your frustration grows as your phantom limbs prove useless in your plight. You become distinctly aware that youve never felt so vulnerable in your life. Mental exhaustion begins to set in as you try harder and harder to move, and exhaustion eventually gives way to despair, which quickly gives way to fear.

But suddenly you move, and before your mind can register the motion you find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed staring down at your legs. Youve struggled so much that youre out of breath, and it seems a chore to inhale, as if the very air around you has become too thick to swallow. Your head is fuzzy and your vision is blurred, as if the crust of sleep has grown so thick about your eyes that you can scarcely open them. Afraid to lie down once more--lest you be trapped within your mind, paralyzed once again--you decide you must awaken yourself fully.

You stand, struggling to maintain your balance against your sluggishness, and you start across your room. You stumble through your door and make your way to the bathroom, looking at your feet the entire time. As you reach the sink and turn the faucet, you look up into the mirror to see your reflection staring back at you, and your heart nearly stops in your chest at the sight.

Your face is scrambled like some morbid Mr. Potato Head: your nose where your mouth should be, your mouth where your eyes should be, and your eyes strewn about either side of your face. Your reflected mouth opens in a scream of revulsion as you feel yourself attempt to cry out. The noise that comes forth sounds more like a mix between a lions roar and a choking victim gasping for air.

And you awake again to find yourself back in bed--you had never really gotten up in the first place--still paralyzed. Fear, syrupy thick, envelops you as you realize youve been paralyzed here, alone, for what mustve been the past ten minutes with nowhere to go but back into sleep. You try to scream out, but nothing more than a low croak escapes your vocal chords, with no jaw or tongue movements to assist as you attempt to form words. In truth, theres no one around to hear you anyway.Or so you thought. In the corner of your vision a slight movement grabs your attention. Either your imaginations gotten the better of you or youre not alone in the room. You want to turn your head but at the same time youre glad that you cant. Do you want to see it? You can hear breathing, is that yours or someone elses? You close your eyes, hoping that you really saw nothing and that you can simply forgetbut curiosity gets the better of you and you open your eyes again.

Now you see it, and you wish you didnt. Standing in front of your door is a tall dark figure dressed in what appears to be robes, and its staring right at you. You can make out no features, no face, its no more than a silhouette and it seems to be moving closer to you ever so slowly. The breathing is heavier now, and raspy like that of a smoker or asthmatic. The sound seems to be coming from inside your head. It raises its arms as it nears your bed, long black robes whipping in some otherworldly wind, and its legs dont even move as it glides across your floor.

It climbs onto the bed on top of you, long dark hair hanging inches away from your face, and you can feel the weight on your chest. Its hard to breathe! You can still see the light on the ceiling through the silhouetted figure sitting atop you, though its face is mere inches from yours. Youre struggling again, before you realize it, trying as hard as you can to fling this spectre off of you so that you may run to your door, run outside, and scream for help. None of your limbs respond to your commands, and you begin to scream. Or better yet you begin to groan softly, for thats all that will come forth, and even that fades with the last of your strength. Darkness envelops you.

Then finally youre free. You bolt upright and cross the room, gasping for air and shivering. You get to the light switch beside the door and flick it, and the light fills the room for less than a second. Godammit! What a time for the light to blow! You take a deep breath to steady your nerves, too frightened to open the door just yet for fear of what may be on the other side. You must first steel your resolve--you must first convince yourself that it was just a dream. In the moments of silence in which youre still holding your breath you notice that you can still hear heavy raspy breathing. 

Slowly and deliberately you turn from the door, fists clenched at your sides as you prepare for the inevitable. You want to cry, you want to scream, you want to claw your eyes out so that you dont have to see! You watch in terror as you see the shadow figure still kneeling on top of your bed, still on top of your chest. Youre still paralyzed. Your vision grows dim, and you begin to fall very slowly to your knees (as if gravity is all but absent now). In your last moments of semi-coherent thought you realize why youre growing so weak.

          She watched nervously as the skeleton floated away from her until it came to rest against the far wall. She continued to feel along the walls behind her for some piece of jutting stone where she could find a finger-hold and begin her ascent. Her eyes, however, never left the skeleton. Where had it come from?

          Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared into the murky depths. As did her purse, her shattered cell phone, the can of mace. And then she was underwater, being pulled by some unfelt force deep, deep down. She turned and dug her fingernails into the stone as hard as she could, frantically scratching the wall to slow her descent. She tried as hard as she could to find some jag, some crevice she could dig into to pull herself back up but the wall was far too slick, far too smooth. Bubbles escaped her screaming mouth as she scraped and struggled for her life, sinking quicker and quicker.

          And then she was free. The force let her go and she started to swim up once more. Air never tasted as sweet as it did when she finally got back to the surface. She looked to the sky to see that dawn had finally come, spilling red across the sky. Help, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Somebody help me! Sobbing, she continued to scream off and on for the next couple of hours, until the rain started once again.

          The rain came once again in torrents, and the water rose before Kristens eyes. Many uneventful hours passed as the water rose another good fifteen feet. As she looked up she realized she must be about halfway to the rim of the well by now. The sky appeared to have taken on a greenish hue, and she could barely see the clouds overhead. She continued to feel along the walls for a piece of jutting stone but still the walls were far too slick and smooth.

          The day passed slowly, and the rain continued as the sun drew low in the sky. The orange glow of dusk spilled down the well as Kristen continued to feel along the walls for some jag or jut. The rain had slowed but not stopped for the past hour, and the well--now half full--continued to rise ever-so-slowly. She was growing weaker as hunger gnawed at her gut, and hypothermia began to set in. Night hadnt yet fallen when the noises began anew deep beneath her feet, and Kristen wasted no time resuming her frantic pleas for help.

          The deep moaning echoes grew slowly nearer as the rain beat down upon her screaming face, and she clawed and scratched at the wall with abandon. The sun fell lower, and the shadows shifted, and just a few inches above her stretching hand she could see a small jut in the stone. Finally!

          The reverberations in the stone got increasingly noticeable as the subterranean cries grew louder. She stretched and strained with all her strength but the jut remained just out of reach. A vibration coursed through her as the next echo sounded out beneath her, and she felt something slide up her back. She screamed and spun around to see the well was filled with skeletons, all eyeless sockets staring one way or another, heads tilted back in silent, jawless screams.

          She sprung out of the water with all her strength and finally managed to barely catch the edge of the jutting stone. Quickly she reached with her right hand and grabbed onto the next crack in the wall. Summoning all her bodily strength she pulled herself up, feet slipping and sliding against the algae-slicked wall. Her body was shaking from the strain when she grabbed onto the next protrusion, and she managed to lift her foot to support herself on the first jut. As she inched further up the wall she could hear the skeletons dipping one by one back into the water. She dared not look back, though, lest she lose her balance and join them.

          Another cry rang out, shaking the stone, and she braced herself tightly against the wall, body shivering from hunger and exhaustion, fingers digging into the stone for dear life. One by one, more skeletons dipped into the water. She reached up and caught hold of the next jag, pulling with muscles strained long past their endurance. She mustve been a good four feet out of the water when she heard the splash, and then came that horrible moan, like some morbid otherworldly keening shaking the walls with its vibration, and her fingernails began to slide.

          She cried out in pain and terror and she strained to keep her grip on the wall. She dare not look back, she knew she had to keep climbing. She stretched out her right hand, feeling for another jut in the stone, as the noises below her continued. She heard teeth slamming together hungrily, and more desperate moans. Another splash, as whatever creature was below her sank beneath the waters surface once again. Then a thud shook the walls, and her grip faltered sending her leaning back.

          NO! she screamed as she dug her fingernails into the stone desperately, but she continued to slip. The keening once again below her shook the walls, and her tentative grip held for just another few secondsfingernails digging deep into the stone. Then Kristen cried out as her fingernail finally ripped free of the skin, and she fell. Her screams were swallowed as she hit the water with a painful splash.

The rain stopped, and the night was silent once again.

She awoke to the sensation of tiny legs crawling across her skin. As she opened her eyes she screamed and flailed, sending the spider on her hand flying across the small space. Where am I, she thought once her mind settled from the initial shock of the situation. Around her on all sides was nothing but slick, wet, algae-covered stone, and she was sitting in one inch of water. Its a well,she soon realized, and she quickly stood and looked up. My God, the top had to be a good fifty or sixty feet up.

          Help! she screamed. No response. There was nothing overhead but a bright blue sky, speckled with a few cirrus clouds. Thats good, though, maybe someone will come by. Maybe someone will hear me. Help, she screamed again, elongating the E until it she was out of breath. She continued that way for the next half hour, until her throat was sore from the strain.

          Nervously, she began to pace around the walls of her confines, trying desperately to remember how shed gotten here. It was then that she realized there was nothing to recallat all. She couldnt even remember who she was. Depressed and exhausted, she slid to a sitting position and rested her head on her knees.

          She awoke an indeterminable amount of time later to the sound of cicadas crying. As she looked up she saw the sky filled with thick grey clouds. It was getting late. In a panic she stood and began shouting again, at the top of her lungs, until her throat was sore from it. Wherever she was, she realized, she must be miles away from any humanity. Despair filled her as the cold rain began to fall.

          She slid back to a sitting position and rested her head against her knees as the water began to rise. Rain fell in torrents, and pretty soon she had to stand in order to keep her head above water level. Just as the water rose to mouth level she looked up and noticed something on the opposite side of the well from her. She half-walked, half-swam to the other side to retrieve it, and quickly realized it was a purse. It was her purse. But this hadnt been there before had it?

          In a moment of clarity she realized she hadnt thoroughly inspected her confines yet. There must be a hole, or crevice at the bottom of the well! She ducked into the water and began to feel around the floor and along the walls, desperately feeling for a crack or hole of any sort. A moment later she stood once more--the water to her nose at this point--frustrated, for she only found that the entirety of the well was enclosed in stone.

          She stared up at the sky once more--soon it would be completely dark. But if it continued raining this way, shed eventually get to the rim and escape this damned well. She looked at her purse, floating only a few feet away from her, and realization hit her. She grabbed it up out of the water and began to scoop through it until she found what she was looking for.

          Yes! she exclaimed as she pulled out her cell phone. Her excitement quickly turned to disappointment as she flipped the phone open and saw that it was dead. She held the power key for a long moment, hoping against hope that it would eventually power on. Water had seeped into the cracks and short-circuited the battery, she realized. Frustrated, she threw the phone at the wall, shattering it, and broke into tears.

          The moon was high in the sky when the raining stopped, and the walls were illuminated in a faint silver glow when she decided to go through her purse further. She found her drivers license and pulled it out, and the picture of herself stirred her recollection before she even had a chance to read her own name. Kristen Haynes, she said, taking comfort in the sound. As if by magic the name brought back a few hazy memories. Her mothers face, her boyfriends (fiancé? husband?) smile. She struggled for his name for a long moment, growing more and more frustrated by the second.

          She gave up in frustration--tears rimming her eyes--when many minutes later his name never came to her. She rummaged through her purse for more clues, more information, anything to help her understand why she was in her current situation. Her hand closed around a tin can and she pulled it out. Lot of fucking good this did me, she laughed as she tossed aside the can of mace. Searching further, she found only makeup, a mirror, and a handful of tampons--nothing of use. What did you expect to find, Kristen, a grappling hook? she said to herself derisively.

          Hours passed, and the moon moved out of sight, leaving only a starless sky overhead. Unable to sleep, lest she drown, Kristen floated in near absolute darkness. Once in a while she would be roused from her sleep-like trance by a strange sound from far belowlike something very large was moaning long and deep. She simply dismissed it at first as her sleep deprived mind hallucinating, but by the third time she heard it, this time much closer than before, she knew something was alive beneath her. She could feel it through the vibrations its cry sent through the stone.

          The final cry went quiet, and the night become very still. The muscles in her stomach loosened as she was able to relax once more. Soon dawn would break, and someone would eventually pass by. Someone would find her. She began to swim back and forth, getting her blood pumping so she could stay awake. The last thing she needed to do was doze off and begin to sink, only to get a lungful of rainwater.

          Something large and slick brushed past her feet. She screamed as she swam to the wall, fingers clawing at the stone fruitlessly. She turned back once, hoping not to catch a glance at whatever was below the surface. What she did see was worse, and the blood curdling scream escaped her throat before she even realized it. The skeleton that had floated to the surface of the water seemed to stare at her through its eyeless sockets, as if begging her for help. The ripples in the water sent its arm floating in her direction--small bits of meat still attached in various places to the wrist and hands--and she quickly slapped it away.

          -more in next blog.

oi, just curious as to whether or not everyone came back to this site?

sorry that its such a quick question

so i'll leave you with this.

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It's late and you're driving home in your brand new car after catching some shitty movie at the 99 cent theater in town. It's a cold late autumn night, and as you top a small hill, your lights catch a figure on the side of the road. it's a man, walking along. he's wearing a light gray sweatsuit with a hoody, and his hands are in his pockets. his head is down and the hood is pulled over his head. He casually sticks his thumb out , so he obviously needs a ride. for whatever reason, you decide that it's cold and you could give this guy a ride into town. You pull over and flash your lights. He walks up to the window and says "Hey are you headed into Guthrie?" You are and you say so. The man pulls his hood down. He's what many would call handsome. It's dark but his skin seems a pleasant olive color. His hair is a light blonde and his eyes a striking blue color. They seem to glow, a sort of iridescent blue, like the color of peppermint scope that's been electrified. "Mind if I catch a ride then?" sure, you say, and as you are about to hit the door lock and tell him to jump in, he looks the car up and down and says "Wow, that's a really nice car". Something strikes you as not right. the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He cracks a smile that seems to open too wide. his teeth seem to gleam in the darkness, and his eyes flash. He knows you know. That's the first thought that pops into your head. Know what though?"I said that's a really nice car mister" he says again, and out of the pockets of his sweater a rotted hand shoots. the flesh is pale and swollen, like it's been in the water for too long. You are frozen. the hand reaches across your body and grabs the keys. Another hand reaches for your face. The last thing you hear is yourself screaming "Oh god don't put it in my mouth no not there"The Alarm clock is buzzing. you're awake. man what a horrible dream. you still remember the feel of the cold wet flesh touching you. ew. The nightmare fades with your morning ritual. Coffe and eggs, hot shower, brush teeth. go to work.Later that day, your friend mike calls you at work. says there's a great show on at the discount theater. Midnight matinée, 99 cents. A Clockwork orange is showing. You arrange to meet Mike there tonight.After the show, you're heading home in your brand new car. You've seen that movie at least a dozen times, it never gets old. As you're topping a small hill, your headlights catch a figure on the side of the road. It's a man, walking. He's wearing a dark blue track suit with a white stripe and a hoody. The hood is pulled over his head, his hands are in his pockets. He sticks his thumb out when your lights hit him. It's a cold late autumn night...

what

I woke up with an unusually lazy start. I had realized that I failed to complete my sleep cycle, and that I had been jarred awake from a deep state of sleep. The night passed dreamlessly, which is surprising, because, taking the medications I do, my nights are almost always punctuated with vivid strobes of nonsense and uproar. For a moment, I contemplated returning to sleep to complete the cycle, but I knew that Id never get to school on time. It was a nice thought to romanticize, though. My feet had fallen asleep and the sensation of pins and needles was somewhat pronounced. Looking to the hallway, I could see the rosy glow from the bathroom lights spilling beneath the door onto the cherry-laminated floor. The monotonous staccato of a running shower completed my mental picture. My mother bathed in the morning, an endeavor I could never endure in such frigid weather. I slipped on a beater, and a shirt over it, both were black cotton, which is a magnet to the dog hair that fills my house. They felt tight, like I was wearing a shirt a half size too small. I let it slide as just another odd mystery of my confused morning. My pants came on, my glasses, and I took a hair tie from my nightstand, only to see I had slept with one on my wrist, though it had worked its way down to the middle of my forearm through the night. The tie was too tight, which discolored my skin to a sickly white. I battled my skin and the completely spent elasticity of the tie to slip it off my arm, and in the process, I felt the chill of my newly gray hand. I was briefly curious, but I shrugged it off as a symptom of a lack of circulation.

The snow was smothering the sky. The solstice was not too long ago, so the mornings were a dense, impenetrable black. Four of our seven dogs were playing in the snow. The frost had built up on the glass, disabling my field of vision. I took a fresh bowl from the cupboard, and poured a bowl of cereal. The cereal had little dried up strawberries mixed in with the blend of corn flakes. I tore the plastic blue ring around the lid of the milk, and filled the bowl. I could feel the cold milk as it fell into my stomach. As I ate, I watched the snow coming down. The streets had vanished beneath the oppressive blanket of precipitation. I briefly wondered how miserable Id be shoveling the car from the driveway. The muffled sound of running water and the rigidly blasting wind filled my ears, along with the sounds of my teeth grinding the cereal. My thoughts wandered off to indescribable haziness, but came quickly back to my head when I detected a slight tingling on my lips. Almost as if they were going numb, but from an anesthetic, not from any natural causes. My tongue got in on the action as well, leading me to unknowingly bite the tip of it, which squeezed a tear from my crusted eyes. I walked up the stairs and stood by the door to the bathroom. My mother was out of the shower, so I began a conversation. You try this cereal? I spoke with another mouthful of the beige flakes in my mouth. After a pause that could be attributed to her application of mascara, she responded.

Hmm? With the strawberries. What about it? Is it good to eat? Its making my mouth tingly. I havent had any, but its fresh. Alright. Maybe Im nuts. Probably.

I carefully examined my successive spoonfuls, avoiding the strawberries, which I had decided were the culprits to numbing feeling. My feet were still asleep, and the hand that was being strangulated by the tie was still puffy. I felt sick, but I tried to ignore it and be a man. I went back downstairs, and stared out a different window. My head was heavy with wooziness, I felt like I was being pulled under by the bags beneath my eyes. My right arm felt dead. My bowl dropped from my grip and clonked against the floor, spilling the meager remnants of cereal. The sound could barely nudge me from my dizzy trance, just enough for me to exclaim: Phfluck!

This statement caused me more stress than the bowl did. My fingertips were numb, but I summoned my strength to bring them to my mouth, which had also lost its sense of touch. I could detect that my lips and tongue had become inflamed, large and very parched. My thumb could barely trace the chips of shedding skin across my bottom lip. I stumbled to the mirror to find a terrifying sight. My mouth and neck had expanded beyond human proportions. My lips had grown white in color; my cheeks were fat and dusty. The bags beneath my eyes were puffy and beginning to force my eyes shut. A worried murmur exited my mouth like a car horn being depressed from under several feet of dirt. I felt that my shoes hurt. Not my feet, but my shoes, like they were being stretched out, like a delusional wife trying to convince herself that she still fits in her wedding dress. I slowly seated myself and pried each shoe off; with effort Id never imagine myself applying for such a dull task. I wriggled to get my shirt and beater off, revealing the condition of what was once a bony frame. I was swelling to the point that my ribcage began to look almost barrel shaped, like the children born with deficiencies that lead to bizarre skeletal degenerations.

With slow, heaving breaths, some from fear and some from physical exhaustion, I ambled clumsily halfway up the stairs. The bathroom door was open, the light was off and the mirror was still foggy. An ambient mist was still floating in the dismal blue room. Like felt tip markers being drug across my skin, I could faintly feel beads of sweat on my now Neanderthal brow. The back of my hand struck my forehead to sweep the sweat away. My body was spilled across several steps, my legs were crooked and my arms were hung near my torso like fleshy anchors. On my hands and knees, I crawled up the stairs. I had the determination of any number of hapless victims in horror movies shambling away from their captors, but with the skill of an infant. At the landing, I rested on my back and felt the awful glaze of sweat pouring form my face, my armpits were soaked through, and the small of my back and all along my spine was dripping. I choked, and tears began to leave my eyes. I acquired a genuine fear for my life, something Id never felt before. I go to school, and try to be a man and try to one-up all my tough-guy friends, but Ive never really understood true pain or fear. I cried out for my mother.

My sense of hearing was muffled, so my call sounded like a drowning bear. I choked more and the tears came more steadily, and I called for her again. Minutes past, and I felt increasingly uncomfortable in my own skin, like I was just a sheet of flesh over an angrily boiling furnace. I rolled over to my side and I struggled to get back to my knees. My hands were fat, like sausages heated to the very verge of bursting. I motioned towards my mothers room. It was empty. The snow from outside had completely covered the windows, so the light coming in was filtered through a frozen lens. My mother wasnt on her computer, nor was she putting her socks on her feet. I hung my head to see that my drool had collected on the hardwood floor. Bits of detritus from my breakfast had come with it. With a tremendous heaving effort, I moved one hand before the other. With each time, I could feel the weight of my body push the blood of my hands up to my arms. I made my way to the bathroom, and fell against the bathtub like a tipped cow. My breath was deep and onerous, a hot rasp spit out with a scowl, like a cat thrown down a laundry chute, digging its nails into the metal sheeting in a last-ditch attempt to slow its descent. My eyes were practically swollen shut, but it was still a trial to force them completely closed. A few tears managed to wedge through these twin lids. I made an empty effort to sleep, with no success. In less than five minutes, I struggled to open my hot, blurry eyes. In the time I was feigning sleep, I thought nothing. No images, no words, no traces of sentience appeared in my mind. I could only feel my rapid heartbeat gunning away beneath the warbling thickness of my

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feel free to tell me what you liked? what you didn't like...whatever

story 1__________________________________________________

You settle in for another quiet night of sleep, a draft flowing from the crack of your window creates a chill that demands you wrap yourself tight in your wooly blankets. You notice your room closet is slightly ajar, but you can only see the pitch blackness. The presence of this slightly open door fills you with dread as you peer into the blackness beyond. You shiver but laugh at yourself for being scared of an opened closet. What are you, four?

You snuggle in with your blankets, your heavy eyes wearily drifting shut when you see something lurch across the floor and disappears from sight under your bed. You're not sure what it was but your eyes shoot open. Suddenly you feel the sense that something is wrong. Your mind tries to rationalize, you probably saw the shadow of a tree limb outside your window being swept by the wind. It seems like a good explanation, you nervously laugh at yourself again. Silly you, there's nothing in the dark that isn't in the light.

You close your eyes and begin to drift into slumber again. Your eyes are shut not moments when you get the feeling someone is watching you. You slowly open a slit in your eye and see a bump at the foot of your bed. It is vague but roundish in shape. You try to make out what the shape is. As you're examining the bump your mind once again tries to quell the unearthly fear rising in your gut. Surely it's all a coincidence, more than likely a bump in the thick covers caused by slight movement and the covers never settling and falling to your form, and it merely looks like it is at the foot of your bed because of your current veiw. Yeah, that must be it.

Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. You can make out a very wide grin on the shape, but it is unaturally wide, literally grinning from ear to ear.

story 2__________________________________________________

We are Onieronauts. We are explorers of the Dream World. We blur the line between waking life and sleep.

And we're watching you.

It's strange how many people forget that you spend 1/3 your life sleeping. People have forgotten the importance of dreaming. Less and less people even remember their dreams, and instead get up in the morning, shower, drink their coffee, and drive to work. They're lives are repetitious and safe. They feel secure in their 2-bedroom condo overlooking the city, and they don't dream. Instead, they plan their next day. They browse through clothing and furniture catalogs. They watch their cable TV with 999 channels. And yet, they don't dream.

We do. Not only that, we know we're dreaming. When you realize you're dreaming, you realize you're free. You instantly lift yourself off the ground and fly through the Dewy clouds. You Become a Jedi and eat ice cream while receiving a blow job. You're free to do anything you please.

Over the years, a select few of us became profoundly gifted. We pushed the limits of the reality within. We would taste the color of nothingness, see 360 degrees around us, and, most astonishingly, communicate with each other. That's right, we learned telepathy. We learned to enter each others dreams and explore the world together. After that venture, the skies the limit.

Then, the most startling, most shocking discovery of all was made.

We learned how to transcend the dream world. We learned how to communicate, from our dreams, to the waking world...in fact, This is my dream. You're reading the words I'm currently dreaming. How does that feel, to know that reality and dreams are no longer separated?

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i was just catching up on some older blogs and i was wondering if i was considered a classic blogger O.o

You know that one event you look forward to every year? Most people have one; my family and I share one which is fairly common: the Superbowl. Every year we crowd around our big screen TV with snacks, gazing intently from start to finish, not leaving our sits through even the commercials.

Just one year did we happen to miss it. And let me tell you, it was for a damn good reason...

"Lost children on milk cartons always depress me," my uncle said between the crunch-crunch-crunch of a mouthful of cornflakes. My mother - his older sister - scolded him for talking with his mouth full. He was in town for the game, of course; it was a huge event for us, and not just the immediate family. We invited our friends, distant family, even a few people we barely knew around the neighborhood. This year, a new family had moved in next door, and it wasn't long until my father went boasting about our game day celebration, and eventually invited them over.

The family seemed like a fine group of people... All but their teenage daughter. There was something haunting about her. And not her appearance; she wasn't a dark and brooding goth-style girl, she was a fairly plain looking blonde-haired blue-eyed teenager. At a glance, she didn't seem out of the ordinary at all. But after you looked long enough, it just... It didn't seem right. She was TOO plain, TOO ordinary, it didn't seem right to look at her, and eventually it got painful to the point where I just had to turn away. And I can tell you right now, it wasn't just me. I noticed it in everyone, even her own family. It made me uneasy, to say the least.

Game day finally came... And it was unlike any game day we'd had before. Everyone arrived early, which was typical. The whole family was there; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, from both sides of the family, most of whom we only saw this day. Some close friends were here, some neighbors, and of course the new family... and the girl. Just before kickoff, the lights flickered. We thought nothing of it, until it happened again. My dad got up and left the room, declaring he was going to make sure everything was alright with the fuse box. Nobody wanted our tradition ruined, least of all him. The girl followed him a few moments after he'd left the room. Nobody seemed to notice but me, and, I can't really put my finger on it, but something about the look in her eyes made me worry. I was frightened. Too frightened to follow them, so I stayed put. That is, until the lights went out entirely, along with the rest of the power. Everyone began murmuring impatiently, my mother joking "This is what we get for trusting my husband to a blown fuse." After the power hadn't come back on for a few moments, coupled with my father still not returning, people started to get worried. "Maybe he electrocuted himself?" I heard someone say. My uncle decided to go and see if everything was alright, and I went with him, though I wasn't sure why... I hadn't seen or heard from the strange girl since she left after my father, and I felt sure she had something to do with this. We took a flashlight and made our way down to the basement... And the sight that greeted us made my heart stop momentarily. The stairs were slick with blood. At first I thought my father had fallen and bashed his head, but at the foot of the stairs there was nothing but a trail of blood leading to a corner cluttered with old broken furniture. My uncle started lifting things out of the way, and I'm sure he was as confused as I was, but I followed his lead. Beneath an old, torn up couch, I found my father's body, his chest torn open. Not just sliced through; the flesh was ripped off, as if some beast had torn into him with sickly sharp talons, leaving his rib cage bare. The sickest thing was his heart was still beating. I noticed my uncle had stopped lifting, and I guessed he'd looked over and was as speechless as me. Turning around, at first I saw nothing; then, leading the flashlight across the room, I saw a hunched over figure... a figure with long blonde hair flowing down her back. I nearly threw up; she didn't seem so plain now, tearing into my uncle with inhuman strength. She turned to me, grinning wickedly. "W..why?" I managed to gasp, weakly, as she approached. She seemed confused by the question, tilting her head as if considering it for a moment. "You need a reason?" she asked, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. Her next utterance has never left my mind, and probably won't until the day I die.

"Read the first word of every paragraph."

__________________________________________________________

edit: the game is a game that you lose whenever you think of it.

Its been 2 weeks since this whole thing started.

It all started with a tanker accident. It was all over the news. Everyone thought it was just another oil spill. There were plenty of volunteers. Plenty of people wanting to help the poor defenceless animals. Plenty of victims. Within hours of the tanker accident, it started happening. The animals had gone crazy, they were scratching and biting the clean up volunteers. They said that it was an adverse effect to whatever was in that tanker.

Rescue workers were still trying to get the crew out of the ship. They could hear screaming inside. Screams to open the doors. But thats when it all went to hell. As soon as they cut the door out.

There was 6 minutes of broadcast before it went silent. 6 minutes of screaming and agony. The ship crew attacked the rescue workers like rabid baboons. Breaking bones and tearing flesh. The people on the shore werent fairing any better. Those that had been attacked by animals were attacking everyone else. It was worse than any war zone report, it was sheer brutality, and yet the broadcast still went on for 6 minutes. 6 minutes and then blank faces. Nobody could explain what was happening. They tried to continue with regular news, the economy, the weather, a cute human interest story, but they couldnt make us unsee what we saw.

I tried to continue with my regular existence but every time I switched on the news or walked by a news stand it was there. This big mystery. They had some explanations, some kind of infection, brain parasites, but it didnt matter. It wasnt an infection we were afraid of, it was them.

4 days after the initial report, a state of emergency was raised. And yet wed all seen this before. Every zombie movie ever. People didnt know who to trust. People were stockpiling food and weapons. Some tried to flee but it seems every zombie movie was right. They didnt make it. 3 days later they arrived in my town.

I expected moans, shuffling corpses, dismemberment, but thats where the movies lied. They ran through the streets, screaming. I remember running to my front door as fast as I could, locking, barricading, doing anything to make sure it would stay shut, and then I headed for the window. I was on the second story and I could see the carnage. They were unstoppable. They were aware.

A group of them made there way through a building across the street. They jumped straight through plate glass windows. Even the shards slicing through them made no difference, they just kept coming. My barricade wasnt going to hold. I rushed around my flat, grabbing supplies and jamming them into the most secure room of the flat. I went back for one last look across the street, and I wish I hadnt. In a second story window, my face met one of theirs. They knew where I was. I quickly dashed into the room and locked the door.

I dont have any kind of panic room, or a secure basement, so the safest place I could think of was my bathroom. No windows, one door with a lock. I had filled my sink and bathtub full of water, So I could stay for a while. So I sat there in the dark room, with the distant screams in my ears.

I began to feel like I may have over-reacted, it had been 2 hours and no sign of them. It actually got quieter and I thought they had moved on. Maybe I could leave the room, get to the kitchen. Grab more food to wait it out. A crash came from the front door. The sound of someone running full force into the door and knocking down the barrier behind it. There was a couple more crashes before I knew they were inside. Rapid footsteps moving around the flat, a couple screams and then a bang on the wall beside me. My eyes were open to their widest, even in the pitch black darkness of the room. Another bang, and another. They knew I was there and they knew I was scared.

This was the zombie nightmare I had been expecting from the start. I had nowhere to run. There was only so much time before they would break in. I sat with my back to the door, hoping my extra weight would make it harder for them to get in. And then it got worse.why dont you open the door?

A voice on the opposite side of the door. No screams or moans, just a quiet, whispery voice. And then more of them.

weve come for you.youll be happier if you open the doorits not so bad

The whispery voices, became a cacophony of noise trying to persuade me, to break me, to fool me. I had heard that the moaning of zombies would drive people insane but this was worse, a siren call. I sat in the darkness and hoped and prayed that theyd get bored. But they dont get bored and they dont leave. I managed to use the mirror to peak under the door, only to be greeted by horrible unblinking eyes, blood smeared faces, screams and more horrible whispers. That was two days ago

I dont know what to do anymore...maybe it wont be so bad....

I like to think I'm just doing my bit. They call me a profiteer, they say the black market is "treason of the worst kind". Well, I say we all have our roles to play. I mean, a war like this is fought on more than one front. If morale fell, If the country couldn't support the boys on the front, then the Jerrys would wash us away in a month.

And you think these bloody ration tickets are good for morale? When a pound of mince is meant to last you god knows how long? And don't think for a second there's any fairness in the system, any equality. The toffs will always find a way to get around it, It's just the way of the world.

So is what I'm doing so wrong? I can offer cheap meat to rich and poor alike, none of that soul crushing bureaucracy. Tell me that's not good for morale. Especially when I tell them that their money isn't just lining my pockets. Oh no, it helps fund volunteer medic services for our boys.

And that's true... to an extent.

Course, I don't tell them everything my men in white do out on the front lines. I don't tell them how I'm able to get such cheap meat. It's such a waste of lives out there, At least I'm making sure they're not dying in vain. At least I'm bringing our boys home...

She looks so beautiful when she sleeps. Weve been together for almost three months now and I never get tired of watching her while she slumbers. My beautiful darling Amber. I crawl into bed with her, making an effort not to wake her, but to no avail. She noticed the shift in weight, and groggily turns around to look at me.

My darling seems a bit surprised to see me. Probably because weve never met face to face before. But Ive always been around, always been watching her. Sometimes I gently caress her face in the dark night.

She draws back away from me, but I dont mind. Shes just sleepy is all, Im sure. A little confused, perhaps. I reach forward and grab her firmly by the wrist, making sure she doesnt accidentally fall off the bed. I wouldnt want her getting hurt. I have special plans for tonight.

As I pull her closer to me, I can see shes about to scream, but I dont mind. Shes just sleepy is all, Im sure. A little confused, perhaps. Shhh! I try to tell her, but she wont listen. I have to muffle her screams, even though I doubt anyone will hear.

I reach over the side of the bed to grab the canister I brought with me. Amber is still struggling, which is making it difficult to uncap the red plastic jug. But I dont mind. Shes just sleepy is all, Im sure. A little confused, perhaps. When I finally manage to get it open with my free hand, I pour the liquid contents over both our bodies as well as the bed. Amber doesnt like the smell, and its understandable. Gasoline doesnt have a very pleasant oder.

Next I draw the Zippo from my pocket. Amber accidentally hit me, but I dont mind. Shes just sleepy is all, Im sure. A little confused, perhaps. I flick at the wheel of my lighter twice before it ignites, and my body trembles in anticipation. My lovers lips quiver a bit, as if to say I love you. Im sure. Tears run down her face, of joy no doubt.

The lighter drops and the final act of my love begins. Fire dances so playfully on our bodies. Amber is trying to claw her way off of the bed, but I dont mind. Shes just sleepy is all, Im sure. A little confused, perhaps. I bring her to my chest, embracing her with all the love I have. We share an ardent kiss as the flames roar in a vigorous crescendo. I can feel my skin boiling and popping, tendons and muscles contracting. The play is nearing its end.

I can no longer freely move. Amber and I are cuddled together on the bed. Flames light up the night sky. And our charred bodies will tell the tale of two lovers.

Almost all of us have experienced it at some point or another. That brief sense uncertainty. You were sure the lights just went out, but it was so swift your mind barely registered it. Yet you cant shake the feeling. Perhaps you just blinked, and noticed it more than usual. Maybe the power surged.

I can tell that these assumptions are completely wrong. Holding onto them could result in the most dire of punishments. These flickers are preludes to tragedy. Terrors unspoken are trying to break through the wall that separates you, the prey, from their hungry jaws. The binds that restrain them will not hold forever. Each flicker is a crack in the wall.

Eventually, that quick flicker will no longer be a sputter of light. You will be permanently cased in the darkness. Waste no breathes screaming, no energy running. The final chime has rang.

______________________________________

Somewhere in West Philadelphia, you will find an old basketball court with a single ball lying in the middle. Pick it up and start shooting hoops. After a while, a small group of hooligans will approach you and challenge you to a fight, which you must accept.

After the fight, you must go home and relay the events to your mother. She will then inform you that you have an aunt and uncle living in one of the districts of Los Angeles, and out of fear, she will send you to live there for an indefinite period of time.

With your bags packed, go to the street corner, and whistle for a cab. The cab that will pull up will bear the word FRESH on the license plate, and upon closer inspection, novelty fuzzy dice will hang in the mirror. Although you will suddenly realize that cabs like these are extremely hard to find, do not bear any thought to it. At this point you MUST point out in front of the car and say ‘Yo homes to Bel Air’. You will stop in front of a mansion, and it will be sometime between 7 and 8 o’clock, even though it will feel like you’ve been traveling mere seconds. Get your luggage out and say ‘Yo homes, smell ya later!’, but do NOT turn back to face the cabby. Walk up to the door, look over your shoulder once, and then knock on the door three times.

If you follow these instructions, your life will get flip-turned upside-down.

______________________________

guess what?

Here is an example of some of the crazy shite the spetsnaz went through when training.

sort of long but a good watch.

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Well I would ask about the SAS but considering no one who has knowledge of the military is from England then i will ask about the similary Delta Force which was based off of the SAS.

First of i am thinking about joining and i need to know the requirements, technicalities and such.

physical requirements?

education requirements?

service requirements? (to the army/air force/navy)

what exactly is the reserve/national guard?

can you still get in if you do not go on the front lines/recieve medals?

how can you get promoted to major/captain?

is it better to start as an officer why and how?

thanks for the help

*counting on you kaustic haha.

Recently the oreo was released throughout england and i just got around to buying some and let me just say to anyone that hasn't had one, these biscuits are bloody brill. Who knew something this delicious would come from america, bravo to you.

time to go and buy some more!

but in the meantime why doesn't everyone tell me how they eat oreos.

personally i first pull the top off and put it on the bottom

order of biscuit: cream/chocolate/chocolate

dunk it in milk and enjoy

be back in a bit xD