horrific horny hags, government coverups (literally), a slave rebellion on a dystopic offshore oil rig based micronation, and human-cookie transmutation

hag what wants to rape me
Standard

I was on a field trip with a class. I feel like we were probably in elementary school, at the boarding school I used to attend in England. It was in the middle of the night, and we were traversing a labyrinth of urban decay before arriving at a sort of mansion hotel surrounded by a sort of ravine. This is where we were staying. On the way, we encountered a frightening hag-like creature, suggestive of an old lady but clearly neither human nor genuinely alive. After giving us a scare, she was nowhere to be seen. We asked the woman who ran the mansion hotel about this creature. She confirmed that the thing came into the hotel all the time, and that it wasn’t very strong, but if you were a man wandering the halls alone it would definitely try to have sex with you. I was not interested in learning firsthand how a female monster can force a man to have sex with her, but fortunately the woman had a suggestion: If I found myself set upon by it, I could go through this room that was basically an ‘airlock’ of double screen doors, and she would hold the door shut for me after I passed through. Presumably a supernatural creature that can easily overpower a man has great difficulty passing through the ricketiest old door in the place.

Well, she was full of crap any way. I was in a crowded room when the thing pounced through a glass window like a jungle cat, and set the whole room screaming and running and screaming. It was sort of like a fire drill though where everyone meets out front at the exact spot, wearing pyjamas and being cold. Concurrent to this event was the fact that several terrorists – though not the stereotypical foreign types, you racist – took control of the hotel. They took us all hostage as well, forcing us to stay in the rebar skeleton of a three-floor unconstructed building on the hotel grounds. The government began negotiating, but appeared to regard our situation as a sort of embarrassment they wanted to hide from the public eye, so they covered our massive steel cage in a sort of tarp/giant rectangular tea cosy. Sweeping us under the rug.

The terrorists were odd, and were in league with dark forces clearly. One of them was a big, stern, brutal looking guy who seemed to be in charge. At least one of the others was a vampire or somesuch. They also had a wolf serpent. In a moment that froze in time for everyone but myself and the serpent, it smelled/saw me from a distance and identified me as a threat. It leapt towards me and I punched it in the face, causing it to coil it’s long neck up all the way back to where it had lunged at me from. Then time resumed as normal.

So I guess the negotiations went terrible because the terrorists were later transporting us via train, the entire steel cage with the cloth tarp flapping in the wind and I could see we were on a massive raised rail bridge several tracks wide, a sort of highway for giant trains. All the while I was worried that the hag had clung on somehow and would haunt me again if I fell asleep. And by haunt I mean forcibly fornicate with me, presumably so she could later give birth to more anthropomorphic grotesqueries.

bullet-moneyAnyway we were stationed on this oil rig, still in this big cage. This cage became a village, with a pretty wide range of different kinds of people who were all staying at the hotel. We had picnic tables and beds and suchlike. We also had our own economy, based around these tiny metallic bullet tip like objects. It was a currency given to us by the stern fellow, the one you didn’t want to mess with because he would fuck you up. No sense of humour. Kinda cruel. I’m assuming that giving us an economy was a way of having us divert energies we might otherwise expend escaping or making things difficult for our captors. Some of us were given jobs that would allow us to step outside of the cage without being shot to do whatever tasks were necessary, cleaning or whatever, to maintain their base, a tall structure that loomed over ours.

It was a dystopian arrangement. We did not have a fun time. We were never free, always cold, and always afraid. (I even now feared the hag, as well.) However, one day a man of our rank committed some offense, and was hauled off. We all watched as two men held his body in an odd slanted position while a third executed him by shooting him in the head through his throat with a gun of some kind. This solidified our hatred for our captors and our will to resist them.

I feel like the subsequent stuff was actually a separate dream, in which the previous one was remembered and a conclusion was created by my subconscious, which I feel was sillier and more cartoonish than the original.

Anyway I had found a way of climbing out of the cage that didn’t involve my being noticed and shot. I was checking the outside of the cage to figure out how to disable whatever caused people to not be able to leave. Turns out there was a perimeter of automatic guns pointing straight down mounted on the top ‘frame’ of the rebar skeleton, several floors up. The guns did not seem to have any auto-aiming functionality – they simply fired when something or someone entered their line of sight. They also did not appear to have a very large ammo capacity.

I triggered one by throwing a piece of wood in front of it. The rat tat tat set off a commotion in the distance, in a little alcove of the wall that surrounded everything, our cage and the bad guy’s building. It soon seemed that nobody was coming after me though. Could the commotion have been entirely unrelated to the racket I was making? Spoiler: It WAS unrelated. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I took apart one of the guns I had disabled and attempted to assemble it in a way that would allow me to fire it by hand (the logic here is flawed – the gun contained some ammo but I had disabled it by triggering it to fire until it could no longer do so). I carried it with me towards the commotion.

The top brass of our captors were there, with a crowd of other terrorists as well as a few of us regular citizens. Our overlords were evacuating to wherever they came from originally via a matter transporter. I had never seen the man truly in charge, but he was an absent-minded white haired person who seemed too pleasant to be in charge of this murderous injustice. There was some horrible, sudden, dangerous thing happening that they wanted to escape from and were willing to overlook the fact that we were out of our cage. Good old grampa evil and the scary man lied down on these two metal cots that were a part of the transporter. The thing could transport two people at a time while they were lying down because the process required a certain level of motionlessness. So I pretended to assist with the operation and when the man at the panel activated the teleport, I pulled on these two men’s legs so they were half off the platform, causing their upper halves to vanish and appear at their destination, hopefully writhing in agony and ruing the day they thought they could put me in a cage!

human cookie transmutation

Well cookie here! Star Trek didn’t teach us about this particular type of teleporter mishap.

A curious side effect was that their bottom halves, although not teleported, had still been affected: They had been transmuted into halves of these giant store-bought tea cookies. Imagine the weight of a human from the waist down converted into an equivalent amount of cookie. I guess carbon is carbon, huh? But I still wonder if taking a bite from one would constitute cannibalism. (I certainly wouldn’t have eaten all of it.)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s