/day 01, year 20xx, 8:00 AM
I had a dream last night. Or was it this morning, I can't quite remember the digits I saw on the knocked over table clock that graced the floor of my bedroom. Not that it's important. My psychiatrist... no, my councilor (she said it will be easier for me to call her by that title, and I can't say that I feel any less mad by doing it) advised me, or rather ordered me in her deep out-of-a-barrel baritone, that I should type down anything I do, feel, think or dream. Following her wise council, I can positively confirm my location - back-bent, half-squatting on a leather chair in front of the many screens connected to one main body, "a super machine I must have" as a kind electronics-seller shouted in my ear and somehow managed to send me home with a van full of mechanical parts I didn't know how to connect. Did I mention I don't know how to use this mechanical beast? Well, besides opening a blank text document and typing my heart out. I can also summarize my thoughts at the moment. I feel my brow twitching nervously in the pace of the, afore mentioned, digital clock on my floor. I'm also quite hungry, but the only thing that could pass for food in my fridge is cup of expired ramen... Oh, my dream. Yes.
I was walking down the dirty road through a forest. I think it was a forest, I don't know if that's the right word for many trees growing next to each other, I never saw that much green in one place before. Nevertheless, there I was, walking, my gaze straying around, when suddenly Ia big wheel of cheese came rolling towards me. The rest is just a hazy memory of the alarm clock beeping my brain out and a wild punch that sent it flying across the room. By my amateur estimation, this is a clear sign I'm going bonkers.
My thoughts are a fluffy mess of pink, mixed with despair and a speck of murderous intent. I can't seem to get them straight while typing in the weak morning light like this. I wonder if that's a sign to stop this charade. To just stretch my sore legs, wiggle my numb toes and yank out the power cord. Now, that would be a relief. Maybe if I also went to my councilor and gave her a friendly pat on the back, along with a knife between the ribs. Did I mention I'm a hitman? I guess I should have started from there.
"Okay, listen, we should get our stories straight, alright? If anyone asks - and no one's gonna ask, don't worry - but if anyone asks, tell them as far as you know, the last time you checked, everyone looked pretty much alive. Alright? Not dead."
~
Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/c2TRAj_KLyc/viewtopic.php
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