Nightmares - Tumblr Posts

Rhododendron -- Key!

(Apologies, I got distracted!)

It was dark. She was cold. And floating.

Key gritted her teeth. They were chattering already. She didn't know how long she'd been out in the ocean. It seemed like forever. Cast from the ship as she'd always feared and now she was stranded in the middle of nowhere. She'd long ago lost her bearings. And it seemed like it had been night forever. The stars were clear but not in patterns she recognized. She hadn't learned fast enough. Dammit.

She could wait till morning. Then maybe she could see land. Or orient by the sun. Key laid on her back. It was colder this way, but she didn't have much choice.

Aqua eyes slipped closed, trying to find rest.

Something brushed her leg.

Key splashed wildly, flailing about and inadvertently filling her nose with water. She coughed and returned to treading water. There was something near her. The water was black underneath her. She couldn't even see her legs. She was gasping for air, turning in all directions.

Something brushed against her again.

She pushed away, swimming with all her might. She had to get away. She knew water magic but not enough to save her verses anything bold enough to catch her out here. And earth...well that was so far below her as to not even exist anymore.

Key kept swimming, defenseless, feeling utterly powerless, until she tired. Her muscles ached. She could barely feel her hands and feet from the cold. And as soon as she stopped moving, she began shivering violently.

The thing brushed against her a third time. Key screamed. It didn't care. The tentacle wrapped around her leg and drew her down into the depths, wasting precious air on venting her horror, her rage, her helplessness in a cascade of bubbles that were the only thing that would ever find the surface again.

This is the kind of shit you write down and make a fic out of 😏

Why are all my extra distressing dreams my naptime dreams

Anyways I didn't like this one. It started off normal but quickly shifted into a "Dog" (this thing was fucking infected but it looked normal aside from the extreme aggression and facial expressions) going bat shit as i was trying to visit my grandparents. There was another man there, also definitely not a man, who started shouting nonsensical poetry as this dog thing was trying to murder me and my grandmother. I ended up doing something that killed the dog but also triggered a seizure in my grandmother and it killed her.

It turned to diary entries after that, detailing how these things changed their tactic quickly to blend in, often disguising themselves as an animal or person who was simply experiencing mental lapse or other troubles, so when they were acting off it wouldn't immediately set off alarms that they were not what they appeared.

Also a new disease called Semo was taking a lot of people out, leaving people bed ridden as they wasted away rapidly, the pain and the actual disease breaking them mentally so they'd collapse into screaming fits. The "things" or whatever were purposely perpetuating this, trying to speed up mental decline in those afflicted. The animal ones would purposely taunt victims, forcing their host bodies to vocalize by rearranging their vocal cords to something similar to a human, they'd alter and pop out joints in paws and grip the owner of the host body's hand and speak, telling them all this terrible shit until they started screaming. they wouldn't stop until they physically could no longer scream

what the fuck brain

Okay i swear i did not mean to laugh or be mean or anything but, hear me out... anyone who has dealt with nightmares and paranoia will understand my humor. Its so dry it will put the sahara desert to shame but it still will make me laugh and been laughing all day today. I mean who took this video though. That's just hilarious but in a way a private moment for the baby boo.

So early this year i have been having crazy nightmares and yeah its been quite rough. I would often wake up like this dog on a couple of occasions. Sometimes i would be screaming out loud and its a good thing i stay alone otherwise that would be so weird. My first time waking up screaming and my voice was super horse and were tears streaming down my face and well i was so confused.

I kept crying silently but i was confused as hell like wtf. Why was i even so emotional and yeah i knew i was right to seek medical help. So i kept seing my psychiatrist and tbh i was in no mood to talk so i was not talking to any psychologist at that time. So i kept taking medication. The nightmares kept on for what felt like years infact now i look back it was only just a few months. Well now its a thing of the past i sleep like a baby and i hope that dog get treatment for that.

The moment i saw this gif everything came back and i was like OMG did i act out like that too? Did something like that happen to me too? I mean it was my first time to watch it happen to someone else and imagine that it was myself and that's when i lost it. I just kept laughing and feeling sorry for the doggie but well that must have some strange ass dream.

Now the million dollar question is... what was it about? Food? Fights? Bath? Well i guess we will never know.

As always i will keep holding on.

I actually m doing better these days after a few rough few weeks. So I thank God for that.

Until next time.💜🤗💋💋

I'm afraid of dreaming.

Well, it's more of the "concept of dreaming" than the dream itself. If I dream thriller, I don't care. If I dream horror, I wouldn't mind. If I dream of such a cliche romance, it wouldn't bother me. But it's the dreaming itself I'm afraid of. If I take a 1hr nap, I could dream a year-long dream. If I sleep for 8hrs I could live in that dream for months. Even if it's just a short, 30-minute sleep, I could be in that dream for a lifetime. And sometimes it takes a toll on me in that dream and in reality. There are times I didn't want to "experience" something but "I" endured it because it was "reality", only for me to wake up and realise that I could've avoided experiencing that experience if I just woke up. And sometimes I would wake up empty, trying to remember my dream that I know I spent a long time on. Only to do the laundry and remember what happened and apologise to the guy who saved me back in my dream because he died just to save "me", who wasn't even from that reality. All in all, whether the dream I ventured to was a different form of reality or not, I'd still continue to dream. I have no other choice anyway.

nightmares...

Wtf is wrong with me? I kept having series of bad dreams lately. Its so scary and it is usually abt me dying or talking to a soul/dead person… This is scaring the shit out of me coz i usually dont get nightmares… I only experience it when i get a fever. And now, i kept having them. Is it coz i am stressed over something? Or is it because i sleep too much and my bed, pillows and blankets are shoving me away? Or is it because it might be a warning that something bad will happen to me?? Oh God! I wish this will stop asap. I wish i have someone to talk to that i can share what i am experiencing rn. Its scaring me srsly. I tried shaking it off my thoughts but now that im abt to sleep, i cant help but wonder why i keep having these bad dreams… Please let me have a good night sleep from now on. I pray to all the fairies in charge when im sleeping to let me have a peaceful and meaningful dreams instead… I dont need another issue in my life. I’ve got a bunch already and i am sick of it. Let me have a good sleep coz thats were i can only get the chill i need to survive in this very challenging life i have rn. Please…

how often do you punch mahito in junpei's dreams

A month or so. Though this gap got longer with time.

𝕀 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀 𝕕𝕠, 𝕀 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕤 𝕀 𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠.

𝔸𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕙𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕓𝕒-𝕤𝕒𝕟. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕… 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕒𝕜𝕦 𝕘𝕦𝕪, 𝕪𝕖𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕒𝕪.

A dark space... streams of light... glimpses of a battle... Then he reached out... and punched. One. Of the. Streams.

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕙𝕖 𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪-

O-or it was just some crazy coincidence.

𝕄𝕒𝕪𝕓𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞. 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕡𝕚𝕥 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕖.

Yeah... though you can't deny the possibilit-

ℍ𝕖𝕪, 𝕤𝕚𝕤. 𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕓𝕒-𝕤𝕒𝕟. ℍ𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤. 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥… 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕥, 𝕠𝕜𝕒𝕪?

𝔸𝕥𝕤𝕦𝕙𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕓𝕒-𝕤𝕒𝕟. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕… 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕒𝕜𝕦 𝕘𝕦𝕪, 𝕪𝕖𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕒𝕪.

A dark space... streams of light... glimpses of a battle... Then he reached out... and punched. One. Of the. Streams.

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕙𝕖 𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪-

O-or it was just some crazy coincidence.

𝕄𝕒𝕪𝕓𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞. 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕡𝕚𝕥 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕖.

Yeah... though you can't deny the possibilit-

ℍ𝕖𝕪, 𝕤𝕚𝕤. 𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕓𝕒-𝕤𝕒𝕟. ℍ𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤. 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥… 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕥, 𝕠𝕜𝕒𝕪?

Baby King Nightmare

Little cute bean

Thought it would fit

He was little potato I mean, now he is evil and short

Those things around him in shape of ball are "nightmares" they don't have some special name

Tried to make drawing "cozy" I hope I did right, that person covering baby with quilt blanket, Nightmare's pops, that drawing was supposed to be small sketch, I got creative I will say

Nightmares

Every night Bucky wakes up panting and crying bc of nightmares, Steve one night hears him whimpering in his sleep and goes to check on him. Bucky being Bucky sleeps with a knife. Steve sees Bucky shaking and hyperventilating and shakes him awake. “bucky!” He says. Bucky wakes up and still being half asleep and not seeing its Steve panics, and holds the knife to Steve’s throat, his eyes widen realizing it’s Steve, he’s holding a knife to, he freezes, why can’t he stop himself? Why does he always hurt people? With that thought in mind he just breaks down sobbing,

Nat who also has the same problem, only with Clint. Finds out about buckys nightmares, when she finds him wandering around a 2 am, both of them having just woken from a particularly bad nightmare. After this they just go into the others room if they find themselves having night mares. The other doesn’t ask questions, just scoots over make it enough room for the other. And nat curls up like a cat, buckys metal arm on her back to keep her cool, and they drift off. No might mares, and if there are the wake up to find the other still there, still breathing. Not dead. And can go back to sleep

The Forgotten Cellar Shaina Tranquilino October 5, 2024

The Harrisons moved into the old Victorian house on the outskirts of town with the kind of enthusiasm that accompanies a fresh start. The house was a bargain—too good to pass up. Rebecca, her husband Gerald, and their son, Caleb marvelled at the high ceilings, the vintage wallpaper, and the spacious rooms. It felt like a dream, albeit one wrapped in a bit of dust and cobwebs.

The cellar door was the only thing out of place. It sat at the end of a narrow hallway in the kitchen, locked with a heavy, rusted chain. Rebecca had asked the realtor about it, but all she’d said was that the previous owners had forgotten about it. The key, like the history of the house, was lost to time.

"It’s just a storage space," Gerald had said, brushing off Rebecca's concerns. "We can deal with it later."

But on the first night, Rebecca heard it—the whispers.

She had been lying in bed, half-asleep, when a soft, disembodied murmur floated up through the floorboards. She strained her ears, thinking it was the wind or maybe the house settling. The house was old, after all. But the longer she listened, the clearer it became.

“Please... let me out...”

Rebecca sat up in bed, her heart pounding in her chest. The voice was faint, almost pleading, rising from somewhere deep below the house.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered, shaking Gerald awake.

"Hear what?" he mumbled, rolling over.

"The whispering... from downstairs."

He frowned, still half-asleep. "Probably just the pipes. This place is ancient."

Rebecca wasn’t convinced, but she let it go, hoping it was just her imagination playing tricks on her in the unfamiliar home.

The next night, the whispering came again, louder this time. And this time, she wasn’t the only one who heard it.

"Mom?" Caleb’s small voice quivered from the doorway of their bedroom. "There’s someone downstairs. I heard them."

Rebecca's skin prickled with dread. She glanced at Gerald, who had now fully woken, his brow furrowed. They sat in silence for a moment, listening. There it was again—a faint, desperate whisper.

“Please... help me…”

Rebecca's stomach turned. It was coming from beneath the floorboards, from the cellar.

"We need to see what’s down there," Rebecca said, her voice barely above a whisper. Gerald hesitated, but the unease in his eyes mirrored her own.

Armed with a flashlight and a crowbar, Gerald made his way to the cellar door the next morning. Rebecca stood behind him, her heart in her throat as he forced the rusted chain from the door. The heavy wooden door groaned open, releasing a rush of cold, damp air that smelled of earth and something else—something rotten.

The stairs creaked as Gerald descended, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness. Rebecca followed, holding Caleb’s hand tightly. The cellar was larger than they had imagined, the walls lined with crumbling stone and ancient wooden beams. But something else caught their attention—a large, decrepit trunk in the corner, covered in dust.

Rebecca's pulse quickened as they approached it. The whispers had stopped, but the air felt thick with an unspoken presence. Gerald knelt down, hesitating before unlatching the trunk.

It creaked open slowly.

Inside, there were no treasures or old clothes as they had expected. Instead, the remains of a person—a skeleton, curled up, bound in chains—lay within. Rebecca gasped, stepping back in horror, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Who... who is this?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before Gerald could respond, the whispering began again, louder now, filling the cellar with an oppressive weight.

“Please... set me free...”

The voice was coming from the skeleton. Rebecca's blood ran cold as the realization dawned on her. The whispers weren’t just voices in her head. They were real.

As if responding to the plea, the chains around the skeleton began to rattle, slowly unwinding themselves from the brittle bones. Rebecca stumbled back, dragging Caleb with her as Gerald froze in place, his eyes wide with terror.

“We have to go!" Rebecca screamed, her voice shaking. She pulled Gerald toward the stairs, but the air grew thick, almost solid, as if something unseen was holding them in place. The whispers intensified, turning into anguished cries.

"Let me out... let me out!"

Suddenly, the cellar door slammed shut above them, plunging the room into darkness. Rebecca's flashlight flickered wildly, casting frantic shadows on the walls as the temperature dropped further. She felt an icy hand brush her arm, the faint whisper now right in her ear.

“Stay with me…”

With a burst of panic-fueled strength, Gerald lunged toward the door, yanking it open. They scrambled up the stairs, slamming the door behind them. The whispers were muffled now but still persistent, like a voice trapped beneath layers of earth, desperate to be heard.

They left the house that night, too afraid to stay another minute in the presence of whatever haunted the cellar.

Weeks later, the house stood empty, its windows dark and its doors locked. No one spoke of the Harrisons or the skeleton in the cellar, as if the house itself had swallowed their secret. But on quiet nights, if you stood close enough, you could still hear the whispers rising from below.

“Please... help me... let me out…”

The house waited, patient and silent, for the next family to come.

last night i had a dream that i was raped by my father.

Tw: mention of sa

The cousin that sexually assaulted me between the ages of 6 and 10 is back in the country. I am so scared and I probably have to see him next weekend...

I don't want to see him. I don't think I can. I have to act normal and like nothing ever happend while I get flashbacks of him doing all of it.

I can't stand the nightmares and flashbacks anymore, I just want to forget and be safe.

I don't want to relive him forcing himself onto me. I don't want to feel this helpless and weak again.

I need to get stronger. I need to be able to defend myself...

I'm so tireddd.

But I can't sleep. I just wanna sleep. Having a sleeping disorder sucks. And now it's already to late to take my meds because if I do now I'll be exhausted all day long tomorrow...

I just wanna sleeeeeep. Please?

I think I need to cuddle with someone and hear them breathing to fall asleep now...

Tw: sa and rape

No, because why does a fucking language trigger me just because he speaks it. Why?

Why does long blond hair trigger me? Why does the mention of a whole country just because he lives there??

Fuck this. Why does a staircase trigger me? My aunts house? Seeing my little cousins grow up? Cold blue eyes?

Everything that reminds me of him. The way he forced himself onto me. I just want to forget it

I don't want to get flashbacks and nightmares and all that ahit just because of this one man that couldn't keep his hands of a 6 year old.

Tw: mention of sh, drugs, overdose, sexualization

I had a dream and it was so weird.

Like, at first at was more of a nightmare, everyone left me, I was self harming in the dream and I looked like shit.

Anyway, when I got to my room in the camp where the dream was playing, there were two men and that is awesome.

Because I asked if I could have a cigarette and one of them made me one and there were drugs everywhere and the man just gave me the drugs for free when I asked.

And they were like really nice and told me I looked pretty (even tho my face was all red and swollen from crying) and explained how to take the drugs that I haven't taken before.

And they were like also really big on concent, since one of the drugs was a love drug and they were like, you both gotta consent!

And I think they also kissed once and laughed and than I think I died because of an overdoses and woke up??

It was so weird, anyway, I really want to actually meet two people like those two, I just wanna be held and comforted...

Maybe I'll just go back to sexualizing myself for attention, it's easier and I really want to feel wanted rn.

But I also know that it's a terrible choice...

What should I actually do? I don't know, I just don't know.

Martin Jacobson

Horses 

If you were to gaze upon a mirror and have this writhing puce visage staring back at you, know that your grasps of mental coherence may have started slipping. Make haste and contact a local reputable cullah, at best you shall receive a minor slimy herbal remedy and a stomach ache. At worst? That differs from region to region of course but you can expect to be taken in by repressive monastic folk who are sure to berate any one of your derivations from what they consider normal, damned to be a carny fool for all the spectacle and ridicule of your peers, or perhaps even locked away in one of those new asylums for the insane which men of scientific scholarship find themselves in favor of. Any understanding? Not in these ages.

Lend my your listening ears, I had a dream last morning. I was attempting to finish washing my laundry garbs but as it would happen the only setting which was available to me on the drying machine was “crush cycle” in bold text. Lacking other options I selected the “crush cycle” and what followed was an agonizing cacophony of screeching metal noises, aggressive spasming and a ceaseless thunderous thudding sound all the while the faint smell of burning invaded the air. Once the “crush cycle” was finally finished all that my clothes had been reduced to was nothing more than a charred yet moist heap of indiscriminate crusty waste. Yes, it was still wet, what a terrible dryer.

Too much rest for the wicked.

For more that ten days at this point I have been struggling to awaken from slumber and this has become increasingly bothersome and intrusive upon my usual schedule of disgusting disappointments. Worse still, while trapped within the unadministered faculties of my own vapid neural lipid blob space I have been thrown into a number of disturbing mental scenarios and decidedly undesirable “dreams” (nightmares) for the sake of no carcass in particular.

I am not, yet once I indubitably am a guest at some sort of well-to-do yet undoubtedly second-rate hotel establishment with walls of cheap taught paper and unoriginal prints claiming to decorate the vacant halls. My place in this languid location rather than my own sullen abode is soon readily made known to me once I “recall” the presence of the worms. The worms made their first appearance within a traditional wall-mounted telephone, wherein worms seemed to wave to and fro in all of its many holes and cracks. The wires connecting electric appliances also appears to be significantly thicker, suggesting a constant system of worms. From this I concluded either that worms had been found out for their unknown richness in electric conductivity and had thus been put in place rather than metal wiring or that worms had become attracted to technology and electrically charged regions. The latter would seem more viable in light of later information as I saw lighting fixtures and wall-mounted television screens being inhabited by swarms of teaming worms.

While the dialectic usage of “worm” may depict a very particular vision in one’s mind, that being a limbless invertebrate like an earthworm, in the sense that “worm” was utilized here suggests that it was being used to describe many creatures from maggots to millipedes, their true commonality being shown in their shared unusual behavior. The whole of our modern digital world seemed to be infested with the essence of the worm, wherein the more elevated symbols of our contemporary advancements were being used instead as barracks for an oncoming wormpocalypse. Or, the wormpocalypse as it was to already be seen.

Down the sickly pale hall and two lefts to the right, what lay before me appeared to be the remains of (my mind meat’s vague approximation of) an American folk musician. All about his grotesque form writhed a myriad of worms doing away with his flesh, his body posed in such a way to suggest that he had merely been lazing away calmly rather than being violently overwhelmed by the incursion of worms hungry to feast. In this sight I now recognized the reality of the worm of the worlds, how the many vessels of man were being rendered disassembled by endless tides of the worm who had taken up residence in all of their technology. And still I considered if it had been man who had installed the worms, knowing not of the eventual folly of this choice.

Contrary to unpopular disbelief, I still inhabit the waking hours when the gaze of the burning sky is brought unto the crust and the green warmth of the world is felt dearly. I look into the pots of my many nurtured plants, I look into the dank plastic pit suitable for refuse, I look into the sweetest and most tender of all good seasons’ fruits. Worms. Worms have made themselves into all of these things I say, this I have observed. I often regard dreams and nightmares as reflections of our own surface level contemporary anxieties contacting and concocting among our bathic sensibilities which rest deep within our psyche. I think these things verily, so then what of the worms? Have I been rendered a scion of the worm of the worlds?