Thread replies: 3
Thread images: 2
Thread images: 2
File: IMG_4825.jpg (283KB, 1300x1300px) Image search:
[Google]
283KB, 1300x1300px
Just woke up from this one
>be a young child from a poor area in South America
>my father dies so I become depressed
>stumble upon a church while moping home from school one day
>go inside and it's some sort of yoga class
>they constantly talk about the "precision god" and wanting to please him
>start regularly praying to the precision god and he always immediately answers telepathically with fortune cookie tier advice
>start feeling much better about my father and look forward to church
>out of nowhere the South America and yoga class thing is thrown out the window and church has turned into group therapy
>a bunch of random people I've met throughout my life (mostly my peers) are sitting in chairs in a circle
>I've changed from the South American kid into myself
>bant around in group therapy, be way less socially retarded than I actually am
>randomly start praying to the precision god
>I forget his name for a second and call him provision god or some shit
>suddenly hear an earth shaking roar
>the room starts twisting and turning, everybody holding onto something so they don't get thrown around
>a bunch of overdramatic sirens playing and everything is tinted red
>wake up
Do I have autism?
>>
File: 1496938993105.png (22KB, 300x250px) Image search:
[Google]
22KB, 300x250px
>Tasks wagie underling with selling 18 membership cards and collecting at least 9 surveys from customers by the time I've finished my coffee.
>He does it with plenty of coffee left to spare.
>>
Its night at a white marble building,the diners seated around an open court. The building is in mid construction, but this area is of sufficient completion to allow the party in rough but serviceable comfort. The hostess is a youngish woman,no more than 30,with swept back hair of a grey black hue,held in place with a headband .Her outfit is tightly fitting,but not otherwise revealing,vaguely Egyptian in style,or it could conceivably be wrappings. Her guests are an assortment of magicians,boisterous and amused,drinking her wine and gossiping amongst themselves. The Dreamer (me) had excused himself to use the bathroom,washing his hands at a sink without a basin,merely a direct link to the sewer outflow,and returns to the Hostess' side,or tries to: he bumps a cart laden with construction materials and itrolls downhill,crashing into a sepulchre and releasing a mob of shambling undead! The Lich Queen finds this a happy accident,and encourages her guests to entertain themselves destroying them,which they gleefully comply,hurling damaging magics with an air of sublime amusement. The Queen herself eliminates a few,pointing a finger and reducing them to crackling ash. Then she eyes a four footed creature,misshapen and shambling,as if the sweepings of an abattoir stood up on bits of legs and walked away. "Ooh,what a cutie-pie! Awww!", she coos,and moves to it to poke at it with a tickling finger until it bolts off with her in pursuit. This leaves the Dreamer more or less alone,reclining on her throne,more bed than chair. His eye fixates on a bit of decoration: a statuette of a monk cast in silver. He is lying on his belly,leaning on his elbows,long fingered hands cupping a jowly face,the face gazing down on rhe bed with a long languid indolent smile. "Hmm. I bet you've seen some things going on in here," says the Dreamer to it,meaning the bed. And suddenly animating,drawls, "Oh,you have NO IDEA!" The Queen appears behind the headboard and demands,"No idea about WHAT?!"
Thread posts: 3
Thread images: 2
Thread images: 2