Every year I have a nightmare that literally destroys me. For

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I felt the gentle touch on both arms as I was flanked by two slender women garbed in flowing ivory white robes. They were of equal height and their chestnut hair flowed and danced as we walked through polished marbled halls. Their faces were bright and beautiful and their eyes held warmth. They guided me through the halls and showed me great works of art and sculpture. Fountains of spirits and angels sprouting from the water. Portraits of immortals fending off demons. Murals of utopia with orchards and the naked saved. I was entranced by it all. I had never seen a collection so impressive in my life especially one that was all made by human hands. The last work they guided me to was of a large fountain of ebony and gold. An uneasy feeling sank deep inside me as my eyes roved and studied the large golden sculpture of the goatman that sat on a dais in the middle of the fountain. It had its head craned upwards to stare at the ceiling or whatever lay beyond. The arms on the beast were human and one was raised and ended with two fingers pointed with the remaining three bent to clutch the palm. The other arm and hand were the same except they pointed at a downwards angle.

The two beautiful women let go of my arms and jumped into the fountain and began drinking the water.

One turned to me as she was cupping the water in her hands and said with a sweet gentle voice. “This is our favorite work in the cathedral. Isn't it beautiful?”

I didn't respond. A creeping paranoia was seeping in from the back of my skull. Little whispers told me to flee.

The angelic voice called out to me once more. “Come. Come and taste it. It is pure. Come and taste it. Then come and taste us. Drink. It is pure.”

My legs started moving and my heart began to pound and the whisper became a hysterical scream.

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I bent to one knee and felt the cold from the marble against my exposed skin. The virgin brought her cupped hands to my face and I sipped. It was cold and it was pure. The virgin then dipped her hands into the fountain once more, cupped them, and dripped water onto the top of my head and face.

They then got out of the fountain and picked me up from my knee and placed their gent hands once again onto my arms and led me from the room.

They both looked up to me and said “You tasted the god's water now it is time to taste his daughters.”

We walked under an archway and into a courtyard where the sandals met crushed white stone rather than smoothed marble. As we crossed it two old crones with hunched backs and boils and walking canes hobbled to us. When they reached us they asked in creaking voices to look into our eyes to see our futures.

With shaking hands plagued by arthritis they attempted to touch the faces of the virgins but they shied away in fear. Then they turned to me with their shaking hands.

With slight annoyance I let them touch my face with their crooked fingers and they both gasped and when they looked into my eyes horror befell them. They began to shriek wildly and hobble away from us. “MOLLACH IS HERE! BETHLEMET IS HERE! BETHLEMET IS WITHIN THE CATHEDRAL OF GOD!”

The once blue bright sky above darkened and rolling black blacks blanketed the heavens. I turned to question the women on each arm but they disintegrated into dust and dissipated with the growing wind.

Within seconds all light was engulfed by darkness.

I began to blindly run in the direction of the cathedral entrance but my legs quickly became numb and the sensation of cooled tar encased my limbs.

A hellish voice called out from everywhere. “Where are you running to?”

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I began to pray. I began to ask for forgiveness from god.

The voice called out once again. “There is nowhere to run to.”

I felt hot tears streak down my cheeks as I sputtered out. “Our father who art in heaven-”

Thunderous condescending laughter rained upon me and drowned out the rest of the prayer.

“You pray to him? He's doesn't care about your kind anymore. You are dead to him. Why pray to him?”

I am weeping now as I repeat the prayer.

“You pathetic little worm. I am your god not him. He has wrote you off while I have rewarded your brothers kindly and in time I will reward you too.”

With all the courage I could muster I shouted out into the darkness with fear staining my voice. “YOU ARE NOT MY GOD!”

The thunderous laughter answered.

“Oh I am and you are my son and my soldier. All great men are my sons and my soldiers.”

The world flashed to life and the world spun with a collage of light and voices. Of speeches and assassinations. Of wars and treaties. Of trials and prisons. Of rich men and beautiful women. Of empires birthed and destroyed by revolution and blood.

It began to spin faster and faster. “I am the weaver of history and you are my string. Everything important that has ever happened is because of me. Everything you know is because of me. The world you live in is because of me. I am your god and you are my son and soldier. All great men are my sons and my soldiers and I have chosen you.”

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Then there was silence and the world went dark. A lone miniscule white sphere appeared in the tapestry of black. Then the white sphere grew and grew and grew until it was the size of a fist.

A faint breeze grazed the skin of my face and the world around me exploded into fire and mushrooms clouds. Tanks and war wearied soldiers trudging over mountains of irradiated corpses. Flags of Zion flow across the scorched earth. Slaves in gold and silver manacles keep their eyes glued to poorly drawn images of sex and treasure. Lines of young angry men have their tongues and their hands lopped off by their fathers and mothers. Blood bubbles up from the earth and bleeds in all cities. Men clutching books to their hearts are hunted down and strung up on lampposts. Orgies in the streets. Wives castrating their husbands. Fire in the skies. Decay and green paper on the ground. The engulfing chorus of screaming goats and sheep fills my ears and it pours into my skull and fills every nook and cranny.

“You are my soldier you are my son. I will make you rich and comfortable. I will give you women and I will give power. You are my soldier and my son. You are mine.”

My singed eyes begin to slowly open and the blurry image of a hulk of a man with a goat's head standing amongst the piles of dirty laundry in my bedroom appears. Terror grips me and I quickly close my eyes once more. I hear the clack of his hooves against the hardwood of my floor as he turns and opens my door and exits and closes it behind him.

My eyes shoot open. I dare not move. I dare not breathe.

The chilling cries of goats and sheep still ring.

Has anyone else been called upon by bethlemet?

>>17059017
>four short stories and a novella

Unimpressive.

>Scurry nightmares

You know they don't affect reality, right?

>if I don't write I become severely depressed

If I thought you clever enough, that could be an allegory for shitposting on 4chan.

>>17059069
For someone posting on /x/ you sure are close minded.

>You know they don't affect reality, right?
Are you the authority on what does and doesn't effect reality? Can you even give me a logical explanation to what this reality actually is?

Impressive, perhaps you could publish a complete work one day and get closure, or even be free of the nightmare. Good luck Anon!

>>17059106
Working on that now.

Even started an /x/tier novella but can't put all my time on it.

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>>17059078
Firstly, the fact that reality and dreams are different words in pretty much any language is a good indicator that they are two different things.

Secondly, dreams don't affect reality. They affect the dreamer. Your dreams do not affect me or anyone you know. So, unless your dreams affect the collective memory and experience of people other than you, there's a strong chance that dreams don't affect reality. To prove this, this can work in reverse. If my dreams could affect reality, then other people would have been affected by them. But nothing has happened due to my dreams.

Finally, grow a spine and quit making gossamer fabrications of your own subconscious mind affect your waking mind. You'll be much happier.

>>17059117
>he thinks that people can't find inspiration to do real life acts because of their dreams
>thinks people have a choice in what the subconscious throws at them
>still didn't give a valid definition of reality

You're a fag.

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>>17059126
>he thinks that people can't find inspiration to do real life acts because of their dreams

I'm glad you agree with me. If you will remember, I made the point that dreams affect the dreamer. This is a great example.

>thinks people have a choice in what the subconscious throws at them

I didn't imply you had a choice in that. I implied that you have a choice in how you handle your dreams.

>still didn't give a valid definition of reality

>I can't use Google
Not only is your reading comprehension poor, you need someone to define a basic facet of life. But, I'll humour your ignorance.

Reality is the conjectured state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they may appear or might be imagined.

Allowing dreams to distort your judgement affects your perception of reality snd prevents you for seeing things as they actually are.

>You're a fag.
10/10 rebuttal m8. I'm sure you win all the debates in your middle school team.

>>17059159
>Reality is the conjectured state of things as they actually exist

Exist in what?

>>17059159
>Allowing dreams to distort your judgement affects your perception of reality snd prevents you for seeing things as they actually are.

That's complete bullshit. For each and every perspective that belongs to the individual is their own personal reality.

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>>17059167
>Exist in what?

I seriously hope you're being ironic right now. The average /x/ poster can't be -this- dumb.

>>17059183
>he thinks his reality trumps someone else's because he's living it

This little baby never had his existential crisis.

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>>17059174
>personal reality

I think you're confusing perception with reality. You may want to read a dictionary.

>>17059190
>he thinks his reality trumps someone else's because he's living it

You got that backwards m8. Personal perception doesn't trump reality. Read a dictionary.

>>17059203
>You got that backwards m8. Personal perception doesn't trump reality. Read a dictionary.

Actually it does unless of course you're one of those who likes to fit in with the trends.

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>>17059069
All /lit/ breaks loose

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>>17059280
/lit/ loves to criticize even though they themselves have never written anything of worth

>>17059078

I have nightmares all of the time. but i just notice that i cant put my finger through my hand and begin to lucid dream. Shit is so cash

>>17059362
Lucid dreaming is the tits.

>>17059356
>he hasn't read TLOTIAT or TLOTIAT2: Miami Vice
Actually, either way you're right.

>>17059422
Was that the book they published where each page was something an anon posted?

Because that book was complete jibberish.

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>>17059643
sorry I thought it was a .gif

here's something else

Anon
All is theatrics
This is your test of faith, a call for you
I would recomend to meditate at least 20 min each day
Don't forget to pray to God for guidance before every meditation session.
Remember you got free will, any God who ask for help or temps whit power is not the real one a all powerful GOD only have gifts for you whitaud asking something in return, not obligation to him
Becose he his all powerful why he would need your help?
He doesn't, God gave you only gifts
Life, free will ,inteligence
And is up to you to use at your discretion, true gifts

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