Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-4948017-20150606154703

"I am having nightmares."

When I was a kid, I always wondered about the things moving around my body. I had my mother, dear, cover me up with explanations that, as a kid, I still don’t understand. She tells me of a train-spoon with scrumptious rations and a nice fat man giving gifts every end of the year. And when someone dies and has done well they gets angel wings and flutter to Heaven. If not, one gets to ride to Hell and be poked with pitchforks on their ribs and butt for the rest of their lives.

We played Horseshoes in our backyard every afternoon. Dreams of wonderful things and discoveries started processing through my mind. I had ambitions, goals and marks; that all is of my mother’s schooling. Never in my childhood had I any dreams that were not what my mother believed.

At the end of my 8th year, the nice fat man offered me a gaming console. I took pleasure in every bit of experience I had with my console. I adored how cruel games were made possible for gamers to experience without getting locked up behind bars. The games had me lost and distant to my mother and her thoughts. It also made me closer to it than my mother. I got attached to the console and we never played Horseshoes ever again.

The visions in my reverie were starting to become worse. The entertainment box clouded me with visions I admired more than things my mother would say. At school, I would always pick a fight with my classmates. I would utter crude words, which I learned from the box, to all my hatred. Everything seemed normal to me.

My mother was sure her son had changed ever since the box came to me. She knew she had to do something about this matter. She knew she had to get rid of the box somehow by trading, giving away or concealing it. But she decided to smash it while I slept.

How my dreams worked at that time was unbelievable. I would dream of myself as the protagonist of the game doing both heroic and anti-heroic deeds. I would be the mafia gangster doing drugs and vices, and the serial killer that murders anyone for amusement. But besides the far-fetched imagination, I had this sort of a security camera that guarded the box. I dreamed of my mother sneaking in the interior of my room to get a hold of the box. She went to the garage to get some tools. She picked up the hammer, covered in cobwebs, which that man used three years ago, and started smashing the box to bits of boards and circuits.

Rage and anger boiled in my wake consciousness, and my dream shifted to a darker phase.

It went dark for a while. Then, I dreamed I was in my mother’s room picking up the cumbersome gun she used in case of crisis. I dragged it on top of my game table.

It went dark for a while, again. Then, I dreamed I was in the kitchen picking up the knife she used to slice my meal with. I dragged it on top of my game table.

It went dark once more. Then, I dreamed I was in our backyard picking up my prized horseshoe I used to play Horseshoes. I dragged it on top of the table in my room.

I imagined killing my mother with all three tools I found close to me. The gun's bullet going straight to her head; the knife piercing through her lower abdomen; my horseshoe stuck on her neck.

Usually, this kind of nightmare ended in me waking, shaking and clammy. But this time, I woke up holding a smoking gun and a knife covered in blood. I saw my mother beside my wrecked box with a crack in her head, cut belly and a horseshoe lodged in her neck. I sat there the whole night beside my mother, fixing my box.

---

I'm ready to finalize and post the story in the wikia. Thank you Umbrello for sharing your thoughts on this. If anyone still wants to correct and add thoughts on this please do.



<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:16px;line-height:26px;"> <ac_metadata title="Virtual Nightmares (Fixed and unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>