Flying with Walter

The plane is probably a small Cessna, not unlike the ones I hopped lakes in last summer while working up north. But it is not summer. It is very much winter and we are in the middle of blizzard. The pilot is Walter. He has never flown a plane but assures me everything is just fine. The wind is incredible and keeps almost flipping the plane upsidedown, Walter wrestling with the controls to keep it level. I can see he is laughing quite loudly but can barely hear it over the deafening storm.

The plane is whipped around by the wind and is turned on its head. We cannot see the ground that is surely rushing up at us, all we can see is snowing whipping around. With no point of reference, we can only feel that we are falling at a rapid pace. Walter is still laughing.

Saw.

1. An infomercial for some sort of facial helper. There is a ballet dancer saying how much it helped her. She has a see-through shirt on. Then there are some unnamed celebrities plugging it. I wake up, and the infomercial is on TV. I fell asleep on the couch, and my brain listened to the TV, and filled in the visuals.

2. I'm in a house. Dingy, dirty, dead. I'm in a living room area, which consists of a couch against a wall beside an open doorway that leads to what seems to be a kitchen, but the kitchen is black and I can't see in there. On the wall opposite the couch and doorway, a bookcase stands, with none but a few books left on it. It's about 12 feet tall. There are three other people in the room, one is my friend Aaron. The other two are and unnamed man and woman.
No one tells me this, but I know this is one of those things from Saw. I've been bad, and so have these people, so i'm here in this house of traps. I've been here before, I don't know when. I know the bookcase pulls away, so I pull it away to reveal a small corridor, very brightly lit. This is how I escaped before.
But now it's covered top to bottom with sharp, rusty various objects i'm afraid of. But I go and try to crawl through it anyways. The first obstacle is what seems to be some sort of dangling wire. All I know is that I shouldn't touch the end of the wire, so I hang it on itself so it doesn't touch me when I crawl under it. I crawl forwards, only to be impeded by a lowered piece of ground, with dirty hypodermic needles sticking out of it. Above the needles, on the ceiling as it were, are a bunch of dirty razor blades.
I immediately crawl out of this tunnel. We can't escape this way. The man and woman I don't know go upstairs, out of another open doorway on the other side of the couch. It's a spiral staircase, winding up to probable death. I forget about them.
Now it's just me and Aaron. I look around the room. If I were to be sitting on the couch, the bookcase would be on the far wall to my right. On my left, there is a coffee table with my large glass mug on it. This mug weighs no less than 3 pounds, at least. I look to the left of the coffee table, and there is a couch, filthy and stained with some dark substance, pressed against the wall. Above the couch, strangely enough, is what seems to be a window, but it's made up of two panes, about half a foot seperated. They seem thick, and are each divided into square sections, about 50 squares a window. This window is inexplicably clean, but the glass is opaque and has a rippled look to it. I walk over the window, and pick up my heavy glass mug.
I proceed to smash the window with my mug, and Aaron and I escape. When we hit the ground, it's day, and it looks like we're in the middle of a park.
The ground is sinking mud. There are hands and arms and fingers grasping at my ankles as I sink. I run forward. I barely make it out onto some solid ground, and I find Aaron waiting for me there.
Also, a man is waiting with a roofless golf cart, with a several trains attatched to the back of it, with his victims sitting on the back of it. This man is the man who imprisoned me in the house. Aaron doesn't want to get on the train, and neither do I. So we start running towards the parking lot, but find our bright yellow Mack semi-truck to be gone, so we walk into the airport. We find that the man is chasing us, and...
....
I'm going down the elevator in the airport, and the people at the gate are checking my five dollar bills. The inside of my wallet is very dry, and it gives me goosebumps when I feel it. The bills aren't nearly as dry, but still crisp. I walk out of the sliding doors into a blinding light.

Giants

We're all in this car; me, James, Josh, and David. We're all in this car with Vanessa and Sam. It's like a party. The car isn't like any other car, everyone's laying down in it and it's three feet tall, half a foot off the ground, and we have sleeping bags around us. We carry things we want and need in plastic bags that are kept hidden beside us.

We get out in this field, and there are trees lined up for miles at one end. Chad gets out of the car, and I don't know where he came from, but it makes sense that he should be here. He pulls out a football and throws it to Josh, and then to James, and then to me. I run with it, down the field, and when I'm five yards from the trees, I toss it lightly in to the air, and kick at it.

I miss by three feet. The ball falls softly to the ground and I look at it, angry. James is behind me and he tells me to run again. So I do. But this time, James is running behind me, and he's doubled in size. I'm distracted and the same thing happens.

Chad takes the ball and kicks it out into the field. I hate myself because I can't do that.

Then James takes the ball and tells me to run behind him. He's back to his normal size, and when he's a few yards from the trees, he veers off to the side and tosses the ball up, and I try to kick it. Again I miss by three feet.

Chad takes the ball and kicks it out into the field. I hate myself because I can't do that.

I'm hanging my head and while I'm looking down I see Chad's glasses on the ground, so I kick them towards him, only it hits this cement wall of a building that he's inside now. He picks them up and calls me an asshole. They're broken. I'm fairly sure they aren't shattered, but I can't tell from a distance.

I'm walking back to James, near the trees, and I step on a piece of glass. It hurts like hell, so I fall down and grab my foot by the heel and the ankle. I repeat the word "fuck" over and over and eventually, when I find the source of the pain, I hit it at an angle with the side of my hand and the bloody glass falls out. I look at it and say "fuck" again. We get into the car, and I try to bring my game-boy, and my walkman, and my books, but I can't fit them in because Vanessa stole my spot. So I lie down on top of her, and she's angry.

We get back to Ryan's house, and he's waiting for us, with a movie. I start turning off all the lights, to every room in the house, and the last one I turn off, in the entrance of the house causes Ryan's mom to say; "Turn the light back on please!"

I do and she thanks me. James is a giant in the living room again.

Stomping on Rodents

I'm sitting in a bedroom with another person. We're talking about trivial matters, just passing time, when we here a stampede of tiny, clawed feet scampering in the hall. The door is open and we watch twenty or thirty mice run by, all different sizes and colors. Browns, greys, whites, blacks. I run out into the hall to stomp on them.

The mice are frantic and I don't hit any of them, my giant boot just slams onto the hardwood floor. All but one of the creatures have dispersed and I get it cornered. It's one of the bigger ones. I step down hard right on it's stomach and it squirms around on the floor. I stomp again, this time on its head, and the thing shrieks. I stomp again. And again. I can feel the tiny skull blistering under my weight but the mouse just doesn't shut up. I crush it again and it stops.

Picking it up by its hind feet I take a good look at it for the first time. It doesn't look much like a mouse, or even a rodent of any kind. To me, it looked a lot more like, although the tiniest of the tiny, much more like a dog. And it was still breathing.

I panicked.

Although it was still giving signs of life I was positive there was no way this tiny creature was going to survive. I had hit it very hard many times and I had heard (I had felt) its skull crumble. I carried it down to the end of the hallway where there was a door leading to outside. A recycling box sat in the snow. I put the dog down and starting digging through it, trying to find a plastic bag. After some time I found one that would work and turned around to wrap up my sin. The dog was gone.

I ran inside and went room to room, searching. I came to the room I had been in with whoever it was I was with and prayed that the little thing had not dragged itself into this room. I did not want anybody to know.

But it was too late. The other person lay on the bed with her hand outstretched and the dog was licking her fingers. Another person came in behind me. It was Brandin. "Did you get any of the mice?" the person on the bed asked.

"That's my uncle's dog," Brandin said before I could choke anything out. Immediately I knew he knew everything. I felt sick, I felt like throwing up. "What are you going to do about it?" he asked, pointing to the bag in mind hand.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"What are you going to do, huh?"

"What are you doing?"

"What are you going to do about it?"