A Very Real Dream
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"No, don't do it!!"

The voices echoed inside his head. But he knew he was good at what he did.

She could only see the ground moving away from her feet…

He walked through the grassy, tiled passageway; the older chicken went to sleep and the black hen woke up. In the distance, the cube-homes, huts in a decaying state. Daniel walked to them without further ado, as if he knew what he was doing.

Painted tiles… painted tiles; a ruby stain on each one of them. The crimson imprint grew larger and larger the closer he got to the hut. A dead village, houses made of mud. A stupor, methane sheep reigned in the sky the closer he came to the hut. A single soul came and went through the winds of the sky. Daniel, he opened the door, door? The misplaced board of that shack. It was a lost soul.

It was a place of cane, where a filth of guys could reign. Drunkenness in the form of two men appeared in front of Daniel, sitting, rummaging with their mouths through the bottles, looking for more alcohol, drinking it out.

Daniel sighed, he had found what he was looking for: people. He walked towards them, the wood of the floor creaking, Daniel's senses shivering from the air of the place. Neon lights? Strawberry scent? Jewels as decorations? Carpets of exotic animals? Outside it was a shack, but inside, it was opulence in its ecstasy. And he came, and asked them as he swallowed the drink:

"Good evening guys, can you tell me where am I?"

The bottles struck against their mouths again. A voice from nowhere answered:

"Why should we tell you? You should already know, in fact, you shouldn't even be here, go, GO ALREADY!"

Daniel watched as two fish landed out of the water, out of their chairs.

The opulence disappeared. The sun had incarnated in the place. The agent's concern rose as he wondered what did the men say.

"Daniel! Daniel! I know you can hear me, leave that man, fight against it, don't let it control you!"

Hands, of all colors, of every race or non-race as I listened to the cries for help. The place was now the soul of a twisted mind. His hand reached into his pockets.

"Who are you!? What do you want!?"

Daniel screamed. Hands came from the floor, from the sky, from the right, the left, even from Daniel himself. One of the hands withdrew, Daniel had forced it back: he grabbed steel, an incision, amputated it with his razor. Non-blood was falling on him.

"Daniel!!! I know you can hear me, fight, fight as hard as you can."

Daniel was getting desperate. One by one, the hands began to fall. Each incision spurted purple liquid, and the agent was splattered. His nose took the hit.

"What is it? It smells like… iron… blood."

Agent Daniel's mind cleared, he came to his senses and saw the fallen. The non-blood was now blood and the hands stopped holding him. Then he gathered his thoughts.

The head rolling down the hallway, decapitated, the knife… The men, two fools drunk with knowledge… The warmth of the bullets in his chest… The hands holding him… A hand on the floor, still moving, and his colleagues helping him. Pale, stoic. A scream came out of him.

"Oh God! What have I done!?"

The hands were holding him again, but this time as friends, leading him to the on-site clinic.

"Well guys, remember to put on appropriate protection, we don't want this meme to get into your systems."

The man in the lab coat was about to begin the test. A voice spoke up.


"Why, kid? You don't want bullets coming through your chest, let alone us having to give you rehab, because it's going to hurt your ass to know you're going to have to keep working here, isn't it?"

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