User blog:IdealisticPrawn/The Psyche of a Prawn 2

The dream has changed.

I awaken from the dream that is the waking world in what seems to be an abandoned ice factory. My breath condenses into a tiny cloud when I exhale, the walls are caked in layers of abrasive ice, and there are dense cubes of ice standing six feet, ones which I can not see into.

However, different from the previous dream, shit hits the fan pretty fucking fast.

A pipe snaking its way across the ceiling suddenly and inexplicably cracked and burst in a ball of flame, like a severed and spurting artery of fire. I cowered in-dream, the threat of being burnt to a crisp very alive, even in the dreamworld.

I took my hand away slowly from my eyes and I saw, to my horror, the ice blocks melted to reveal zombie-like, gargling people wearing hospital gowns and sterile jumpsuits. I backed away, mouth wide open in shock and terror, when a trap door opened behind to reveal more patients. Among them was a doctor.

I studied this doctor closely. He was standing somewhere within the range of 5'6" to around 6 feet, with a near-pale complexion and a pencil mustache. He has a condescending grin on his face, which was framed by round tortoise-shell glasses, and stood in a white lab coat with black laytex gloves. The doctor and his 'patients' made abrupt, stalky movements like slow-moving robots or characters brought to life using choppy animations. They closed in on me fast, and I descended to the floor with my clawing hand stretching above the crowd. Everything went to black, and for a minute I saw myself floating in darkness.

I came to, finding myself strapped to a chair in a dirty operating room. The doctor was standing over me, an ice pick held firmly and dramatically in one raised hand. His form flickered between that of the doctor and a Southern man with a Caesar cut, wearing a white suit with a red turtleneck. Finally, my mind seemed to settle on the doctor.

Then, he brought the ice pick down, screaming "ARE YOU READY TO WIELD THE SWORD OF JUSTICE?!"

I awoke, again, to find myself leaning over what looked like a doppelganger of me, holding the ice pick. The doppelganger bore a wound in his eye socket. Did I lobotomize my double?

I dropped the ice pick; as it clinked to the ground, a puddle caught my attention. I peered into it, and I was faced with a sudden, horrifying realization.

I was now in the body of the doctor. I stood back as the walls of the operation room disappeared to reveal a long tunnel. I heard loud sloshing sounds in the distance; I knew what these were, and I started to run.

There was a wall of water heading towards me.

As I ran, desperately away from the advancing torrent of water, I was morphing. First the doctor, then the Southern  man, then a short-haired man in a suit, then Humphrey Bogart, then a young Lauren Bacall (almost humourously), and finally back to my old self. Sprinting for my life, visions of a water tower and train tracks hovered in my view. Finally, the barred exit to the pipe was replaced by a door. I swung it open, running through. It closed behind me, and I could hear the water splashing against it like a raging beast trying to gain entry by force.

On the other side of the door was an industrial docking bay, where an old truck was parked. Something inside me itched for me to open the latch, as if it were a solution to everything.

I did, and out tumbled a naked woman, bound and gagged, surrounded by a large pile of raw, dead fish.

I was then that I awoke.

At least I can write now.

I think there's something wrong with my head.