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*WARNING*
This story might contain suggestive elements such as murder and heavy weaponry.
Please continue at your own risk.
I hope you enjoyed this story as... Well, it was a terrifying dream I had and I had to write it down for school for some strange reason.
it's kinda funny now that i think about it
(also i cut it off early because it went w a y further from there and i'd probably be banned for it tbh)
Please continue at your own risk.
Spoiler - click to reveal
All I really remember was waking up in a strange building. Here’s what followed.
As I plod up to the sign-up booth next to the stone pillar, I ask, “What classes are available?”
“All of them. You’re one of the first to sign up!” replies the lady behind the booth. Her face is blurry, I cannot see the features, but her voice sounds sharp and strict.
“Ah, lovely!” I say, picking up the small pen in the corner of the booth. I sign up for three classes that I do not remember seeing on a flyer; photography, writing, and character design.
It all seems so odd that I know what I’m doing, as I had only now just woken up in the middle of a huge dome with stone pillars every few meters.
I begin my walk to my first class, character design. I arrive at three doors, and I enter the one to the left. Inside of the classroom, I saw only a few kids my age - I thought the lady behind the booth had mentioned I was the first to sign up. How odd.
No one notices me as I walk in - this gives me air to pull out my sketchbook and sit down at an empty desk.
I sit in this class for what feels like hours. I sketch my anatomy figure to help me with the character designing.
The bell rings, and every student stands and marches like an army soldier out of the class. I’ve never seen any student do that - what’s going on?
I push my way out the door, and the room with the sign-up booth is… gone. It disappeared, just like that. In place of it is a rainy intersection, cars zooming past back and forth.
That’s when she arrives.
Her motorcycle is a classic one you’d see in cartoons, and her helmet is black with bright red devil horns, which I can now say fit her personality rather well.
The bike comes to a screeching halt in front of me. Stepping down from the motorcycle, the woman takes off her helmet. I am shocked to see that she is at least eighty years old, with many wrinkles and a white, frizzy bob on top of her tiny head.
“Do you know where my grandson is? I’d like to have a... chat with him,” she asks me, peering down at me with her cold, blue eyes.
“N-no,” I stutter, suddenly feeling very small next to this woman.
She drops her helmet and slides a pistol from inside of her leather jacket. “I won’t be asking you again. Where is he?”
I freeze in fear. I don’t know how to respond to her as I stare at the gun pointed at me.
I freeze in fear. I don’t know how to respond to her as I stare at the gun pointed at me.
And so I did what any self-respecting person would do when a gun is pointing at them; I run.
I run inside the building and, at the top of my voice, I warn everyone about the homicidal grandmother.
I regret it immediately. It’s now chaotic - kids running, crashing, and knocking each other down as they scramble away from the door.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. Jumping, I turn to see a young man, around twenty, pushing me to a stairwell.
I obey and begin to climb the blue, metal stairs, the man right behind me. I feel him shove my back, and I run faster. God, I’m terrified.
I hear a machine gun fire, and I gasp. How many weapons does this grandma have?
I reach the top of the stairs, exiting into a hotel lobby with beige walls and rust-colored carpet. The yellowish light seems to come from nowhere, as there aren’t any lamps.
And so, I know what’s happening to me.
I’m stuck in a nightmare, and I have to wake up. But how, I ask myself. How are you going to wake up?
The man appears behind me, out of breath, and offers me a butcher’s knife. I take it without any hesitation.
The man appears behind me, out of breath, and offers me a butcher’s knife. I take it without any hesitation.
“Fight like hell,” he tells me. “My grandmother doesn’t know when to stop.”
“Why is she here?” I complain.
“I don’t know, something about forgetting something.”
“You don’t know! Are you kidding me? There are probably dozens of dead and injured kids down there because you don’t know why she’s here?”
“Don’t blame me! If anything, it’s your fault for letting her in!”
“Why would it be my fault? I don’t even know any of you!”
The man isn’t able to respond, because his grandmother appears in the middle of the lobby, covered in blood.
“Don’t blame me! If anything, it’s your fault for letting her in!”
“Why would it be my fault? I don’t even know any of you!”
The man isn’t able to respond, because his grandmother appears in the middle of the lobby, covered in blood.
And then I woke up.
it's kinda funny now that i think about it
(also i cut it off early because it went w a y further from there and i'd probably be banned for it tbh)
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