While we sleep, the images creep... lurking two steps deeper into the mind. Was it you or me... they come just the same, easily and without much effort. I am recording this here for reflection... a nightmare which visits often.
I was a young man, of 20 years or so, at war... the interests being only those of old, fat, wealthy men and their Libertine ways. A trusted friend of mine accompanied me through the jungle, dodging the relentless onslaught of those pitted against our side. We survived the jungle massacre to find ourselves stumbling upon the piers behind enemy lines... though our safety was still obscured, this settlement was loosely guarded. As we tread upon the creaking planks of weathered wood, a female soldier noticed our approach... nervously she reached for a canister of chlorine gas and secured her gas mask tightly around her delicate, porcelain face. We pounced upon her and greeted her features with delirious kicks and thrusts of brutality. After securing our masks, I reached for the canister of weaponized gas as her fingers shook loose their lingering grasp. There was little passion left in her, until fear awoke the need for survival... she thrashed violently against the planking as I struggled to remove her mask. Her tears spewed forth and mixed with snot and saliva, as it built up around her cheeks and mouth... the red blushing of suffering in her cheeks looked almost glossy under the film of sorrow, sweat, and mucus. I opened the canister and unleashed the hurling chlorine gas directly against her face... gasping and choking as she wildly swung her arms in a desperate last attempt of escape. The yellow-greenish gas caked around her lips and under her nose, sticking to the wetness and lubrication of her suffering... reacting with the tears and mucus upon her face, as it slowly melted into her flesh, bubbling out pockets of plasma and blood. We laughed... laughed as she struggled to shamble away once we'd loosened our grasp. I remember looking through her eyes and felling nothing... just the irritation from her blurred vision.
It was unclear if we "won" or "lost" the war... the next memory took us outside of a warehouse in the South Pacific. Our tongues had been removed for some unknown violation during the war... we stood outside that warehouse awaiting the next phase of our punishment. I looked at my friend and tried speaking in confusion, questioning what punishment we had so brutally deserved. The commanding officer deciphered my mumblings and replied, "You are to serve as prostitutes."... with that, he pushed us through the windowless doors. I was greeted by the darkness of a dimly lit room, with a stench a depravity, thick with hopelessness. I remember my body feeling numb as we shuffled deeper into the room... every few steps my foot would turn under itself and I would slightly trip. Once through the opening of the main room, I noticed countless naked children... laying upon couches, rugs, and each other. It was an endless pile of naked, young flesh... suited to fill the desires of those same Libertine men. We were taken to a makeshift recovery room and instructed to lay upon the beds... I remember seeing him settle down beside me, looking nothing as he did before. We were a little more than children ourselves, perhaps the age of 12 or so... tender flesh that met the end of a mutilating mind. I looked in horror at my own young youthful skin to discover my transformation and new place in this house of prostitution and immoral delights... I had new swollen breasts, firm and discharging rivers of puss. I reached down between my legs to fondle what I knew was no longer to be found... instead I felt the moist tenderness of my vagina, made from the clippings of my former penis. I wept... and awoke.
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