But what I’m thinking of right now doesn’t resemble an acid trip–it’s moreso a horror-show that you wouldn’t want to come within a mile of if you were on acid.
You see, I drempt one night, not long ago, that I was a homocidal maniac, a serial killer, not too far from the norm of my dreams, except this one was much more detailed, and much more sinister.
I was in the process of compiling a wonderful collection of bodies–or skeletons thereof–and tying them into neat bundles which I stored in my trunk. For some reason unbeknownst to my waking mind, I also saw to perfectly preserving their uteruses in glass anatomy jars, storing them in a shed. It was the uteruses which ultimately gave me away, apparently. And naturally, with all of this killing, there was the problem of the extra flesh to be disposed of, but my dreaming self thought it best to simply heap it all in a remote part of the forest near Stockton and let nature take its course.
I was up to my 8th body when someone found the jars of uteruses, and I was finally found out. I had wondered what my grand scheme was, and it was a shame it had to end so soon.
But I intend on continuing the story–not in the waking world of course–in my upcoming book, entitled “Angel’s Harp”. Hope the world enjoys my little tryst with the macabre!