Now here's a dream that I had a few months ago and I posted somewhere else when it was fresh: IT TOOK PLACE IN MY HOUSE, IN MY OLD BEDROOM WHEN I INVITED MY FRIEND (the same one on amino who I said was gonna RP) TO MY HOUSE TO PLAY NINTENDO SWITCH. IT WAS A NORMAL GAME OF SPLATOON 2 BUT IT WAS LATE AT NIGHT THEN SOME WEIRD CREATURE CAME (A SPIDER LIZARD HYBRID) AND WE STOPPED PLAYING. I LITERALLY SMASHED IT WITH MY FOOT. THEN, FOR SOME REASON THERE WAS A BACKSTAGE IN MY BEDROOM AND WE WENT IN. A GUY IN A BLOODY BEAR COSTUME CAME AND PUMMELED ME WAAAAAAY BACK. A FEW MINUTES LATER, NORA AND REN CAME IN AS WELL AND RESONATED (ME WITH NORA, MY FRIEND WITH REN). WE DESTROYED THE BEAR THING AND UNMIXED. THEN I WENT TO THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR AND IT WAS DARK. SOMEONE, I THINK REN, TOLD ME THAT INSIDE THE ROOM ARE MURPS OF MST3K CHARACTER. THEN I SAW A FAINT LIGHT AND SAW CROWS FACE BUT IT WASN’T NORMAL. I SOMEHOW SUMMONED ALL THE MST3K BOTS IN NORMAL FORM AND ATTACKED THEM. THEY FOUGHT BACK, THE CROW MURP LOOKING LIKE A SWORD. THEN I HAD A COMEBACK. I QUICKLY THOUGHT OF BLAKE AND SAID, “IN RWBY, SWORDS ARE ALSO GUNS, IN RWBY, SCYTHES ARE ALSO GUNS.”. THEN I GRABBED A CRESCENT ROSE AND SLASHED THEM ALL (NOT THE NORMAL BOTS). THEN SOME CREEPY GUY TELEPORTED AND SAID, “YOU CAN’T DO THAT”. AND I CAME BACK AT HIM BY FLOATING TO THE BASEMENT AND GRABBING MY NERF MAGNHILD THEN GOING BACK INTO MY BEDROOM TO GET NERF STORMFLOWERS AND THEN FLOATING BACK TO THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR AND SAID: “HOW CAN THESE,”. I CALLED TO NORA AND REN AND THEY CAME WITH THE REAL WEAPONS. I SAID, “TURN INTO THESE”. THE GUY DIED AND THEN I WENT TO SLEEP. MY FRIEND AND I GOT UP (IN THE DREAM) AND CALLED “NORA, REN, JAUNE, PYRRHA (IN THAT EXACT ORDER)” FOR THEM TO GET UP AS WELL. I WENT DOWNSTAIRS AND HAD BREAKFAST. THEN I PROCEEDED TO MY BASEMENT AND SAW A WALL ABOUT 5 FT TALL AND I LOOKED OVER IT AND SAW ONE OF MY FIGURES FROM 5+ YEARS AGO THAT I GAVE AWAY WAS POSSESSED BY GRIMM. HOWEVER, IT WAS STANDING STILL. I WHISPERED “GRIMM” AND THEN WOKE UP (FROM THE DREAM).
I had a dream where this guy started punching me at a baseball game (where we went with school?) and i got mad and started hitting him with a shopping cart filled with swear words, and a few people (school workers?) tried to take the the shopping cart from me and one of them (looked like the wat grandma) started yelling and chasing after me so i gave her the middle finger and ran into a trailer. then i woke up.
I had a dream that my "fix" for my action cam (Yi Action camera) caused the LiPo to explode, so i threw it out the window and it was smoking away happily until it melted a whole through the earth (what the hell idk what i was thinking) and then set fire to a gas main and then caused a volcano of (idk what, magma or gas?) the end
I had a dream where there were WCA buildings stacked up on each other in Dreset map. It was horrible.
I had a very weird dream today. (I often have extremely weird dreams with some of them being so weird that I can't remember what happened there when I wake up. Well, at least I've never had a dream involving BeamNG and the forum members ). The dream started with me being at my school. Suddenly, a criminal wielding a Kalashnikov rushed in. He was a white man aged between 25 and 40 years. The criminal started threatening students and staff with his rifle. For some weird reason, I teamed up with him. I didn't do anything, just walked beside him as he aimed his weapon at people. He didn't do much, too, he just threatened people with his gun, but didn't shoot anyone. Finally, somebody has called the police and we realised that the odds are turning against us. Then we went to the school entrance, the criminal aimed his Kalashnikov at the school security officer and demanded that we should be given a car so we can escape to safety. The security officer called the school principal and asked her if there is a car for us. We were given a silver Mercedes V-class, but, before handing over the keys, the principal said to the criminal: "I will kill you. You better come to my house tomorrow and we'll decide your fate. If you won't, I'll still find you and I will kill you". We left the school building and departed in the V-class. As we were driving through the city, I asked the criminal, "Will you come there tomorrow?". "Yes. I have no other option", he said. "Then I'll come too", I replied. After some time, he stopped the car and said, "See you tomorrow at her place". I got out of the car and went home, as he drove away in the Mercedes. *instant transition to next day's events* I arrived at principal's house and so did the criminal. The principal was waiting for us in her garden. She told us that we should have a fight with table knives. If she wins, the criminal will be executed. If we win, she'll forgive the criminal and let him go. So, each of us took a table knife and we went to the hedge maze located in the garden. The fight started, but then I woke up. A vehicle identical to the one we used in the dream
I had a night terror where a 9ft-3 bloke was standing over my bed. A few weeks ago I had a nightmare that I was going to get that night terror. Last night I had a nightmare where I would get in a car crash. Help me.
My dreams: Be dictator (its a real) Real life Civetta Bolide To kill a sorcerer who is bullying me Toyota AE86 Put nuclear bomb under school Find youtubers thumbnail cars(Mclaren P1, BMW M1, Saleen S7......) Kill ivan lochcov and get her cars Get Atomixs Skoda (without killing) Bmw M3 from NFS Alex_Farmer557 fixed Bmw e92 Get a shit Be a more bigger dictator Find wip Shelby gt500 2015 Get a meeting with some czech BeamNG player (real life) Be a better dictator than Kim cong cing cang um Be a profesional drifter Be A better dictator than Aladeen See a ghost Chair Be a better dictator than me Koupit si motor abych mohl opravit dědovu škodu 105L bla bla bla bla bla bla...........
Whuh....WHAT? I had yet another IT dream cause a few days ago I watched the ending of IT on YouTube I was a a random school when I saw IT hiding behind a building. So I told my friend Aaron to hold a big palm tree leaf and tell IT that “If you kill me there will be no more Saturday!” He apparently liked the idea and walked up to him. I then heard screaming (probably from Aaron dying) and ran to the other side of the campus. Apparently everyone knew that IT was here already and they were just going about their day. Then I was like “screw this” and I woke up.
I had a dream about the 1979 Iranian Revolution, there was a protest, i was one of the protesters i was carrying a sign which read "the shah is a cunt", then a tank and several soldiers came and threw a grenade which killed me, then i woke up.
What started as a weirdo dream a few weeks ago became my new Creative Writing project...and this 22-page, 6,200-word documentation of what happens in the beginning of the dream is a tiny fraction of its entirety. I've split it up into two parts and put it into two spoilers, so that you don't have to inconveniently scroll past it every time you look at this page. Spoiler: Prologue The solitary figure stood, staring at the empty world below. The pink, flat, rusty surface howled as the dust storm blew over the plain, lifting rocks and dust into the atmosphere. Echoes of the gigantic, skyscraper-filled city and all of the business that had once existed only a few days previously resonated through the As she glanced to the sky, the afternoon sun shone through 141 million miles of space, piercing her multi-lensed green eyes and gilding her gold, scaly, human-like face. She was over 7 feet tall, her thin, long, golden body draped in a bright-purple-and-gold cloth lace dress, which reached all the way down to her purple-and-gold-lace metal slippers. The dress wrapped tightly around her two spindly legs, her stick-like arms swathed in purple and gold cloth, her neck protected by an Elizabethan collar that stood high at the back and was shorter at the front. She grasped a purple-and-gold scepter that was almost as tall as she was with her two gloved, claw-like hands, her four 3-foot-long translucent-silver keratin wings arranged in an X pattern on her back, her head crowned with a golden tiara jeweled with green, red, and blue. As she towered over her former dominion, she suddenly jerked her head up and to the right to see two green-and-red dots low on the horizon, flying towards her urgently emitting a faint whirring sound. The golden queen smiled, watching the dots quickly become two members of her fellow species, one male and one female, their wings buzzing away at full throttle as they pelted down to the surface. They gracefully landed roughly 20 feet away from their ruler, their blue eyes flashing in the chilly afternoon as they fixed their attention on her, their bright-red plastic suits of armor shimmering brightly against the sun’s rays. The green female was almost 6 feet tall with a thinner suit of armor, clutching closely to her side a bright-red metal laser pistol in her right hand as she stood erect in front of her queen. Her male subordinate was almost 7 feet tall with a much thicker armor suit, holding a bright-red metal laser rifle across his chest. He towered over his female master and stood erect with her under military pressure. Their queen, staring questioningly at her general and lieutenant, smirked as she beckoned them towards her with her cane. They walked closer to her until they were 5 feet away from her, and then… “So…they cleared the entire city, did they not?” the queen boomed, glancing inquisitively at the empty plains behind her. “Not one speck of my kingdom left out here. Not one bit remaining, and…” “Sister, you really should be heading with us to the Lawrussian base,” her general moaned shrilly. “We do not have much time left before they leave, and they know how to perform this ‘procedure’ much better than we do, and much safer.” “Verna, I…I just…I just wanted to see what had become of Dragold City,” the golden figure replied sadly, gradually losing her royal bass tone as she drooped her head to the ground. “Even if it is just a plain now, I wished to see what had become of my former home.” “She’s right, Your Majesty,” the lieutenant remarked roughly. “We can’t wait here all day. The Lawrussians have little patience among themselves and even less patience with other species. Those big, furry, wolf-like---” “That is quite enough, Grenthor,” the queen calmly interrupted her soldier with, glaring defiantly at him as he nearly dropped his rifle in shock, her voice booming once again. “I am sure that they mean the best for us, and your baseless accusations only arise from your incompetence at accepting and communicating with foreign species. I thought that you would have learned well enough from my sister to not jump to conclusions as quickly as you do, but it appears that you have not learned nearly as well as you should have.” “I’m…sorry, Your Majesty,” Grenthor quaked, gently bowing before his queen. “I do not sympathize with flatterers who have behaved wrongly to visitors, Lieutenant,” she retorted, twerking her scepter diagonally to land its point 9 inches away from the soldier’s left foot. “Your bowing and apologies will not have any effect on my view of you.” “Aura, we do not have any time for this bickering! We only have three hours left before they fly back home!” Verna squealed, her face contorted into a look of terror as she moved 2 feet closer to her noble sibling, craning her head up to directly face the queen. “At this rate, there will not be anyone there at all! The base is located about an hour and a half from here if we were to cruise at maximum speed, which I am sure you would not want to be traveling at, sister.” “Alright, alright, Verna, I shall get ready,” Aura said, desperately trying to keep herself from throwing her full frustration at her little sister as she towered over Verna. Aura pressed a silver button on the middle of her scepter, contracted from its usual 7-foot length to a 6-inch-long stick resembling a purple-and-gold-lace steel #2 pencil, and placed it into a waist pocket on the left side of her dress. She then lifted her tiara off her head, folded it in half, and placed it in her other waist pocket on the right side of her dress, which tightened in movement as an inner steel cage gradually moved down and locked the dress into place, reducing the amount of drag that the dress would cause while in flight. After she had buttoned up both pockets, she turned to face the base to the right of her, glowering defiantly as she stared between the two tall, pink, snow-less mountains that blocked the base to the south, a silver bullet-shaped ship lifting between the two peaks. “Shall we go now, sister?” Verna asked, looking slightly worried at the thought of losing time. The queen, still scowling away, slowly glanced back to look at her sister and lieutenant, both standing curiously at her. The afternoon sun glazed her shimmering back, leaving her smiling face pitch-black, her bright-green eyes glowing eerily as she suddenly turned her head forwards, and then… WHOOSH! “Sister, come back!!” Verna screamed, as a small dust cloud accumulated where Aura had been only 3 seconds before. The two green Dragonians took off in hot pursuit, their queen bolting off at over 100 miles per hour towards the base. Through the mountain valleys the three of them flew, each keeping to their regular cruising speed of 115 miles per hour, flying in a tightly-knit triangle of green, red, gold, and purple. As they flew closer and closer to the base, the pink, rusty, rocky surface of the planet gave way to the edge of the southern arctic circle, a rough, white, flat mass of snow and ice which was covered with millions of tiny pockmarks. About 5 miles after arriving at the edge of the arctic circle, the triangle whizzed near a white, circular arctic base that was located next to a 100-foot-long, sleek, black cargo ship, each surrounded by a dozen 5-foot-tall, black-spacesuit-wearing beings. Verna, Aura, and Grenthor all landed gracefully 20 feet away from the base’s 10-foot-tall steel front doors and proceeded to walk closer, their wings retracted into their backs and their walking formation in the traditional triangle with Aura in front and her sister on her right. All the spacesuit-donned wolf-human, two-legged beings of both sexes, bedazzled in white, light-grey, brown, rusty, dark-red, and several other colors of fur, turned their heads in several ways to look at the Dragonians. Some took quick glances as they proceeded with their work of packing spotlights, portable lavatories, scientific instruments, and other equipment into their cargo ship. Others paused their work for several seconds, staring wonderingly at these shiny, scaly creatures that were so foreign and unbelievably extant to them that they might as well have come from a fantasy novel. The queen extended her scepter to its full length and gripped it in her left hand, its three-pronged top glistening in the early sunset, and held it a few inches off the ground, the best to not damage the Swiss-cheese surface of the ice. The threesome diligently approached the captain of the Lawrussian expedition party in his dark-green suit, whose thick, gloved right hand extended to shake Aura’s thin counterpart respectfully. He began to crane his neck up to come face-to-face with the queen, but she kneeled to reduce his straining, smiling cheerfully at him all the while. His thick, dark-grey fur, smattered with thin, white streaks, sucked the light out of his surrounding atmosphere so much that Verna and Grenthor both shivered a little as they stared wonderingly at him. Neither the captain nor Aura spoke a word to each other, his right hand pointing towards three 8-foot-tall, clear, cylindrical vessels slotted into holes that were placed 6 feet lower than the rest of the ground, glowing a brilliant blue against the dark background. These were located about 50 feet away from the base. The four of them trotted towards the vessels, the captain in his head-forward command walk, Aura smirking casually as she scanned the rest of the base inquisitively, and Verna and Grenthor both with terrified looks on their faces as the last bit of sunlight peeked over the horizon to the west. When they arrived at the operation center, four more Lawrussians in white spacesuits encircled the vessels, all glaring and growling angrily at the three Dragonians, their sharp, white teeth exposed menacingly as they tried to stare directly at their much taller captives. Verna backed away a little, shrinking herself from the clutches of a 4-foot-6-inch-tall, light-brown-haired apprentice who had bounded three feet closer to her. The captain growled furiously at the youngster, who walked back to his original location and sulked next to his masters near the 5-foot-wide, white, arc-shaped control board that was lifted by four 2-foot-tall stands at each end of the board. “Are you sure these people can be trusted, sister?” Verna whispered frightfully to Aura, as the former fixed her eyes on the apprentice who had almost attacked her, then glanced rapidly from scientist to scientist as they all were growling calmly between themselves. “I am sure that we will be alright, Verna. Are we all ready?” Aura responded in her typical booming voice, turning her head gently towards the three scientists. The most senior of the three, a dark-brown-haired specimen who had shrunk to 4 feet and 10 inches in height and was speckled with a few white hairs, pointed at the queen, then to the center vessel behind him, which had been marked with a small gold and purple checker pattern on its base. He then did the same to Verna, whom he directed to the vessel on his right with a red and green marking on its base, and finally to Grenthor, whom he placed in the vessel to his left with a plain black base. As each of the Dragonians came closer to their separate vessels, which had two sealed clear doors that automatically hissed to the side, they all looked behind them at the jagged mountain ranges, the expansive, rusty surface, and the two small moons in the atmosphere, their faces contorted into a mix of joy and depression, shadowed by the brilliant blue of the vessels and the last peep of sunlight on the horizon, and alight with the red glow of the moons and the white shimmer of the stars. Sadly, they walked into the centers of their tubes, turning around to face the scientists and the captain, who all were scowling in anxiety. Inside the vessels, Aura, Verna, and Grenthor all put on transparent plastic goggles to protect their eyes, along with rubber nose and ear plugs, and watched as they descended 10 feet into the ice, the plastic shells frosting rapidly. Each of the Dragonians stood erect and inactive as they awaited the “operation” calmly. Suddenly, a huge rumble resonated through the ice and the vessels, shaking them ever so slightly. Then, as 16 small, rectangular slots opened quickly all at once…. SPLOOOSH… Spoiler: Part 1 BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP… “Uuuuuuuuhhhh...what even was that horrible dream?” a 5-foot-1-inch-tall English woman said as she lifted two brown, embroidered felt blankets gently from the right side into the air, landing them gently off to the side of her 6-feet-long by 3-feet-wide white captain’s bed with a FLUMP. She arose slowly, her bright-blue eyes dazed and confused by their sudden opening, her dark-brown skin and dark-red pajamas starkly contrasting with the white cloth undersheets of her bed, her body of a moderately-thin size. Her long, straight, black hair was disheveled by her change of positions in the middle of the night, and as she turned her head and her eyes began to re-focus, she scanned her hotel room to see the white, insulated-plastic walls, door, and ceiling, the rectangular shape of the 20-foot-long by 10-foot-wide room, the 12 shimmering 6-inch-long by 2-inch-wide LED lights that were deactivated to save power, the thin, white carpet lining the room from wall to wall, and the brown plastic table set 2 feet away from the room’s door. As she suddenly switched her attention to her beeping smartphone, which was still blaring its usual tune off the walls of the room, she quickly swiped the circular red ‘X’ button to the right of its 6-inch-long-by-3-inch-wide screen with her thin right index finger, its nail coated in red. She peered inquisitively at the four white digits of 06:15 and the white characters of 21 June 4194 near the top of the screen, smiling cheerfully as she looked down to stare at the background image of a chrome-and-black late-model starfighter parked on an airfield in the middle of a desert, a 21-year-old version of herself in her dark-grey flight suit standing in front of its nose, holding her light-grey space helmet in her left arm, and waving and shining her evenly-spaced white teeth back at her future self. The sun’s eye-searing light had been intensified by the reflectivity of the ship when it had been taken two years previously on the date of the English lady’s graduation from starflight school, but in the beautifully-clear background picture, barely a hint of glare was to be seen. The high-strength-steel starfighter had, in real life, a sleek, matte-black, rounded, 6-foot-long by 6-foot-wide nose that stretched out from the center of the ship, a translucent-grey plastic, semi-cylindrical 6-foot-long cockpit placed roughly 10 feet behind the front of the nose. The cylindrical fuselage of the fighter was flanked by two 10-foot-long by 12-foot-wide solar-cell-covered trapezoidal wings that stretched out sharply about 4 feet behind the front of the nose, immediately followed by two cylindrical ion-drive engines at the center of the rear. Two slim, yellow-and-black-checker-covered, boomerang-shaped rear fins were placed vertically on either side of the engines, and in the direct center of the fighter was the sweeping chrome cockpit tail that stopped right at the edge of the fighter’s’ back plate. “Oh, how I remember that day...how I remember all the nice people I met and all the amazing things I saw in California. All those lovely old 1950s and 1960s cars and those big barbecue parties and crazy air shows…there’s nothing like that in Europe. Shame, really…it was what attracted me to America in the first place: getting to experience the great old traditions of a slightly-backwards country that still can be modern at the same time. And to think that I had just been a little black girl in Manchester, hanging out with my friends after school at the local playground, playing with our paper planes and…” the young lady said, before being interrupted by the obnoxiously-loud doorbell. “Ophelia, are you up yet?” a white American middle-aged lady’s voice echoed through the walls. “Coming, Mum!” Ophelia shouted pleasantly, before turning down and frowning at her phone, moping, “Well...at least, the only sort of Mum I’ve got.” She quickly got undressed in her room, took a 3-minute-long, warm shower in the 12-foot-long by 6-foot-wide bathroom across the room from her bed, and then re-dressed herself in her new work uniform in the bedroom. As Ophelia walked into the bathroom to look at the 3-feet-tall by 2-feet-wide mirror, she bolstered herself up as she proudly stood smiling in her new uniform, its bright-red long sleeves, V-neck collar, and flat cuffs, along with the single gold bands on her shoulders splashing the otherwise black suit with color. A similar design adorned her black-and-red slacks, and she wore plain-black Chelsea boots on her feet. She had already pinned onto the right shoulder area of her suit a grey metal California Starflight Academy badge, which was about 3 inches wide and 2 inches high, its design of the same late-model starfighter that she had flown in for her flying lessons hugging the cloth-like plastic that it was pinned to. On her left shoulder were two more pins, both rectangular and stacked on top of one another: a black 2-inch-wide by 1-inch tall plastic name plate, proudly shining her full name, Ophelia Adams, in white Times New Roman 16-point font; and a 1.5-inch-wide by 1-inch-tall plastic nationality badge, shining the green, red, and white Union Jack flag of Great Britain into the surrounding atmosphere. The white walls bounced light from the 6-foot-long by 4-foot-wide flush overhead light, its thousands of LEDs combining their photons together to provide a reasonable amount of brightness to the bathroom. Someone knocked on the front door to the room, rudely interrupting the beginning of Ophelia’s dream of herself flying her little starfighter through space, desperately avoiding attacks from all sides. She shook almost as hard as she had in “Hey, ‘Lia, we need to get going soon!” a white American middle-aged man’s voice resonated through the door, becoming slightly muffled as it reached the bathroom. The sound of two teenage boys giggling in the background intertwined with their father’s quiet, but jovial fussing as they stood in the hallway. Ophelia let out a mild gasp, trotted across the tile-pattered white-and-grey plastic flooring, rushed through the door as soon as it opened. Glancing rapidly across the room, she found her black-and-bright-red, 18-inch-tall rollaway backpack filled with all her belongings, placed in front of her bed. After she pushed the big, silver plastic button on the top of the pack, she grabbed its black, smooth-plastic handle with her right hand, and pulled it along the carpet to place it 4 feet away from the front door. She twisted the 10-inch-long by 4-inch-wide stainless-steel passenger-type front door handle, tugged the mildly-hefty front door open, and grinned gleefully as she opened the door to see her entire foster family. The rest of the Adams family, all with dark-brown eyes and lightly-tanned skin, was composed of two scrawny, blonde-haired 18-year-old twin brothers who were about 6 inches taller than Ophelia, both wearing identical white dress shirts, black slacks, and black leather loafers; a mildly-plump, 44-year-old lady with medium-length, wavy, brown hair who was roughly an inch taller than her, wearing a plain, dark-blue dress that stretched down past her knees, and black loafers on her feet; and a muscular, 45-year-old man with short, black hair who was an inch taller than the twins, wearing the same outfit as they were, but standing closer to the boy on the right than the one on the left. All four of them were standing in front of her in the white-and-grey-checkered hallway, grinning back at her earnestly. “Hey, ‘Lia!” the brother on the left of the entranceway cheerfully greeted his sister with, his short, combed-back hair gently brushing the stainless-steel door frame. “Hello, Sam,” Ophelia replied as she turned her attention to the first of the twins, the five family members entering the room and closing the door behind them, before… “Oh, Ophelia, my dear girl,” her mother cried, staring wonderingly at her foster daughter in her new suit, “how could I have possibly imagined you going off to Mars when we first adopted you?” “Well…errr…” Ophelia said, chuckling slightly at the thought of what her life had been like just a few weeks before. “Yeah, it really is amazing how I even got this job.” “Nah…they probably thought that you were just cute,” the other twin said, smirking menacingly at his sister as the rest of the family stared at him like he had just slapped them, surprised at the audacity that he had of undermining his sister’s intelligence. “Wha…what…you know that’s rubbish, Sean. I didn’t just get this job; I had to earn it. It’s taken me my entire life just to prepare myself for it,” Ophelia retorted, smiling marginally at her brother as he began to back away malevolently. “True, it has…” Sean admitted sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he turned his head to his left to view a slightly angry-looking Sam. “Bro…knock it off. You’ve been complaining like this ever since we got here a week ago,” Sam said as calmly as he could muster, maintaining as straight of a face as he could. “If ‘Lia got a job on Mars, and it’s fantastic and it allows her to do what she has always dreamed of doing, then that’s fine. In fact,” he continued, beginning to perk up from the increased confidence he had from supporting his sister, “that’s the best thing that could ever happen to her in her life. Why are you so mad about that? Wouldn’t you be happy about seeing your sister become famous and achieve the most she can in life?” “Mmmmmm….” Sean grunted as he shot an angry glance at a cheerfully-grinning Ophelia. “I’m not sure.” “Okay, then stop acting so annoyed about it,” the twins’ mother said, as she then stared confusedly at her bemused husband. “Shouldn’t we get going to the spaceport? After all, the ship could leave at any moment!” Ophelia said, a look of panic gently creeping onto her face. “Oh, yes, we should!” their father stated, looking down at his small, bright-blue, plastic-rubber smartwatch on his right wrist. The time, according to the 1/1,000,000-of-a-nanosecond-precise watch, was 06:42, giving the family a mere 48 minutes to have breakfast, check out of the hotel, and arrive to the spaceport. All four of the other Adams family members moved to the right to allow Ophelia enough space to exit Room 242 to the left, walking confidently down the carpet of vibrant red, yellow, green, and blue swirls. The early morning sun’s rays peeked through the city skyline, pierced through the 4-foot-wide by 4-foot-tall insulated plastic window, and muted some of the color of the slightly-fading carpet to the east end of the 150-foot-long hallway. The hallway was lined with 26 doors that were all the same flat, white design, all grouped into quadruplet sections with two on either side. As Ophelia checked her phone to see that the time was now 06:43, she suddenly was flanked on her right by Sam, who was towing a black-and-silver 18-inch rollaway in his right hand, matching her bold strides with ease. They walked side-by-side towards the window, their shoes’ impacts with the plastic floor softened by the well-used carpet. “I…hope you aren’t bothered by Sean, ‘Lia,” Sam groaned, glancing back to look at his devious twin, who tried to keep himself from smirking. “It’s just that…well…” “I know,” Ophelia replied, looking unconcerned about Sean’s view of her. “He wanted this job as much as I did, but everyone thought of him as too young and inexperienced to even be worth considering. However,” she stated, turning to the right to walk into the 12-foot-long by 5- entrance to the 80-inch-tall by 37-inch-wide steel elevator doors, “that doesn’t mean that he can’t have another try in a couple years.” These doors were placed in the middle of the right side of the hallway, across the hall from the bright-red, plastic second-floor vending machines, which were full of various Belgian snacks and loads of soft drinks. As a glowering Sean, followed by his two cheerful parents, arrived two feet behind Ophelia and Sam, the whirring of the magnetically-powered elevator car intensified as it slid its way down the shaft. Sam pressed the translucent-red plastic, 4-inch-long by 2-inch-wide arrow-shaped button on the wall to the right to indicate his intentions of traveling to the first floor. The doors hissed and retracted into their recesses on either side of the entrance of the empty, plain, 10-foot-tall by 7-foot-long by 5-foot-wide elevator, the Adams family gradually piling into it neatly. Ophelia eagerly tapped the circular, silver, plastic, 2-inch-diameter button on the smart display with the number “1” on it in dark-grey 14-point lettering. The elevator then began to descend to the first floor, where the Adams family then headed through the plain, white, 50-foot-long by 70-foot-wide, nearly-empty reception hall. They passed the not-yet-open transparent doors of the 40-foot-long by 30-foot-wide, plain, white cafeteria, taking in the wonderful aromas of freshly-made blueberry waffle mixes, cheese-and-herb bagels, rye bread, cream cheese, English muffins, freshly-cut strawberries, and peanut butter and jelly, all in their neat plastic wrappings and containers, and neatly stacked on the transparent plastic shelves on a serving area in the top left corner of the cafeteria. Finally, the Adams family walked urgently through the transparent insulated-plastic doors, the electronic cash register automatically checking them out as they stepped into the barely-active streets of Brussels, Belgium, at 06:44 exactly. Right in front of their 20-story-tall, 180-foot-wide by 150-foot-wide, plain-white reinforced-plastic hotel, plated with transparent plastic windows from the first floor to the 20th, was a sleek, black, carbon-fiber, four-door ground-cab. Parked a foot to the right of the grey, cobblestoned-textured, 7-foot-wide plastic sidewalk in front of the hotel doors and basking in the cold glow of the early-morning sun, its normally-hinged right doors sprang into life and opened rapidly as the Adams family approached it. As the twins and their father piled into the plush, black, front-facing, vinyl rear bench seat, Ophelia and her mother slid onto the similar rear-facing front bench seat, the doors automatically closing behind them gently. Both seats surrounded a 4-foot-wide by 2-foot-long, black, plastic rectangular table, held up by two cylindrical 2-foot-tall supports in the middle. Everyone placed their 18-inch rollaway backpacks behind the front seats to allow for easy access when they got out. Encased in black carpet and translucent-green-tinted windows, which protected the family’s eyes from the sun’s searing-bright rays, Ophelia entered the name of her destination into the black tablet on the left side of the car and slid her credit card into a slot on the right-hand side of her tablet to play 50 credits for the ride. With a mild lurch and a whirr of the four in-wheel electric motors, the taxi intelligently accelerated itself gently up to 50 kilometers an hour in the right lane of the 30-foot-wide street, as its 16-inch-diameter by 10-inch-wide, cylindrical, eco-tire-wrapped carbon-fiber wheels whizzed over the grippy solar panel streets, reflecting dazzlingly off the windows of dozens of white plastic shops and hotels. After the taxi parked on the sidewalk to the left of the 400-foot-long by 1,000-foot wide by 100-foot-tall, dark-grey, high-strength-aluminum-plated spaceport terminal, marked in 1-foot-tall white lettering at the top as the International Air and Space Port of Brussels in both English and French (Le Port Aérien et Spatial International de Bruxelles), Ophelia grabbed her rollaway and hopped out of the automatically-opening front left door. “Bye, Mum! Bye, Dad! Bye, Sam!” Ophelia cheered as she grinned and waved merrily at her family from 2 inches outside the aperture left by the opened door. “Oh, yes, and you, too, Sean,” she said, smiling benevolently at her giggling brother. “Goodbye!” the Adams replied, their right hands frantically waving from side to side as they all beamed at her. Ophelia walked across the green crosswalk, hearing the clink of the front left door closing behind her. As she confidently approached the left side of the street, she felt the sidewalk shake a little from the booming chatter inside the terminal’s stuffed reception hall. She opened the robot-guarded, transparent-reinforced-plastic front door via placing her 2-inch-long by 1-inch-wide ID card she had put in her right front slack pocket into a reception slot on the door. After letting the door slide to the right into a recess on the wall, she entered the hall and peered around in awe at its vast size, its mural-covered steel walls, and the immense variety of the masses of people in front of her. At least 5,000 people of all ages, races, nationalities, classes, fashions, and sizes (within the international 5-foot-9-inch height limit, of course) were hustling and bustling their way towards each of the 50 different baggage check-in lines. These, in turn, led to various check-out lines that would lead visitors to either the front doors of the port, or to a passenger jet or spaceship. However, there were also hybrid jets that could fly up to 150,000 feet into space, which were typically used to bring supplies or new parts to the astronauts in the six space stations circling 1,000 miles off the surface of Earth. Ophelia, dizzied by trying to pinpoint where her check-in line was amongst the thousands of people, suddenly saw two little ladies about the same age as her in identical red-and-black suits, pushing and pulling a 6-foot-long by 3-foot-wide, white-cloth-covered container on a 6-foot-long by 3-foot-wide by 3-foot-high steel trolley which reeked of perfume, towards the black baggage check-in for the Martian Space Ship Mystique. The one pulling up front, an Italian redhead who was roughly as tall as she was, with long, wavy hair, brilliant blue eyes, and light-tan skin, abruptly stopped her advancement towards the check-in, giving her 6-inch-shorter colleague, a Japanese, pig-tailed brunette with light-green eyes, quite a shock as she gently bopped her nose on the plastic-sounding container, giggling slightly as she lifted herself up. However, as Ophelia began to walk farther away from them because of the stench, the Italian lady who had been pulling the trolley beckoned her closer. “Good morning!” she said, in her high-pitched voice. “Aren’t you...” she paused, staring down at Ophelia’s shirt. “Yes? What’s the matter?” Ophelia asked worryingly, looking down at her shirt to see if there was anything weird on it. Suddenly, the Italian lady’s face contorted into a broad smile, her and wavy, bright-red hair shining even more brightly as a sun ray peeked through a crack in the light-brown window shade. “Come with us,” she said, pulling the trolley along the check-in with the trolley, which gave a resounding beep of acceptance to the mysterious objects in the container. “You’re in the same room as we are, and we’re going to be…” “Francesca-san,” the Japanese lady blurted suddenly, pointing towards Ophelia as they entered a 10-foot-diameter by 10-foot-tall white-and-blue carbon-fiber elevator, the two front doors whirring open and shut as the three ladies passed through the elevator’s 10-foot-high entrance, “when is the ship supposed to reave?” “Supposed to weave? I’ve never heard of a spaceship that could weave,” Ophelia inquired, turning towards the redhead for help as she tried hard to keep a straight face. Both Francesca and her Japanese friend shook from all their giggling while the elevator rose to the fourth floor, barely keeping themselves on their feet as they looked at their stunned English colleague. “A spaceship that can weave…that…that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all year,” Francesca squealed between spurts of giggling. While they were trying to stand up again, the side doors opened with a mild boop of success, revealing three more early-20-year-old, medium-sized ladies with black-and-red suits and standard-fare 18-inch rollaway backpacks. “Francesca! Hanako!” the 5-foot-2-inch tall, black-haired German barked at her friends, her dark-brown eyes alight with frustration and confusion, her bob-style haircut frizzing around her face as she glanced quickly from Francesca to Hanako. “Why are you two on ze floor? What is ze meaning uf zis? We do not have any time to mess around, rolling on ze floor.” “Oh, hello, Dagmar. I see that you are as cranky as you’ve always been when it comes to great jokes,” Francesca remarked as she and Hanako got off the floor, the two of them desperately attempting not to giggle again as they watched Dagmar’s face contort into an extreme pout. “Aw, come off it, Dagmar. They were only laughing at a joke. What’s the matter with that?” the 5-foot-tall Danish blondie attempted to comfort her friend with, her hair warped into a lob style and bouncing light from the sun and the overhead LED lamps onto the grey-and-dark-green insulated-plastic walls around her, her eyes a dazzling bright-grey. “Ze problem is…” Dagmar began, before looking down at her watch, mercilessly displaying a time of 07:05. “Never mind, we’d best be off to ze ship, Andrea und Amelie,” she continued, looking slightly worried that her group may be late. “You lot... Francesca, Hanako, and Ophelia all exited the elevator to the right, its doors whirring open and close again, with the former two tugging along their trolley, and were just about to make their way towards the Mystique’s docking station until… “Hang on…where’s your bag?” the 5-foot-8-inch-tall French brunette asked, swishing her long ponytail as she fixed her turquoise eyes firmly on the spot where Ophelia’s bag should have been. Francesca, Hanako, and Ophelia all gasped as they realized what might have happened to the latter’s possessions. “Opheria-chan…I don’t ffink you’rr ever see your bag again,” Hanako whimpered, as she looked hopelessly towards the gradually-filling reception hall. “Whoever store it from you must have arready boarded a ship by now.” “Oh, don’t worry about it. She probably left it in the elevator like one of my friends once did,” Andrea informed them, staying remarkably calm in this atrocity. “Did you have the bag while on the elevator, Ophelia?” “Come to think of it,” Ophelia replied, “I didn’t.” Dagmar, Amelie, and Andrea all perked up from fear, the German particularly so, and looked like they had just been slapped in the face. “Errr-rrr-rrr…” Andrea stuttered, trying to come up with something comforting to say before the elevator suddenly booped again and a 5-foot-9-inch-tall man who looked a lot like one of Ophelia’s twin brothers popped out of the entranceway. “Looking for Ophelia Adams, the owner of this bag right here...any one of you fine young ladies named Ophelia Adams?” a low-pitched, weak-bass American voice lightly echoed through the hallway. “I am!” she said, as her mouth stretched into an enormous grin. “Well…” the mysterious man began, revealing his light-yellow, slightly-twisted top lateral incisors through a grandfatherly smile, “here you go.” He handed the bag to its rightful owner, then continued, “I found this near the baggage check-in for the Mystique, and I thought that you might need it for your trip. Don’t lose this again, understand? I won’t be around every time you need someone to pick up your lost stuff.” “Thank you, good sir!” Ophelia replied, almost cracking into tears before him. “I just can’t thank you enough for this” He was a rather plain-dressed young man, roughly a year or two younger than Ophelia’s brothers, and attired in a black-and-silver-horizontal-striped thin sweater, well-worn blue jeans, and black, mesh-covered running shoes. However, his short, medium-brown hair was a mess of curls, cowlicks, waves, friskiness, and a terribly-untidy ducktail that went all over his head, with only a few spots of cleanness around his ears. His face was speckled with a few freckles around and a lot of pores on his nose, along with a constellation of bright-pink pimples that blemished his forehead, cheeks, and chin. His ears were bent forwards from having been slept on for years, his left more so than his right, and his dark-brown eyes were surrounded by faint circles of purple. As he extended his right hand to shake Ophelia’s, it slightly exposed a few of the tendons that moved his bony fingers on their hinges. His left rib jutted out slightly on the far right of his chest, and his head bent down marginally more so on his neck than any of the ladies’ necks did. Overall, he looked like a mad scientist had combined some features of a hermit, a teenager, a child, a 40-year-old man, and a mop, jumbled them all together, and released his genetically-engineered being into the world. “Eww...you smell like an old man, too,” Amelie said as she smelled the horrendous stench that he was giving off, plugging her nose with her fingers and pouting slightly. “Oh, I didn’t shower before showing up here, so…yeah, that explains why I smell like cheese,” he explained calmly. “Anyway, you lot should be off to your ship. Don’t wanna miss it, now, do you?” He glanced his head towards the 5-inch-long by 3-inch-tall clock on the wall, which now read 07:10. “May I ask your name, sir?” Dagmar requested firmly, staring angrily up at the young man’s pimples. “You don’t need to know my name, Fraulein Rockenfeller,” he retorted, smiling calmly once again as he began to slowly walk back towards the elevator. “You just need to know one thing.” “And what is that?” Andrea inquired. “This won’t be the last you see of me,” the mysterious man stated confidently. “Not by a long shot.” And with that, he popped back through the elevator doors, never to be seen again by anyone.
I'm going to admit something here which you may not like to hear: I'm not sure yet if this is meant to be an honest opinion, or if this is sarcasm, because as shown by this post... ...you seem to be taking on a sarcastic tone, implying that Atomix should start hurrying up with the release of his Skoda (even though he's most likely putting as much time as he can into it, and he's also said that it's not yet in a state which he feels like it is worthy of release, especially with its limited customization). Combined with your general stance towards any anthropomorphic characters (negative), of which there are a few mentioned in the prologue, I'm going to take this as sarcasm for now. If that is not your intention with this post, and you legitimately believe that I have written "a really good story", in your words, feel free to correct me, but from what I've seen from your posting habits on the forums, I'm honestly less willing to accept this as an actual compliment than if another member were to post the same statement.
Man have I had some weird dreams One of my weirdest ones was when I dreamt that I had a Bugatti Veyron in my backyard and I drove it around being scared the cops where going to catch me. Then dream took a odd turn, when I got out of my Bugatti and a random school bus flying picked me up and dropped me at school and (I’m saying lots of ands) then I skipped school and drove my Bugatti around even more
