ARCHIVE: War of Terror

By Faddewr Aug 1 2008 -

I had a dream a year ago, that was so vivid I could feel the breath of the other soldiers that were in the half-track, as we rambled down a cobblestone street in Europe. It was night time, and it was raining. Dressed in American combat gear, my group simply sat in the back of the vehicle as the sargeant contacted us via radio, giving us our mission.

Since it was a dream, I only heard a few words:

"Evening men.......Germany....find....weapons...little people....elminate anything that moves."

With our M1 Garand carbines at the ready, my team replied back and got out of the half-track. And instantly I took in where we were.

It wasn't a city, or a rural wasteland. More like the medium of the two, there were victorian houses with yards, and wrought-iron fences that surrounded grounds that appear as if they hadn't been tended to in a few weeks.

And then we saw the people.

Hordes of people, and I'm still not sure if they were people. They made no noise, but shuffled towards us slowly, arms extended out to us.

Obeying orders, my squad opened up with our guns. Shooting well enough to bring down twenty people in a minute. But soon we realized that the large mob was not deterred, and my squad retreated back into the armored half-track, and one man took to the machine gun turret mount and we began what could easily be the largest case of hit-and-run. We blindly plowed through the streets, gunning whatever moved. And soon we came to a small dirt road and lost sight of the shuffling mob. We took the dirt road, arguing amongst ourselves what the hell we should do.

Some wanted to go back and finish them off, some wanted to desert.

But the discussion came to an end as we found ourselves in a woods, and not too far from a small hovel built into a hillside. The driver brought it to our attention, and we took a moment to discuss what we should do now.

By democratic decision, we agreed to inspect the house, which had lights on. Motivated by the idea that the residents might know what was going on, or have information about the weapons.

Or, at least, coffee.

Taking our rifles with us, my squad divided into two teams, one to stay with the halftrack. I led the team to inspect the house, and after a brief discussion of whether or not I should knock, the wind blew the door open. And my team took it as a sign to go in.

It blew my mind.

The house was full of strange instrumentation, and smelled of something burning and old books.

At the time, I didn't know anything that was on the old shelves and tables, but in my present life I can instantly name them.

An athenor, a distiller, an astrolabe, triskelion, a small fertility statue, and various magickal tools such as an athame.

This was all foreign to us, my team and I.

But we quietly moved into the house, until we got to the main laboratory.

If Patterson hadn't cupped his hand over his mouth, he would've screamed.

Sitting in front of the fireplace, dressed in all sorts of strange clothes: tiny people.

Perhaps no more than a foot tall.

Remembering what the sargeant said, we beat a stealthy retreat out of the house and met with the rest of the squad to tell them.

After regaling them with what we saw in the house, my comrades began to argue what to do.

"Orders are orders, sarge said get rid of anything that moves."
"But we can't hurt them, they're people; no matter how small, damn it."

Then someone mentioned Hitler, and we all fell silent.

We had heard the stories from the boys; accounts of young boys turned into werewolves by the Fuehrher, attacking allied troops come sunset.

Legends of high Nazi magicians and black sabbaths, teleportation, time travel, aliens...and it was in that oppressive silence, that all of us agreed what had to be done.

We all had doubts about the validity of the legends, but we wouldn't about to risk being turned into werewolves.

We discussed a plan, and my team returned to the house, albeit, now equipped with better weapons. Taking the same path through the house, as quietly as before, three men got bottles of whiskey from the rations chest and prepped them as Molotovs. I had a flame-thrower.

When we got to the living room ,where all the tiny people were gathered by the fireplace. I walked two feet into the room, allowing my boots to make noise.

They turned to look at me.

And I opened up with the flame-thrower.

I heard them scream.

we made sure they were dead, then used what was left of the flame-thrower and the whiskey-bombs to burn the rest of the house.

When all of it was ablaze, we returned to the half-track, silent as ghosts. We got inside and turned around, driving back to the city, to finish off what was left of the shambling mob.

it was here, that the dream began to zoom out. like a film, and zooms out enough to reveal me, in my true form, reading a comicbook depicting what had just happened.

I turn the page and begin to read:

"Some Years Later...

An old man, in ab old-timey white suit with a black tie reclined on his favorite chair. Reminiscing about the old days, his white hair wavily combed back.

He was a humbly proud man, who had served his people many times.

But what was about to happen next, even he was prepared for.

A knock came at the door, and he got up from his chair to answer it. Standing in the doorway, wet from the rain that brought back many memories, was a woman in a black dress.

They knew each other. They knew each other well.

As her wet hair clung to her face, her countenance seemed demonic, and her message was even more menancing.

"Monsters in Washington." she exhaled, in a grating voice.

She walked into the house.

"I'll start dinner." she said.

The man in white was speechless, and sprinted out into the rain towards the heart of Washington D.C.

When he arrived in the plaza, he was not alone. Other men, some in black suits, some in white suits, some in blue suits.

But he recognized two figures, two figures that seemed to go unnoticed by everyone except him.

A man and a woman, in brown suits, with brilliant wings on their back.

Then the monsters appeared.

The Supreme Court building seemed to shake as it's exterior walls extruded some strange-colored sand that took the shape of a monstrous humanoid blimp.

Then more appeared.

Then more from the Capitol.

then the Senate.

Then Congress.

And finally, one beast came into the clearing.

A monstrous demon, hideous, fat, scaly with large horns.

And a face that resembled one man.

George Herbert Walker Bush.

It roared, as below him appeared his son.

And the fight commenced, as bullets, swords, claws and feathers danced a whirlwind of fury, a tempest of engagement as fate awaited on the turnout of this one event.

***End***


By EaruAralay Aug 2 2008 -

*Claps*
Encore!

That was by far one of the most intriguing dreams I have ever came across, I can say that I have had dreams similar to this, but nowhere near the vividness or intensity of this one.

It reminds me of American mind control techniques employed by the media and military, along with a feeling of impending danger.. that maybe just maybe something similar is waiting for us in the near-future. No not demons and little people, but rebellion and the collapse of a system so desperately trying to keep control of it's masses that have become no longer obedient.


By Ishtahar Aug 2 2008 -

What an epic dream. I think you are spot on with the interpretation too EaruAralay, I am sure that is how government see us 'little people'.