Don't question me with your lies.
Don’t question me with your lies.
Hm. I did not pursue her on the matter of the dream, since she did not brought it up anyway. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid, unsolved. I will just have to take it as one of those random odd occurrences in my life.
So you were walking down a street one fine evening, past a dark alley when you heard a raspy voice behind you, bidding you to stop. The other voice in your head asked you not to, but it did not do much good anyway – you were then forcefully shoved into the alley and pressed against the wall. A big black bag was then thrown to your feet, then opened, revealing its contents. You gasped at the amount of money visible, before the bag was then quickly zipped close.
The cloaked stranger then stared his emotionless eyes into you, making you quiver under the gaze. You spied a shiny object on his left hand – only to realise with a gulp that it was a knife. You wondered if you should then scream for help, but then he began to talk.
“We want you to kill this very person who we know you hate and loathe most. You do it, the fifty million bucks in this bag will be yours. We will make sure you will get off clean. No questions asked. Just a simple yes, or no.”
You knew who he was talking about – and yes, you dreamt of hacking him up to bits, or on better days, you tend to roast him over a good fire, watching him writhe in agony while you laughed like a maniac. When you see him during the day, you would envision stuffing his smelly old socks down his throat, or push him right out of the window of your office located on the eightieth floor, and would revered at the sound of a small splat when he lands onto the busy roads below.
So. Yes, or no?
On air now: Warning, Incubus (Morning View)