A Game With That Special Sheen

Emerging from the wreckage of your craft, bleeding, bruised and dazed, you shield your eyes from the piercing sunlight as your eyes slowly adjust to the beauty. Amidst the wreckage, on a hill, the land stretches across the horizon – green, luscious and magnificent. Birds tweet. Water slushes. Grasses and flowers sway. Naked women frolic in groups. Awed, they approach you timidly but unashamed of their naked splendour. Tall and handsome, strong of mind, body and libido; you are a god to them. Paradise. In a land of perfection, you are king.

A woman brings you undercooked meat. The sun begins to burn. The grass begins to itch. The water starts to overflow and flood the rivers, crashing towards you. You begin to see deformed creatures and hideous nightmares. The birds that tweeted now dive at you screeching, trying to claw at your face. Your once strong body is thin and haggard and you struggle to even escape. Desperately you try but eventually, like waking up to a hangover – the worlds crumbles into pain. Blackness.

Then you wake up. Everything hurts. Nauseous and starving, head throbbing, eyes watering, sweaty and sticky; you look around the small room. A dead woman covered in a light dusting of cocaine; an old ceiling fan making a creaky breeze, spreading the wintery powder around the room in gentle swirls.

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