toothy the kitten

Damn, I just woke up from a strange and yet simultaneously kickass dream. Except, before the said dream I experienced a different dream, one where I befriended a kitten who fit in the palm of my hand whose name was Toothy. But I digress. Anyway, so this person ('person X,' for the sake of simplicity) and I discovered this imposing castle in the middle of a desert-like wasteland that could only be opened with the aid of a certain key, which bore a frightening resemblance to a golden guitar pick. There were two of these keys in existence, once for each master of the castle. The castle wouldn't allow a single person to admit alone, you see. I suppose it figured that two individuals could better balance the responsibilities in owning such a castle, but who the hell knows?

But yeah, so because my vision leaves much to be desired, I often have trouble reading or whatnot in my dreams. I distinctly remember holding the key to the castle before me and squinting at it. Now that I think of it, they key looked as though someone had owned a guitar pick and attempted to spray paint it gold, but became distracted halfway through the job and abandoned it.

Anyway, so 'person X' and I entered the castle and made our way to a balcony that overlooked the main hall that lied directly over the main entrance. I don't remember what exactly it was we did there, but my guess is that we introduced ourselves to the castle, declared that we were its new keepers, etc.

We were then transported several years into the future, where a massive accumulation of persons engaged in a war against those who dwelled in the castle -- 'person X' and I, including the rest of the caretakers of the castle, of which there were many. Thus, in order to ward off the makeshift army attacking my castle, I devised a plan, one that I seemed overly proud of. Basically, the plan was to cut out this giant hunk of cardboard and lean it against the entrance that the militia would soon be pouring into. Then, when they managed to knock over the formidable piece of cardboard, the castle's hired help would disperse into numerous bundles of two or three so that they wouldn't be overwhelmed by more experienced swordsmen. It was a very primitive sort of warfare -- like a mammoth party, except you killed whoever you mingled with and there was no alcohol.

'Person X' and I also joined the morbid party, which was pretty poor judgment, considering once we were slain, the rest of our yuppies would be without any sense of direction or organization. I guess the two people who owned the castle would not be allowed to die so long as they were in the castle, because I remember being shish-kabobbed several times and, much like a video game, regaining consciousness near the entrance of the castle with full health.

It seems like whenever I possess a weapon in one of my dreams (usually a sword or a blunt object; guns are for pansies), it's always slightly too heavy for me to maneuver efficiently, and I'm never as strong as I anticipated I would be when I attempt to lop someone's head off.

In this case, I was equipped with what I assume was a broadsword, because I was forced to grip the hilt with both hands. I frequently assumed what I lovingly have dubbed 'the Psycho stance,' which is when you hold the sword and/or blunt weapon over your head and repeatedly perform the 'overhead skull sabotage' against your opponent, regardless of its success.

But wait, it gets better. Just as Toothy the kitten could speak and the castle could choose to permit entry to whoever it wished, a select group of people were able to achieve various levels of potency with their weapons that increased their strength in battle. For instance, smearing the blade of your sword with red sparkles would dramatically up your power, but it was highly addicting; and blue sparkles reaped the same results, except while they were in effect you forgot what the hell it was you were doing. Multicolored sparkles, however, had no negative consequences to speak of, but they were attainable only by those confident enough in themselves and their mental strength. Needless to say, I never felt the awe-inspiring power given to one by the multicolored sparkles.

Those who dwelled in the castle won the war, but as soon as battle had drawn to a close, 'person X' and I made a mad dash for a small alcove in the attic of the castle in order to take our leave. On our way there, we entered a library with stereotypical Greek pillars lining each side of the hall. Hidden among the decorative curtains lining the wall, however, was a grandfather clock carved out of ivory, which granted us access to the room within the attic once we set the time to 11:30 a.m. All of the castle's secret passageways were in some way or another activated by a clock.

Once we arrived at the room in pursuit, two people greeted us there: an elderly, sophisticated, worldly woman, and her son, who looked suspiciously like the service student that aided my gym teacher last semester. We established an assembly line of sorts, where I would place items I wanted to take back home on a cot, and 'person X' would run the cot-full of valuables to the car. We only had a small window of time in which to collect all of our possessions. And not only that, but if we set something on the floor, little menacing goblins would steal it. Oh, and all of the items we so desired to bring home with us were on two or three storage shelves, much like the ones offered on Menard's commercials.

At first, I was haphazardly dumping armfuls of items into the cot's welcoming embrace, but eventually something occurred to me and I turned to the woman and asked, 'We won't be able to take all of it, will we?' She shook her head in response, so instead I began selecting specific objects that I actually wanted. I realized, however, that after living in the enchanted castle for such a long period of time, I didn't really want anything that once held any degree of value for me. Even so, I kept filling the cot with junk, toying with the idea of pawning it off once we got home. Actually, the thought of pawning never occurred to me, I just thought that'd be amusing.

'Person X' kept hauling load after load of corruption to the car, walking unevenly because his or her shoes were too big for him or her. The sandals 'person X' had originally been wearing weren't sufficient for the scorching desert sand, so the mysterious woman's son had leant 'person X' his abnormally large tennis shoes.

I looked at a nearby clock and realized that it was already 10:00 a.m. and that I soon needed to flee from the castle, and that's smack when I woke up.