Wakin' up Dead.

[Buko]

Samuel stood in a rather dark area, the only person accompanying him was a rather...slow moving Whitney Acosta.  She was silent, being dragged along, Sorenson could only hope that it was due to the fact that she was injured or sleeping, but no matter what Sorenson tried to imagine it was quite obvious that he was dragging the corpse of Whitney Acosta with him into a dark room. Sorenson looked at Whitney and shook his head, somewhat disappointed for some reason in what had happened, of course the disappointment was limited (the Sorenson that was watching this whole scene unfold knew that), and the grin that the other Sorenson had flashed Whitney's corpse was simply one of many things : desire, lust, and greed.  These where things that Sorenson abhorred, so it was quite the shock to see these things portrayed so well in his dreams.

"The curse of humanity..." he thought somberly before returning his gaze to the Sorenson and Whitney that had his attention for the last few minutes.  The other Sorenson has pinned Whitney down and was working on her shirt, ripping it off like some primal animal overcome with a hunger for blood, or pussy, or something, regardless they where just overcome. As the other Sorenson struggled with the bra, Sorenson just stood their obviously frozen in shock to what was going on before him.  When the other Sorenson had finally removed Acosta's bra he screamed triumphantly and groped her breasts like a mad man, he then took to licking her nipple, sucking on both breasts.

Sorenson's eyes widened as he heard a loud crack as the other Sorenson spread out Whitney's jaws, most likely breaking them and pulled down his pants and proceeded to shove his raging member inside and outside of her mouth several times, the gag reflex was gone on Whitney, and this just proved to Sorenson that she was indeed dead, of course he couldn't help but seem somewhat enthralled as he saw the form of his head poke visibly just above the Adam's Apple. After ten seconds of that the other Sorenson sighed and withdrew. Sorenson wasn't surprised as he tore off Whitney's pants and began to have his way with that. The thrusts moving rhythmically and Whitney's corpse being thrown around like a rag doll, one minute later the other Sorenson smiled wickedly, withdrew, got dressed and took out a blowtorch and cremated Whitney Acosta.

"Thanks Whit, make sure to tell me in heaven if I was better than that ungrateful fucking baseball spic..."

The voice however was not said alone by the other Sorenson, Sorenson found himself muttering these things as well.  His eyes widened as he realized the heartlessness his words where said and he shook his head, the other Sorenson simply smiled at him.

"Try has you might to hide me, I've always had an escape, I'm the darker part of your persona my dear Sam...and that you've finally come to accept me...well that is fucking great!"

Samuel Gabriel Sorenson woke up drenched in his own sweat. There was a general hardness of the ground and he quickly realized that he was on the path besides a bench in the park, he rubbed the back of his head, judging by the bump he had been on that bench only a few seconds ago and it was his fall from said bench that had awakened him from the nauseating faded sequence he had called a dream. Sorenson held back the bile has he groggily looked around him, it was still dark, which meant that it was either morning or late at night. He instinctively went towards his watch and sighed has he read the time "6:10 AM" , he could only assume that the game had been going on for ten minutes, and that a few of his classmates where dead. Just like Mr. Dolph.

Sorenson immediately shook his head, and attempted to get up only to notice his pants where filled with a rather sticky substance, his eyes widened as he came to the quick realization that this was... his own sexual liquids, his own come. Sorenson immediately went for his duffel bag filled with his clothes only to be assaulted with a bigger one with the number forty-two as an emblem on it. He couldn't help but snicker at that for a little bit, how many times had that little kid Chad called Sorenson god himself in his homeroom and everyone laughed?

"Forty-two," said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm. - The answer to the Great Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything

Sorenson chuckled a bit, and for ten seconds lost interest in the gigantic sticky mass that had found his home in his pants.  He then turned around and noticed the all familiar green duffel bag he had taken on this trip with him, noticing that it was extremely larger than the one the terrorist (however hot she was Sorenson had to be a little peeved at her) had given him.

"Hmmm...maybe I'll bring everything from my small SOTF bag to my larger trip bag..." Sorenson muttered softly.  Eventually he found himself changing, not really caring if anyone saw what the good Christian lord had bestowed upon him at birth, after mopping up his thighs with his old shirt. He then turned his attention to his SOTF bag and began switching things from there. It was only when he gripped something cold and long that he froze, pulling it out it was quite obviously a blow torch, or more specifically the blow torch that had been used to cremate Whitney Acosta only minutes before (in his dream of course).

Sorenson simply froze and grasped the blow torch leaving everything else behind in the SOTF bag (which was the guide to use said torch and a bottle of water), has he zipped up his own green bag and ran away from the park. His eyes turned to the dream, had it been real, had it been a premonition of some kind? Was he Satan's prophet?!

No, he was just a fucking freaked out Samuel Gabriel Sorenson.

((Continued in: The Heat of the Moment))