No crumbling dogs

The nightmare I had with Resident Evil came true. I got home yesterday and sat down in Silke's room to play it (the TV is in her room.) After searching the mansion for a while, I found a dog whistle. I also found instructions to go to the balcony on the second floor and blow it, because some dog there had a hidden object in its collar. When I found the balcony, I blew the whistle and two dogs came running towards me. They attacked me. I shot them dead.

How's that for a psychic moment?

Life is Unfair

Sadly, no sexy older men have appeared yet in Resident Evil to save me. Only rotten corpses want a piece of my ass.

A touch dreamy

Another dream with an LJ friend tonight:

Once again, with Dilva! (atouchsensitive) We were talking on the phone, god knows about what. Her voice, at first, was normal… but as the dream progressed it became thinner and thinner, until I felt like I was talking to a different person.

I wish I could remember more of it.

This clearly makes Dilva the one who has put in the most special guest appearances in Dreamland. The audiences must love her cause she just keeps coming back!

(no subject)

I've joined a gym.

The old lady who killed a baby

Celebrity Watch London:

Yesterday, I left work and decided to swing by the Sainsbury's near Waterloo station. The place was packed so I changed my mind about buying my dinner there and headed for the underground. I had to cross the station, and out of nowhere stepped Felicity, from The Murder Game.



Thinking back, I should have run after her and asked her if the lap dancer is the winner, or who is the killer. But she looked so startled and determined to catch her train, that I just let her go

Something I wrote today... no title yet

Martha hit the last key on the typewriter. Full stop after the end. The book was finally finished and ready for publication. She had been so consumed with the unravelling of her conclusion, the speed towards the end of her fiction, that no other sound in the room could reach her. She leaned back on her overused office chair and stared at the tiny crack in the wall above the framed photo of herself. The crack in the wall was there for all her times of dissipation. A new unfamiliar sound reached her, from above. Something alive, caught between the ceiling and the hidden pipes.

She rationalised it at first: a mouse which had burrowed itself into a spot where it couldn't escape; a rattling pipe finally moving on its own accord; cockroaches congregating. The noise persisted through each of her fantasies, rasping, deadpan scratches craving release. Whatever it was, it wanted out. She pushed herself away from the desk, rolled her office chair to the cold wall by the door. The sound moved with her, fast. It wanted her.
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