An old superstition I know of is: if you tell someone what happened in your dream, it won't come true.
Sure, most dreams, if not all, don't come true, but telling people something that really bothers me helps.
I can assure you, this dream is 0% fiction. It really happened this way, more or less.
Last night, my mind conjured up something that disturbs me greatly. You are familiar with the Xenomorph's form Alien, right?
This cute thing:
Well, in my dream, some sort of zoo or park was attacked by one of these creatures. Dreams tend to skip major events, but it appeared it was killed at some point. But a little boy was killed.
Now xeno's seem to kill for sport. Those that don't become hosts are just killed because they can be killed.
This xeno ATE the child. Instead of being the sheer black we know xeno's to be, this one was brown and had a SEE-THROUGH stomach.
But that's not the most disturbing part, oh no.
The child came out the other end as a tiny little skeleton that seemed to still be alive.
And it begins: various creatures became morphed together somehow. Bird heads were where a lizard should have its tail and so on.
My mum is revealed to be the mother of the child who 'lost his life', but scientists/doctors have summoned her.
At this point, the dream became semi-lucid. I was already aware of what had become of the child and I told her
'You don't want to see this parasite' or words similar to that.
She was didn't care. And the child is revealed to her.
It has morphed with a spider of some sort, hence parasite, but it has a tiny little face that looks EXACTLY how the child did.
My mum was overjoyed to see it. But as time goes by, the 'thing' starts to change. It has facial expressions, it can scream, its teeth eventually wipe out its lips and eyes, and bones replace its legs and
No-one but me knows what is happening to it: as it learns to stand on two legs, I know it is becoming another xenomorph and I made the choice to end the dream.
Never before have I been so horrified by my minds ability to conjure things up.