Endless Nightmare


Multiple Personality Disorder
by Multiple Personality Disorder

From the pits of hell I screamed.  The Devil’s helping hand whipped me in the back.  He whipped, and whipped me till I fell on my knees and screamed even louder.  I passed away from the pain.  When I came around I was standing in a long line of people, all men, all ages, and all shapes.  I tried to scream again, but could not, a chain wrapped around my neck, so tight that I could not breathe the foul air.  I turned around, and was whipped again.  The Devil’s helping hand gestured to me to face forward.  As far as I could see there were men with their backs hunched and their faces looking down, looking at the burning ground.  I lifted my hand to loosen the chain.  The Devil’s helping hand grabbed the chain, yanked it, made me fall on the ground.  The burning ground scorched my hands.  I looked at my blisters, looked up at him and screamed again.  He shouted in the burning air, we have a subversive.

A galloping horse approached me, the horseman draped in black cloak.  I raised my arm in front of my face, the horse stopped and roared.  The cloaked man beat me mercilessly till I passed away.  When I was awakened again blood was dripping from my wounds, my body in unbearable pain, but without suffering, its existence present, but not its feel, only the horror of pain, unending pain from my head to my toes.  Yet, I walked, along others, towards a gate leading to an unknown world.  Every few minutes the line moved forward a few steps, and stopped again.  I did not dare to look back again.

A boy with a nay was in front of me, with a broken neck, elongated, grotesquely twisted, his head dangling on top of it.  He raised his nay to his lips and began to play a sad tune.  The Devil’s helping hand came around and looked at him, shouted at him to stop and snatched the nay out of his hands.  The boy looked down, still hunched, inhaled the abhorrent air into his frail lungs and began to sing the saddest song I’ve ever heard.

I was a boy in the land of plenty
Knew not of joy, without a toy
My mother, voided beauty
My father, blood thirsty

Beat me mercilessly

My mother, voided beauty
My father, blood thirsty

Ran away
To the burg of dying

My mother, voided beauty
My father, blood thirsty

Begged and scrounged
My back hunched

Unfit, they claimed
Spit on him, they exclaimed

Guilty, they said
He confessed, they said

End of endless pain

My mother, voided beauty
My father, blood thirsty

The boy stopped singing.  The men took a few steps forward.  I moved along with them, quietly.


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more from Multiple Personality Disorder

from a jungian dictionary of dream symbols;

by sister (not verified) on

If the horse is threatening, look into your unconscious to see what is threatening you there. Is it your sexuality, attachments to mother or father, the unconscious itself, or some other repressed desire?

please take this dream as simply a continuation of the previous one with the rejected interpretation.



You’re a great writer, no doubt about it

by Anonymous Fan (not verified) on

I don’t agree with the message, if there is any attempt to convey a message, but reading it made me ponder a lot about the story. Why is the writer in this hellish nightmare? What did he do to begin with to get him there, even in his nightmare? Why is the boy there, if he is a victim of his circumstances? Shouldn’t have God had mercy on him?

I, for one, deeply FEEL the pain anytime there is hanging of anyone who is innocent of the charge, a victim of the cruel society, or anyone who dared to challenge the ruling government. I, for one, cry for many hours before I get over my despair, but I also do a lot of volunteering work to put a stop to this cruelty. I take it that the allegory in the story is meant to mean that we in Diaspora know what’s going on, but don’t FEEL the pain, or maybe it’s how you felt how it was with you at the moment when you wrote this story, but I know you’re very talented and caring, and I know you have other talents that you don’t let us enjoy anymore. So, keep writing.

It’s always interesting to read what you write in any genre.

Azarin Sadegh

Sharing your dreams...

by Azarin Sadegh on

Dear MPD,

Thank you so much for sharing this amazing dream with us...I find that it shows so well the depth of your compassion and kindness. No matter how hard a few of your personalities might be trying to contradict me here, I wouldn't believe them. The darkness depicted in this nightmare proves that you truly care about Sina, Delara, and others.

I have been sick with a severe case of Bronchitis for a few days now, and I'm in a total hallucinatory state created by shots of medications... Maybe that's why I feel like being with you inside that dream/nightmare.




by capt_ayhab on

Amazingly beautiful, That is all I can say.

Reminds me of the work of Edgar Allen Poe, of whom I am devoted admirer.

Thanks for sharing this beautiful and masterfully written work, and allow me to share one of my favorite pieces:

ALONE; by Edgar Allen Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.




I’m all yours

by The #1 Fan (not verified) on

You may have me any time you wish. No questions asked.

Multiple Personality Disorder

To whom that will read

by Multiple Personality Disorder on

Thank you in advance.