Protecting Myself

“This is a knife fight,” shouts one of three men harassing me in dreamstate.

My higher self intervenes and replaces my lower form.

“Not anymore,” I respond, with utter contempt.

The trio of pseudo tough guys are now smaller than newborn infants compared to Shaquille O’Neal. I turn their knives into dull, rusted blades that crumble & deteriorate with a simple thought. I then raise them into the air in front of me with telekinetic force. They shit themselves in terror seeing my righteous glare of hatred staring back at them.

“You faggots picked the wrong soul to challenge.”

I palm them, one at a time, with ease then hurl them to the concrete ground below. They splatter on the pavement like they had jumped from the top of the Sears Tower. I spit in their collective puddle with absolute disdain for attacking me. My toxic saliva begins to attack their bodily fluids on a subatomic level & smaller. I can sense their conscious screams of agony from the nonphysical realm of existence.

“It’s about to get a lot worse for all three of you chicken shit weaklings.”