Tonight you will dream and tomorrow you will awaken.
You will be tied to do your bed, on your back. A plate will be lying on your chest, with >>24998813
sitting on it.
At first, you will stare back defiantly.
Then nervously, you avert your eyes from the intimidating sight. You look back. It's closer to your face.
The process continues for as long as your willpower lasts, until tears start to flow from your eyes and you beg to be left alone. The meatbread won't care. The meatbread can't care. Although it was baked with a heart, that heart is cold and rotten.
As your sobs begin to come free from your mouth, it extends the strip of bacon, the tongue of half-raw pigmeat to lap at the tears on your cheeks. Trails of saliva are left there, if saliva was composed entirely of rancid grease, its putrid scent filling your nose.
Your crying grows louder and its torment grows stronger, its distorted form comes closer until its pressed so firmly against your lips, you have no choice but to take a bite. Then another. And another. Eventually it becomes too much and the last thing you feel before you vomit and pass out is the beast shoving its vile tongue of pork down your throat.
Are you sure you want to wake up later?