tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88602630607461900172024-03-08T17:04:29.348-08:00The DreamdeskA whimsical, sometimes comedic, sometimes confusing, sometimes terrifying account of one person's nightly dreams.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-60485022240043519452013-07-18T15:28:00.000-07:002013-07-18T15:28:24.671-07:005/21/2013I savored the sweet golden caress of the morning sun on my arms and face as I strolled away from the hut that was my home and into the broader expanse of the verdant valley before me.<br />
I was ambling aimlessly, intent only on the discovery of new places in this unfamiliar setting. And yet -- I gave pause to that thought and turned around to face the wind, which was warm and ripe with the scent of water, and I was un-surprised when I suddenly knew that there was a large lake at the end of the valley -- and yet I knew this place, knew that the path I was wandering led to mysteries I'd encountered before; above all, I felt the slightest vibration of electricity in the air, the fertility and fullness of the earth beneath my bare feet, and it filled me with a raw, itching tension that booted my senses into overdrive and tingled through me like a premonition of adrenaline. I breathed deeply, and drank it all in before turning on my way and rounding what I now knew to be the final bend in the path.<br />
I emerged from the scrubby copses and tall, brushy grasses I had been traveling through onto an open field, large in size. To the far end, all the way down to my left, I could glimpse the gleaming of a metal structure, indistinguishable from this distance, that rested in the shade of tall cedars and pines. Immediately in front of me, however, was a sight much more confusing and readily relevant.<br />
I stood before an expanse of ash, molded into a perfect circular shape, with a diameter of probably fifty yards wide. At the center of this peculiarity sat a circle of toppled dolmens that were, oddly enough, ash-free. And something sat in the epicenter of it all, though I couldn't make it out over the shape of the nearest slab.<br />
Cautiously, I stepped forward into the circle of ash and carried on towards the dolmens, chuckling nervously at myself as I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I rounded the last toppled column that had been blocking my view and stopped in my tracks when I was confronted with the enigmatic object.<br />
Whatever it was, it was completely indistinguishable, in the sense that it never held the same shape when I looked at it twice, and even then it would have been impossible to describe what shape it was that I beheld. Despite that, I could clearly see something written on it in a foreign, flowing sort of alphabet. I was able to read it, though I can't remember how, or even what it said, now that the moment is passed. In any case, it told me the steps that should be taken to activate its powers. I turned tail and scrambled home in a fever of excitement.<br />
I arrived at my tiny, thatched-roof house only to find that my beloved best friend, Peter, was already there, waiting for me at the table. I saw it in his eyes before he even opened his mouth to speak -- he had been to the dolmens, too.<br />
"Ruby, I --" he started excitedly, but stopped as he saw me grinning wildly at him.<br />
"Are you, perchance, looking for a box of baking soda and a lemon?" I inquired, already knowing his answer. Peter just caught hold of my contagious smile and flashed it back at me. Without another word, I ran to the pantry and got the items before dashing out of the house with Peter in close pursuit.<br />
We were both breathless and giddy by the time we reached the field, but now it didn't seem so foreboding with the both of us there. We walked right up to the fluid-form object without any qualms and grinned at one another once more. What we were about to do was probably very dangerous, but the rewards of making it through would far outweigh any bodily harm that might come to us.<br />
I cut the lemon in half with shaking hands and dusted each half with the baking powder before handing Peter his portion. Suddenly serious, he gazed intently at me, gripping the wrist of my hand that offered the lemon.<br />
"I'll go first, so I'll be forty-four, and you'll be forty-five, okay? Follow the instruction just as they're written and everything will be alright. I love you, child. Be brave," he said before kissing my forehead. I nodded with equal seriousness and determination as Peter took his half of the lemon and stepped away from me, into the center of the circle. Closing his eyes and balling his right fist tightly, he licked the baking soda from the lemon. There was a brief flash of blueish light, almost reminiscent of lightning, and then he was gone.<br />
My mouth was dry and tasted bitterly of iron, but I squared my shoulders and followed Peter's example.<br />
"Forty-five," I whispered as I closed my eyes and brought the lemon to my mouth.<br />
<br />
I awoke in a brightly-lit, pearly-white hallway. I was suspended in the air, floating as if unaffected by gravity, and I was unable to move, but that didn't alarm me. This had all been described in the instruction manual.<br />
"Please state your name and subject number," a cool, feminine voice intoned emotionlessly.<br />
"Ruby, subject number forty-five," I replied, suppressing a surge of excitement.<br />
"Welcome, Ruby. Please remain still while the compatibility testing is conducted," droned the feminine voice. I closed my eyes and lost myself to the inner fortress of my mind as the testing began.<br />
<br />
When next I awoke, I was alone in the field. Clouds obscured the sky, and the air was heavy and moist with the promise of oncoming rain. I shivered where I lay curled; I felt all too exposed, and I was worried about Peter. Where had he gone?<br />
Slowly, I attempted to stand. After an awkward stumble, I was able to pull myself upright. I was pleased (and a little frightened) to feel a heavy weight settling in-between my shoulder blades. I forced myself not to crane around to stare at my back, but instead mentally steeled myself before turning my focus on making the weight balance itself. <br />
I felt movement and heard a muffled "whoosh" as the weight did what I told it to. I swallowed hard and looked over my right shoulder.<br />
Stretched out behind me were two enormous wings. Tear sprung to my eyes as I beheld their magnificence. They were round and owl-like, silent as I tentatively flapped them twice. And they were strong. They <i>wanted</i> to fly. I felt the wanting of it singing through my bones and answered it with a savage whoop before taking off at a sprint and leaping into the sky.<br />
Joyous and free, I circled the field twice before alighting sure-footedly at the far end under the cedars.<br />
Which is where I found Peter.<br />
He lay very still in the cool shade, the only sign of life in him the shallow heaving of his rapid, panting breaths. I recognized the feathers of his wings as those of a sparrowhawk, though they looked painfully twisted, as though he had fallen on them.<br />
I ran to him and crouched over his body, holding his head in my hands and begging him to wake up. His eyes briefly fluttered open before rolling back into his head, signifying he had fallen into a dead faint.<br />
Frantically, I turned Peter over onto his belly and dragged him into the sunlight. Without thinking of what I was doing, I grabbed the base of Peter's wings and willed all the health and vitality and comfortable heaviness of my wings to be transferred unto him. I cried out in agony as I felt them wither and fade -- I cried out in an anguish of loss and sacrifice and fear. I just saw Peter beginning to stir when I lost all consciousness.<br />
<br />
Again, I woke in the field, covered in a chill sweat. Peter was gone, and my skin prickled with anxiety. I ached all over, but I picked myself up off the ground and shuffled home. <br />
I spent the rest of the day in bed, feeling sick and feverish, struggling to sleep. I was plagued by thoughts of what I might have done to Peter. What if my wings weren't compatible with his? I could have killed him, or turned him into something caught halfway between bird and boy, seething and raging between the two, never to find peace in either of the worlds to which he was bound.<br />
Exhaustion eventually overcame me and I succumbed to a dark sleep, still paralyzed by my fears.<br />
I awoke to the sound of familiar voices speaking quietly overhead. I didn't give any evidence that I'd regained consciousness, though, so as to give myself a chance to listen to the conversation.<br />
El, Kat, Elayne and my siblings discussed my condition in hushed tones. With a shock, I learned that I'd been asleep for two and a half days. My arms prickled again, and I dropped the pretense of sleep to sit up and run my hands along them. Sharp needle-points of pain met my fingertips, and I quickly drew my hands away, only to discover that the quills of minuscule shoots of feathers were protruding through the skin of my upper arms. I looked around at my friends and caretakers with a heart full of sadness and regret. They solemnly bared their own arms to reveal feathers of their own in varying shades and hues.<br />
"I -- I'm so sorry. I don't know what I've done," I choked out through a throat tight with tears. My friends only smiled sadly and shook their heads before grabbing my wrist and leading me outside and to the field. It was hot, and the sun beat down on our shoulders as we traversed the field to where the metal structure stood.<br />
It took a moment for me to process exactly what I was looking. The metal structure was a large bench swing, and sitting in the middle of the bench was Peter, cross-legged and wingless.<br />
He laughed at my dumbfounded expression and gestured for me to sit down next to him. He eased my worries with explanations I can't recall, telling me that the feathers were an aftershock of losing my wings and that they would soon molt away, and not to worry about it.<br />
All seven of us spent the remainder of the afternoon companionably enough, swinging, striving to reach the sun, souls damaged, but still singing in our hearts and hands, for summer had just begun....Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-37054025647054194272012-01-22T16:08:00.000-08:002012-01-22T16:08:09.333-08:001/22/2012Rose and I had traveled to Carlsbad, in New Mexico to visit our grandparents. Their house was very grand, built in the style of a rambling Chinese palace. The walls were a pure white plaster, and all the accents were bright red. The doorways were circular, and each room was lit by a single red lantern.<br />
Rose and I had the whole eastern wing of the house to ourselves. We each had our own rooms, and there was even a little kitchen off of a short hallway. It was comfortable, but deserted all but for us; that unnerved us a bit, so we tended to keep company with each other throughout most hours of the day.<br />
This afternoon, we were ready to venture from our rooms and look around a little bit; I had heard that an old friend of mine had taken up residence across the street, and I would have dearly liked to go see her. So, taking our suitcases with us, Carmela and I ventured out the huge double-doors and into the courtyard of the eastern wing.<br />
It was winter, and there was a thin blanket of snow over everything, but the desert plants of the courtyard didn't seem to mind. In fact, they flourished. The courtyard was surrounded by a high wall that was too smooth to climb (unless you were really skilled at parkour, I suppose), and the only path out was an elevated walkway lined with cherry trees in bloom.<br />
The walkway was the only way to go.<br />
As we neared the walkway, I noticed something strange about it. The parts not covered in snow glistened and sparkled in the weak sunlight and appeared to possess a slightly pinkish hue. The walkway was made entirely out of rose quartz! In the damp conditions, it was slippery and treacherous, but thankfully there was a handrail.<br />
The path was long and meandering, with a gentle slope downwards, and it reminded me of a gentle river. A river of quartz...it was quite beautiful to behold, especially with the addition of a light snow that had begun to fall from the heavens.<br />
Finally, Rose and I made it to the central wing of the building. The doors and the courtyard here were even more grand than those of the eastern wing. I pulled open one of the doors and Rose and I walked through.<br />
...Only to find that a wild party was underway. The heavy scents of alcohol, sweat, cigarette smoke, weed and, strangely enough, garlic bread forced their way into my lungs, causing me to double over and cough for a few moments. Rose, however, didn't seem to have a problem with it. I eventually recovered and look up to see my grandfather sitting on a couch directly adjacent to us. He smiled and waved, beckoning us closer.<br />
Leaving our suitcases at the door, we walked over and joined him on the couch, which was upholstered in a rich, red, silky fabric that gave luxuriantly underneath me to an ample amount of cushion. Only when we sat down did I realize how tired I was. Gramps offered us a puff off the joint he was smoking from, but we politely declined. He shrugged and launched straight into a story about one of his times exploring the Carlsbad Caverns, while Rose listened intently and I half-listening, half-dozed.<br />
The dream faded as I fell entirely asleep, ensconced in the warm cushions and lulled by the sound of people singing nearby.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-24262818470032905572012-01-20T22:31:00.000-08:002012-01-20T22:31:29.769-08:001/20/2012I walked into the dimly lit shop and waited for my eyes to adjust. The outside of the store had always intrigued me -- it was a motif of the night sky, painted masterfully, and there was always good music and a wonderful chocolaty aroma emanating from the building's door. I had been wanting to explore the shop for months.<br />
Immediately to my left was the cashier's counter, which was piled high with records, cassette tapes and CDs; currently in the player was a Red Hot Chili Peppers album that I can't quite remember the name to.<br />
Beyond the counter, the walls and floor were filled with shelves. The central display bore shoes of all sorts; Converses, sparkly pumps, tennis shoes, flats, etc. I was immediately drawn to a pair of black knee-high Converse boots with purple laces. Before I could walk over to try them on, however, I was interrupted by another patron of the shop, who sidled up to me and asked in overly-casual tones, "So. You new here?"<br />
"Uh...yes?" I replied, not really sure what he was asking.<br />
"Well, my name's Dave, and this is The Shop: Catering to all your needs, be they for fresh produce, high fashion, furniture or household appliances. The Shop's got it all. It also doubles as the gathering-place for all the neighborhood's coolest people. Want a tour around?"<br />
I decided I didn't like this Dave. He was too loud, too forthcoming, and I didn't like the way he'd lightly grabbed my elbow halfway through his little speech. I gently tugged my arm from his grasp and told him, "I think I'd like to have a little look around for myself, thanks."<br />
"Have it your way," he shrugged, and moseyed off to the back of the shop, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket as he did so.<br />
I now carried on unimpeded to the Converses. When I picked them up, I realized that the tag said that they would be about four sizes too large for me, but I wanted to try them on anyways, just to make sure. I sat down on the floor, removed my own shoes and proceeded to slowly (but surely) untangled the laces and unzip the zippers on the sides. When I finally had the shoes on my feet, it turned out that they were only a couple sizes too large, but they would still slip off of my feet if I tried to walk around in them. What a shame.<br />
By the time I was standing up in my own shoes again, The Shop was filled with people. They were all dressed in a vaguely Gothic way, and they stood in small groups and chatted quietly but amiably, sipping Dr. Peppers and snacking on assorted cheeses and grapes that had suddenly appeared on a platter in front of the shoe display.<br />
A short girl with platinum-blonde hair and a nose piercing walked up to me and introduced herself as Sarah. "Dave told us a newbie was here, so we came to see what you were all about." She smiled cutely. We chatted for a while (thought I can't remember about what) and then parted ways. I walked slowly through the crowd until I arrived at the cashier's counter, which had been cleared of its load of music and was revealed to be a long, yellow bar, replete with swiveling bar stools. A group of guys (not including Dave) had taken up all of the seats except for one and were laughing uproariously.<br />
When they had quieted, I strode boldly forward and claimed the remaining bar stool, ordering a Dr. Pepper from the bartender/cashier.<br />
"So, it's the newbie," said the guy sitting next to me. He was the tall, overly-muscled football-playing type, but his smile was soft and his voice kind.<br />
"Yeah, that's me, what's it to you?" I asked, refusing to be ruffled.<br />
"What's it to me?" he repeated in disbelief. "Why, I'm here to welcome an important new member of the tightest social group around, and you want to know what I care?"<br />
"Everyone who walks in that door is special in some way, Green," chimed in the guy on my right, a dark-headed fellow with bright blue eyes and a lazy slouch.<br />
"People come here for a reason," agreed the guy on my left.<br />
I suppose that that was supposed to serve as some sort of an explanation, but it only left me more perplexed. I talked a little while longer with the two guys, occasionally laughing, and then I moved on to other clusters of people.<br />
As I passed in front of the shop window, I happened to see my father get off of the bus and walk down the sidewalk towards The Shop. For some reason, I badly wanted his presence here. I willed him to look up and meet my gaze. He finally did, but just then Dave appeared at my side and started chattering into my ear. The annoyance of this broke my concentrations and my dad walked on again as if he had never seen me. I stared after him desperately, pleading silently with him not to leave me alone here, until he finally turned around and made a gesture that somehow asked, "You want me to come in?" I nodded yes and beckoned to him. Thirty seconds later, my whole family was standing in the shop, introducing themselves to Sarah.<br />
After the introductions where done, Sarah asked my younger sister, Rose, and I if we wanted to come see something very interesting with her. Rose and I said that we would.<br />
Sarah led us through The Shop, past the produce and appliance sections, all the way to the very back. The light was brighter and of a more friendly yellow color here. We walked past windows that were draped over with old, emerald-green velvet curtains -- except that the curtains were on the <em>other </em>side of the glass. A shiver of anticipation, premonition and excitement tingled up my spine. Was she taking us to where I hoped she was taking us?<br />
We eventually stopped in front of an ornate wooden archway, which was also covered by the green curtains.<br />
"You'll have to go by yourselves from here," whispered Sarah. "The master of the house doesn't like strangers. But I'm sure you know your way around." She smiled, wished us luck and left us. Rose and I glanced at each other with wide eyes and softly pushed our way through the curtains.<br />
The velvet was heavy and stifling, and it smelled oldly of dust and neglect. Presently, we arrived in what was a posh parlour. The walls were of a dark panelled oak and the floor was also carpeted with a thick green rug. What little light that seeped into the room was weak, gray and dusty, filtered through the curtains. Cracked leather armchairs were buried in dust; their ruddy red-brown color was masked by a fine mist of gray. In the corner, however, stood a rocking chair that was as bright and colorful as if it was brand new.<br />
Rose and I knew exactly where we were, though. We raced from the room and into the library, but Rose accidentally knocked a port of flowers from a shelf. This seemed to summon the young man who walked through a shadowed doorway to our left. He scowled first at the upended vase and then at us. He was dressed very dandily in a style that hasn't been seen since the late seventeen-hundreds. "<em>This </em>is why I don't like strang --" he began, but stopped short, doing a double-take. "Rose? Green?..." he whispered, astonished.<br />
"Mac!" we cried, running to hug him.<br />
After our reunion, we spent the remainder of the day clambering over the red tile rooftops of Mac's grand estate, talking amiably about life and enjoying each other's presence.<br />
The dream ended as we basked in the glow of a warm, golden summer sunset, look from the roof out over the rolling hills and being altogether thoroughly satisfied.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-65563410689524828622012-01-20T21:38:00.000-08:002012-01-20T21:38:30.284-08:0010/17/2011It was the last day of the camping trip and the four of us (Mel, Drew, Mandrake and I) were driving out of the park in the car. Along the way, we passed the ranger station, which we noticed had had a museum wing installed since we had last seen it. Mel, Drew and I decided to go in and check it out (guided tours were free that day), but Mandrake, who was uninterested, said he would take a bus back to the house and meet us there. Thus, we parted ways.<br />
The guided tour began, and the exhibits we saw were interesting; they told tales of how the park had been a logging and mining camp before it had been converted into a state preserve. The museum was dimly lit and consisted of a series of spacious rooms whose walls were decorated with subtitled black-and-white pictures in large frames.<br />
Halfway through the tour, however, a paunchy old man who smelt of onions and old sweat and was dressed in a green-and-red flannel shirt and faded blue jeans sidled up to me and slung his arm around my shoulders, whispering in my ear, "Hello, love. How's about you follow me and we'll have ourselves a little bit of fun?"<br />
I tensed, readying myself to grab his face and smash it upon my knee, but just as I was about to turn and do so, I felt him press something cold against the small of my back.<br />
"Keep quiet about it and no-one gets hurt, eh?" he whispered. I was filled with rage. I would gladly die rather than allow myself be violated by him. <br />
With more ferocity than I had known I was capable of mustering, I turned and slammed the heel of my hand into his nose, knowing as I did so that I would break it and shove a splinter of bone up into his brain, killing him instantly; just what he deserved, the wretch.<br />
However, simultaneously, he stabbed me just below the ribcage. I passed out as I saw him slump lifeless to the ground I didn't feel the pain of the knife; I only felt a grim satisfaction.<br />
<br />
I awoke what seemed seconds later in an ambulance that was speeding down a county road that was beautifully lined with maples adorned in their most splendid fall colors. I still didn't feel any pain from the wound -- perhaps it was shock -- but I was overcome by a bottomless sadness. I knew I wasn't going to survive. I turned to my mother with tears in my eyes and whispered, "Tell them I loved them with all my heart. Especially Mandrake. Tell them..."<br />
And then I lost consciousness again and knew that my life was over.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-85194365516870716772012-01-20T21:24:00.000-08:002012-01-20T21:24:29.836-08:0010/9/2011It was the evening of the big gig, and Rose and I were packing up our gear in preparation for the short drive over to the local thrift store, where we were playing for some sort of block-party event that was being held there. Somehow, we managed to pack both guitars, amps and a huge amount of connective cords into the pull-behind bicycle trailer.<br />
Then, we biked down quiet roads flooded with golden, late-afternoon summer sunlight. We reached our destination just as the sun was setting.<br />
We checked in with the shop-owners, the sound technicians and the stage crew before proceeding to set up, though by now I was beginning to realize that everything was not fine and dandy with Rose. She looked a little pale and her brow was furrowed with worry.<br />
"Green," she said to me, "I don't think we're ready to play this gig."<br />
I immediately became frustrated. After all, I had spent months teaching her to how to play the guitar, and now she just wanted to back out.<br />
"I think we should go home," she continued. "I forgot some of my stuff anyways..."<br />
I knew that if Rose wasn't going to play, Rose wasn't going to play. I might have been able to solo the gig, but that would leave Rose alone and unprotected, and I didn't want anything to happen to her...<br />
Eventually, after apologizing profusely, we packed up again and biked carefully home in the dark.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-34005038003223296142011-10-05T21:17:00.000-07:002011-10-05T21:17:54.658-07:0010/5/2011I'd been in this area before: it was a chain of islands somewhere in the Caribbean, owned by a resort. Further inland (for I was on the beach), I knew there was a huge, domed conservatory that connected with a bunch of treehouse cabins. The last time I had been here, the owners of the conservatory-resort had trapped myself and the other customers inside the large glass dome so they could create an utopia world with us as their breeding-rabbits. A friend and I managed to commandeer one of the official's aircraft, fly it off the island and report the resort's activities to the government. Fortunately, ownership of the resort had changed hands since then.<br />
Since my last visit, everything had shifted to the beach. All the resort buildings were now there, and there were house-hotel-boats floating far out on the azure waves. It seemed that this time, I was there on some sort of vacation with the kids from my highschool; in addition, my family was there, as well.<br />
Naturally, I spent the days there exploring with three of my best friends: Kieran, Ian and Zayne. We spent afternoons walking up and down the pure, white, powdery sand of the beaches, until we had circumnavigated the whole body of land and had seen the other islands continuing to the horizon in a curving chain on the eastern side. We explored the forests filled with huge palm trees and strung across with vines, experiencing the strange and exotic flora and fauna of the land. We swam in the ocean and slept long nights in a tent we had pitched on the beach.<br />
Early one morning, however, during our daily swim, the four of us happened upon a tiny island that had seemingly never been there before. We clambered ashore, our limbs filled with the simultaneous lightness and heaviness that comes from a good, long swim. Upon the crest of the hill of sand, there was, startlingly, rooted a tree. It wasn't startling merely because of its presence, but because it was not a palm tree, or any other tree I'd seen before; I don't even know how I would go about describing it.<br />
Curious, we walked closer to examine it, thankful for the shade that its spreading boughs provided. It was Kieran who discovered the second peculiarity of the tree. He and I had climbed up the branches some way and were both sitting perched in a wide crook between branches, looking out over the waves to where the sun was now beginning to set on the horizon (I don't know how the time had passed so quickly) and listening to Ian and Zayne talk and laugh quietly below when something startled Kieran and he almost fell out of the tree.<br />
"Ruby!" he hissed. "Look at the branches, they're see-through!"<br />
He was right. In the golden light of the westering sun, the dark bark of the tree had turned shadowy, and I could see through it to the thick sap flowing within the tree and all the way beyond that and through to the other side. It was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and Kieran and I stared in awe at each other for a moment before scrambling back down the tree to tell Ian and Zayne, who were facing away from the trunk. As we did so, I could feel the tree thrumming, as if something within it had been woken up.<br />
The moment we got down to the sand, I knew something amazing was about to happen -- the sand around the tree had turned to a dark gray color and the vibrating of the tree was becoming a low, sonorous hum. Sure enough, when both of my feet were firmly on the ground, I heard a muffled "thwump" sound from the northern side of the tree. Kieran and I ran around to investigate what it was; Ian and Zayne were already there.<br />
A large chunk of sand had fallen in between the tree roots, exposing a small, dusty cavern that looked absolutely ancient, hundreds of years old.<br />
Glittering within the ruin of the cavern was a huge milky-white crystal.<br />
Zayne stooped and picked up the crystal, holding it up to the light to examine it. "It's a transportation device," he said. "There are instructions engraved on the top of it." He scrutinized the runes that were carved on the flat stone top of the crystal for a time and then muttered something indistinguishable under his breath. I nearly couldn't believe my eyes as he floated off the ground and through the branches of the tree before alighting softly on the ground in front of us. "Here, you try it," he said, handing it to me.<br />
I took the crystal hesitantly and was surprised to discover that it was incredibly light. Zayne was right, there was a set of instructions scribed on the back, but they were in another language. Upon further inspection, though, I found that there was a key, which looked like it had been carved much more recently. I examined the code for a bit longer, and then I clicked my tongue and imitated the cooing of a dove while at the same time focusing all my willpower on activating the stone. To my delight, my body began to feel as light as a feather and I knew I had the ability to use this stone for amazing things. It was thrilling and empowering.<br />
Kieran and Ian, however, were unable to tap into the crystal's powers, and Zayne claimed that he had no use for it, so the crystal was left in my care, which I wholly approved of. I felt that there were secrets to unlock involving the crystal.<br />
I parted from the guys, who were going to swim back to shore and bed down in the tent for the night. I didn't feel at all restful; in fact, I was filled with that awareness and clarity that I feel whilst standing outdoors in the evening, gazing at the moon. It was like a veil had been lifted from my whole body and suddenly all of my beautiful potential had leapt out at me in its full brilliance, and I could hear my thoughts perfectly, and they sounded like the voices of the stars in the heavens above, if only they had had voices. So, I decided to use the crystal to fly over to the south-western side of the island, where my favorite beach was.<br />
The sand there was piled into a high bluff overlooking the water, and the waves were always particularly tall and wild. I took up a post on the peak of the dune and opened all my senses to the world around me.<br />
I watched the celestial bodies circle in their cycles above me, and in so doing, I learned the secrets of the long-lost civilization that had found the crystal and discovered how to harness its powers. <br />
They had lived on this very chain of islands, and had found the strange translucent trees, just as Kieran, Zayne, Ian and I had, and they found that the trees only became visible and tangible during a certain time of the year, which led to the discovery that their sap, when the trees died, hardened within them to produce the crystals. Each tribesperson wore a small chunk of the stone around their neck, and they were capable of great physical and mental feats. But suddenly, one day something <em>happened, </em>some great and mysterious event occurred and the people of the islands disappeared, along with all the crystals, save one, which had been stowed in the roots of the tree that we had found today.<br />
<br />
I stayed up all night, listening that strange some sixth sense that had opened up when I had first interacted with the crystal. It was like I had become a beam of sunlight; I was filled with a warmth that kept me cozy when I fell asleep on the beach at sunrise, curled around the crystal.<br />
The guys found me there early that next afternoon, and gently woke me up, asking if they could see the crystal again. I blearily handed the crystal over, slowly standing up and brushing the sand from my clothing.<br />
Zayne, standing across from me, nodded and frowned, looking at the stone. "The runes have disappeared," he said, seemingly unsurprised, handing the crystal back to me.<br />
"You'd better come back and start packing up soon; we're leaving this evening, remember?" Ian called over his shoulder to me as the three began to walk north up the beach to where the tent was.<br />
I stared down at the crystal, dismayed. After sleeping, I no longer felt that open awareness that I had the night before. Somewhat desperately, I attempted to activate the crystal, and I couldn't. That moment was so sad and so disappointing that I nearly burst into tears. Then, with the resolve that it was the right thing to do and with the melancholy of a funeral dirge, I dug a hole in the sand and buried the crystal there before hiking back to the tent to help the guys pack up.<br />
<br />
Thus, the dream ended.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-5503071372968858432011-06-12T20:08:00.000-07:002011-06-12T20:08:38.894-07:006/12/2011I had ridden my bike over to a Mexican restaurant in the northeast part of town, where some friends of mine were holding a birthday party for another friend before they headed back to the house for the remainder of the festivities. Before I left the house, I reminded myself to take a shower, pick up my earrings from where I'd left them in the bathroom and put my keys (along with a few spare quarters) in my pocket, as these were the supplies I would need for the outing. I ended up initially forgetting the keys and coins, but I did walk out of the house with them the second time around.<br />
When I eventually arrived at the party, I found that they'd begun dinner without me, but that was just fine because I wasn't really hungry in the first place. When I'd settled in with the guests, the squire of my dance team, Tabby, came over to sit next to me and asked if I would be attending practice the next day. I told her that regretfully, no, I would not be, as I would have yet another birthday party to attend the next day.<br />
Dinner progressed and eventually finished, and we walked through a light, enjoyable rain back to the house (which was only a few blocks away). Upon our arrival, we all went to the roof where punch was being served. Music was being lined up by a DJ for the coming dance party, which was to occur once the sun went down.<br />
About halfway through the party, in what I would guess to be the late-afternoon (it was still cloudy, so I couldn't tell exactly where the sun was, nor was I paying too much attention), I saw a woman riding a bike down on the sidewalk. Behind her, she towed a trailer with two girls seated comfortably in it. The woman had extremely curly, sandy-blonde hair, and the more I gazed at it, the more I began to realize that I knew this woman. Why, she was Mandrake's mother!<br />
Without second thought, I climbed as hurriedly as I could through the window, raced downstairs, grabbed my bike and helmet (because Mom always warns me never to ride without one) and raced after the woman. But by this time, she was already out of sight, and I had no idea where she might have gone. Still, I pedalled quickly down the street, sure that I would be able to catch up with her eventually.<br />
I soon entered another neighborhood that had appeared several times before in my dreamscape -- kind of an artsy place in the reclaimed-warehouse sort of way. The sidewalk was still wet and as I zoomed along, my tires kicked up great puddles behind me. At that point, I was completely happy.<br />
However, only a few seconds later, a small dog raced, screeching and yapping at me, from the homely doorstep it was gaurding. I accelerated past, thinking I'd leave it behind once it was convinced I was no longer infringing upon it's territory, but it miraculously managed to keep pace with me, chugging it's stubby legs as fast as they would go. The little dog began snapping viciously at my ankles, despite the fact that they were still pedalling the bike. More and more dogs streamed from the front yards of houses and followed the example of the small dog until there were twelve or so of them on my tail.<br />
I knew I had to find some way to escape them, or they would catch me and devour me. So, at the next warehouse, I jumped off my bike and ran into the building, slamming the door behind me.<br />
The place I found myself in was quite peculiar. I was backstage of an amatuer auditions session for Shakespeare's "Macbeth." A couple of snotty-looking kids turned my way and favored me with a "What the hell do you think <em>you're </em>doing here" sneer that I had thought could only be pulled of by TV-show high school preps. These kids pulled it off with nastiness to spare.<br />
I really wanted to leave, but I couldn't; the dogs were still waiting outside, I was quite sure of it. I looked around for a quiet corner where I could sit and look as inconspicuous as a broom or a mop, but I couldn't find one. the preps were called onto stage in short order though, so I was spared any more nasty stares.<br />
Just when I had got to thinking that it might be safe to go outside again and reclaim my bike, a cute, blonde girl poked her head around the curtain, popped the pink bubblegum bubble that she had been blowing (it was quite and impressive one) with her teeth and said to me, "Oh, Green, there you are. We've been waiting ages for you!" At that, another girl with shoulder-length dark brown hair and freckles across the bridge of her nose stepped around the curtain.<br />
"Yeah, come on, Green; we're going to be late for the dance-out!" she said, tugging at my sleeve. She was so earnest and kind that I felt my dream-self must know her well and trust her, so I followed her and the blonde girl out the back stage door. Thankfully, the dogs were no longer outside; they must have all returned to their houses.<br />
Before we caught the bus from what had suddenly morphed from a warehouse into my high school, I stopped by the garden and grabbed my earrings from atop a gray rock; I'd been wearing them only a little while before, but they'd somehow appeared there and I knew I would need them with me. Otherwise, Mom would be furious that I'd lost them.<br />
After that, the two girls and I were on our way: we caught the bus and took it to the train station downtown, where the dance-out was taking place. I wanted badly to join in with the dancing, but the girls dragged me on to the ladies' watercloset, where we had a serious discussion that I can't remember the details of. After that, we caught one of the trains and ended up back at the high school.<br />
The two girls and I parted ways -- they walked back into the building, waving over their shoulders, and I scrambled to get on my bike before the dogs found me again. I knew if I tarried too long here and didn't build up enough speed before passing their domiciles, they'd have me in an instant.<br />
I set off, not bothering to put on my helmet in my haste, and pedalled furiously away, this time riding down the middle of the traffic-devoid street. I was no longer concerned with the woman on the bike I'd been chasing before; in fact, I'd forgotten all about her. I made it safely back to the house where the party was still happening and rejoined the crowd on the roof, feeling oddly satisfied with my adventures for the day.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-53089184777820721602011-05-24T13:47:00.000-07:002011-05-24T13:47:27.341-07:005/24/2011I had taken on the role of the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, and I was traveling with the thirteen dwarves -- though not through the expected setting of Middle Earth, but rather the cool, green pine forests along the shore of Lake Superior.<br />
Evidently, we were on our way to visit the gym of one of the Pokemon trainers to negotiate on the behalf of Gandalf, who was away on business (he had recently become the director of an airline and was busy making some reformations).<br />
<br />
The gym turned out to be a sumptuous mansion with a driveway three miles long. When we finally arrived at the front door, Ash Catch'em was standing in the doorway to welcome us. He showed us to a dimly-lit parlor, and we spent a forgettable couple of hours discussing terms for a lengthy contract concerning the airline. Sometime during these monotonous dronings-on (I was paying more attention to the refreshments served about half-way through), Pikachu wandered into the room and casually stowed himself away in one of the numerous pockets of my green cloak, shrinking a bit so as to fit. Nobody seemed to notice, and I thought nothing of it, assuming he only wanted a warm place to take a nap.<br />
Eventually, having reached some sort of conclusion, the dwarves stood up; Thorin shook Ash's hand solemnly (I don't think there's ever been a moment where he wasn't solemn) and tucked a scroll into an inner pocket of his sky-blue cloak. Ash ordered the company to take the winding dirt roads on our way to Gandalf's airport (our next mission was to deliver the contract to him for signing), then he showed us out, wishing us safe travels. As we trudged down the long, gravel-covered driveway, the dwarves grumbled about how much time would be wasted if we took the back-roads instead of the highway, especially traveling on foot as we were. They all came to the agreement that we would disobey Ash's orders and take the quickest route to the airport.<br />
A couple hours later while we were on the road, we got word from a talking raven that Ash's prized Pikachu had been swiped from the manor and that he was also on the lookout for a band of disobedient henchmen.<br />
The dwarves got spooked, even though they didn't know that I had Pikachu. We ran to the next overpass and spent some time huddled underneath it while carriages, which presumably contained Ash's angry goons, rumbled overhead.<br />
Finally, we made it to the airport and were ready to board the flight back to Middle Earth. The goons were hot on our tails, though, so there was no time to haggle Pikachu (my new little friend) through security. I ended up leaving him, looking very melancholy, in the Lost and Found bin. <br />
We ran all the way to the boarding terminal and got on the plane just in time. Thorin and Balin, the two senior dwarves, took their places in the cockpit and we were finally on our way home, safe from Ash's schemes and soon to see Gandalf again. I wondered if the teacakes would still be good when I got back to my hobbit-hole.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-941985861571561072011-05-21T09:31:00.000-07:002011-05-21T09:31:20.539-07:005/21/2011The year was 2051. It was winter, and the outdoor temperature was hovering around ninety-five degrees Fahrenhiet.<br />
Of course, I was holed up inside. Everyone was holed up inside, just as they always were -- that is, of course, except for the dregs and radiation mutants. <br />
<br />
You see, back in the thirties, a new painkiller was developed and put on the market. It was a real hit; it was more effective than Advil or Tylenol and was used in almost every household. What the pharmacists didn't know, though was thet when the tablet or gel capsule of the painkiller was exposed to sugar (outside of the digestive system), it became a heavily psychoactive drug. This, of course, was passed around quite prolifically and unstoppably, as everyone thought it was unaddictive and harmless. The drug, called "cloud," was distributed mainly in airports, trainstations and warehouses, or in places where statues were present. Earlier in my life, I'd had some pretty bad experiences with the kids hanging around these places.<br />
However, reports started popping up of people who had gone missing after flying into unquellable rages while using cloud and running out into the night after horribly maiming or murdering everyone around them. By this time, it was getting dangerous to be out in the sun during the day, so it was assumed that they'd died.<br />
Retrospectively, these cases all had a few things in common: the beserkers in question had all recieved the vaccinations against cancer that were now being handed out as freely as vaccines against the flu, they were all using cloud, and all of their freak-outs had occurred at night after the sun had set.<br />
<br />
These beserkers were (well, are) the dregs; the reason everyone disposed of their painkillers, the reason no-one goes outside anymore, and the reason why no houses are allowed to have lights on at night. The dregs are attacted to and infuriated by it.<br />
My family and I are currently staying in what used to be my grandmother's house, out in the suburbs. She died just a few years after this all started to happen. Some days, I wish I had met what seems to have been such a timely fate.<br />
Anyways, this day dragged on like any normal day. Once the sun had risen, my brother, sister and I pulled on our astronaut suits (which had imporved over the years and became available to the general public "for all your traveling needs." Which reminds me: the richer class made a break for it at the beginning of the thirties and went to live on the moon.) and strapped on our oxygen tanks before opening the reinforced back door out onto the jungle that the world had become.<br />
The plants and animals, of course, had adapted quickly, developing waxy coverings to keep out radiation and growing tougher, spiny skind to ward off dregs and radiation mutants. Humans, after living in evolutionary stagnancy for so long, had been incapable of adapting to the changes.<br />
Our goal this afternoon was to replenish our stores of fruits, greens and meat, if we could find any of the latter. The fruits and veggies were easy; we'd always had a garden, so the smaller plots of stawberries, salad and flowers had transformed into larger areas for our mini-sustenence-farm that had grown up with the jungle. I'd never been so grateful for all the canning mom had done when I was a kid -- food preservation is extremely easy when you can just put all your edibles in glass jars in the basement.<br />
Somehow, we ended up staying out past sunset, even though there was no way that the oxygen in our tanks could've lasted that long. The lights in the house were on, and I began to get the sickening feeling that we were being watched.<br />
A strange, stick-thin man stepped around the corner of the house, regarding us with wide, huge eyes that reflected the moonlight in a perfect sheen, making him apppear blind. He smiled a slow, feral smile. That's when my siblings and I bolted for the door.<br />
We managed to close the screen door on him, but couldn't manage the second, reinforced door for some inexplicable reason. As the dreg punched his hand through the glass, I woke up.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-31912554706072256572011-03-15T12:24:00.000-07:002011-03-15T12:24:41.852-07:003/15/2011I was strolling through the airport with my father, carrying my worn, trusty, ten-year-old veteran of a backpack (which was presumably stuffed full of clothing and other necessities for a trip) and a furry, light blue Blue's Clue's briefcase (which was surprisingly light -- I couldn't fathom what could possibly be in there) that I have never seen in my life.<br />
Eventually, we reached the car, which was parked next to an oddly-situated information booth. I threw my bags in the back and got in the front passenger's seat. Strange. Earlier on I had been under the impression that I was about to travel somewhere by plane. Perhaps my flight had been delayed for an egregious amount of time. It <em>was</em> raining pretty hard, but that didn't bother me.<br />
Without ever seeming to have traveled anywhere, Dad and I were in the house again. My bags sat heaped on the couch, and I puttered around the kitchen, preparing a bowl of soup.<br />
Looking at the soup can, I had the strange feeling that it was very familiar. "Where'd these come from?" I inquired.<br />
Dad, who'd been standing at the back doorway since we'd come home, suddenly appeared at my shoulder. "Don't you remember, Green? You helped Bjorn make those this summer."<br />
At that particular moment, I had no clue who Bjorn was...but after looking at the soup can for a while more (it read "Bjorn's Amazing Stew -- That Smoky Flavor You Won't Find Anywhere Else!" and had a picture of a chimp on a Hawaiian island playing guitar and smoking a cigar on it), memories started filtering back (these were really a mish-mash of events from other dreams, but oh well): making soup on the patio with Bjorn, trying to decide what ingredients were going to be in it; the night-time scene of somebody's back garden, filled with ferns and frond-y plants; walking along a beach somewhere in Thailand with Bjorn and a group of other peope when I was just four or five, stopping because we found an interesting carnivorous plant that would leap into the air, catch and devour anything that was thrown it's way; collecting seashells on a beach in Florida with Bjorn; and finally, the late nights from back when the now disbanded yoga club met up at the house with the fern-filled back garden, training themselves in balance and ease of contortion. "Oh," I said. "That Bjorn." Understatement.<br />
I finished preparing the soup and then ate it, savoring the smoky flavor that I now knew came from copious amounts of chili powder and burning the soup on the bottom of the pot before canning it. By the time I was finished, it was nearly eight-o'-clock in the evening -- we were going to be late!<br />
Dad and I bundled back into the car, Dad hurriedly explaining to me all the while what I was supposed to do when we got to the airport. Suffice to say, I heard everything he said, but didn't understand a snippet of what I was hearing, so by the time he dropped me off at the information booth where the car had been parked approximately two hours ago, I was utterly confused.<br />
I decided I might try going through security, so I strolled over to where I knew it to be. Upon arriving there, I tried to check in and follow normal procedure, but my passing through the metal detector set off a horrid alarm. So I tried again. Same result. I beat a hasty retreat back to the little gray information booth, sat down on a train track that dead-ended when it hit the building, and put my head on my knees in despair.<br />
Quite a while later, a duo of airport police officers' shoes appeared in my limited line of sight. They told me I couldn't sit here anymore. I jumped up in indignation; where else was I supposed to go?! I didn't know how an airport worked! They were already strutting away, though.<br />
Fortunately, the man inside the information booth was kind enough to give me some assistance. He said that if I took the escalator directly in front of me going down, turned left and took the moving pathway heading that direction, I could bypass security and still board my plane on time. I thanked him, picked up my bags and walked to the escalators.<br />
These presented another conundrum. Both the escalators were going up, and there was no hope of just walking down them because they were moving too fast. As I stood there, unsure of what action to take, a man came up behind me, pressed a button in between the escalators that I hadn't seen, and one of the pairs of stairs reversed the direction it was moving in. The man stepped casually onto the escalator. Well, that solved the problem. I followed suit.<br />
The escalator was moving more rapidly than I had expected. At the bottom, it flung me off, nearly landing me on another rapidly moving walkway. I managed to straddle the path like you would a treadmill, and carefully extracted myself from the situation. I then prepared myself to ride the up-going escalator and hopped on. This time, I was ready for the dismount, and hopped off at the right time. I then took the down-going escalator again.<br />
When I got off this time, I noticed there was something different about the room I was standing in. The back wall was missing, and through that hole I could see moonlit ferns swaying gently in the breeze. Forgetting my plane, I strolled into the garden.<br />
Everything was there, just the way I remembered it. But that also meant...<br />
Before I could finish that thought, the large pit-bull I had been expecting to see rounded the corner of the house, saw me, barked and started to advance towards me. Knowing this scene all too well, I turned and ran, jumping into a raised fern-bed that the dog couldn't reach and concealing myself in the ferns. Now, if I wanted, I could make my escape by jumping over the high picket fence that walled off the garden.<br />
But I waited. The dog barked below me as though it had treed a raccoon, incessant and angry. Still, I waited.<br />
Eventually, the French doors on the house slid open and out stepped a scowling little girl wearing a white sundress that glowed in the moonlight. "Hush, Puckett," she said, walking over to stand below the place where I was hidden. Yes, this was exactly like all my other dreams of this place.<br />
She looked up and was about to discover me when, out of nowhere, some shelving to her left collapsed and tipped over on top of her and the dog, burying them in boardgames, buckets, cans of Bjorn's Amazing Stew and other items. I turned, jumped over the fence, and was devoured by a carnivorous plant. "Well, that was a new addition," I thought wryly.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-24599559590396237002011-03-14T13:44:00.000-07:002011-03-14T13:44:06.306-07:003/13/2011It was a cool summer afternoon, and by that I mean that it was seventy degrees Fahrenheit (at the least) in the shade, and if you were lucky, the humidity was low enough for things to be bearably hot and stifling. My boyfriend (here referred to as Mandrake) and I, my siblings (Sol and Rose) and my mother were strolling through Minnehaha Park, a place I've been to a bare few times in my life, but that I'm still greatly enamored with.<br />
Evidently, a festival of sorts was taking place there today: people lounged about on blankets thrown over the grass, children ran barefoot from the hills to the stream and back again, live music was playing and food was being made available. <br />
Mom and Sol parted ways with us, saying they were going down to the stream to cool off. Mandrake, Rose and I shrugged and ambled over to where a group of people were performing an acapella line-up. Suddenly, they started singing Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours." Rose and I jumped up and joined their circle, which was now singing and dancing, as the song was quite familiar to us and we were fond of it. Mandrake watched bemusedly from the grass, perhaps humming along.<br />
By the time the song was over, the whole park was singing and clapping in time with the music. the performers finished with a soulful flourish, the crowd clapped and ululated, we bowed and congratulated each other. It was only then that I realized the person next to me was a boy from my past -- he had been one of my closest friends for a long time, and it had been about five years since I last saw him. We'll refer to him here as Mac.<br />
As I gaped at him in surprise, he looked over at me smilingly, offering a hand to shake, but as he took in who I was, he dropped his hand and his expression changed to mimic my own. Of course, afterwards came the general excitement of encountering someone close to you who had been gone for many years. I thought to introduce Mac to Mandrake, but he seemed to have disappeared without my noticing before now. I was vaguely worried, but I figured he could take care of himself. Besides, I suspected that he had transformed into Mac for some reason I couldn't put my finger on.<br />
Anyways, Mac, Rose (she was happy to see him, too) and I spent the remainder of the afternoon in merry frolicking and catching up. It was a pleasant enough dream.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-70923332287432565992011-03-14T13:29:00.000-07:002011-03-14T13:29:51.873-07:00Unremembered DateIt was drizzling lightly as my friend (here referred to as "Elayne") and I walked down a rutted and muddy track bordered by fall-season forest that led to an open field. We had just met up there, seemingly by coincidence, and were heading to a cultural dance event that was to take place at the field. I had recently escaped from what promised to ultimate doom. Let me tell you about it.<br />
<br />
I had been traveling with a band of knights, though they were not exactly the paladin-type knights-in-shining-armor one normally envisions when talking about these things. Sure, they had the swords, the armor and the brawn, but they were, in character, more the scruffy, roving, take-what-you-can-get-when-you-can-get-it rogues that can either cause a person great mischief or great fortune. Fortunately, it seemed I was in their good favor.<br />
However, we had become trapped on a raised platform of stone, about five-and-a-half feet tall, that was surrounded by a low stone wall. For some reason, we couldn't escape. The motley crew of men were huddled around a fire they had built, feeling grim and desolate.<br />
That was when the first cloaked figure rode by on a horse. As he passed, he flicked something silver high in the air. It landed on my palm with a satisfying "plip" sound, and I saw that it was a quarter. On the back was the California quarter design. One I've never encountered before.<br />
I turned triumphantly towards the men, only to realize that they were staring at me in shock and horror.<br />
"Put. That. Down," one of them hissed.<br />
I tilted my palm and let the quarter drop to the ground.<br />
"No, I meant <em>outside </em>the prison!" he said, hysteria rising in his voice. "Now, only three hundred and thirty-two to go...Oh, we'll never make it out of here alive."<br />
Bewildered, I stooped to pick up the coin, but could not part it from the stone of the platform. It was stuck, though by no means that I could see.<br />
At that moment, another rider came past, flicking more coins into our hollow as he did so. It became clear to me that if the hollow was filled with three hundred and thirty-three quarters, the whole place would go up in flames and no-one would be able to escape.<br />
We spent the next hour madly trying to catch quarters and throw them out into the forest or somehow pry the quarters that had landed on the floor off of it. All to no avail.<br />
It was a while before I got a grip on things and just left, jumping to the ground from a hole in the wall. None of the knights noticed me leaving, and in no time at all I found the path and met up with Elayne.<br />
<br />
By this time, we had reached the field. I was surprised to see that there were no Morris dancers present, except for Elayne and myself. All the rest of the people were from a local Hmong traditional dance group.<br />
Elayne and I walked up to them and began to learn a dance. It was fun, but I can't remember any of what we were doing. About halfway through, I noticed Elayne had disappeared.<br />
I made my excuses to the dancers and set out to find her. Eventually, I discovered a track much like the one we had followed into the field, except that along this one there was a railway upon which rested sleek, black, carriage-style train cars. One of the porters beckoned to me to join him on the train, but I, distrustful of him and the train, shook my head and stuck to the muddy path. I hoisted my skirts and walked.<br />
At last, I arrived at -- you guessed it -- the Mall of America, though in this dream it was a different version, made all out of reflective copper and silver, black velvet and poshness. It had a kind of steam-punky feel to it, though this was more ominous. I had a feeling that Elayne was in trouble.<br />
I found her in an elevator, staring blankly into the shining metal wall at her reflection and whispering quietly to herself.<br />
"Elayne," I said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.<br />
At the sound of her name, she whipped around, turning her blank stare on me for a fraction of a second before her facial features returned to their more normal state. "Oh, hi there, Green," she said pleasantly. "You should check this out, it's really jazzy," she chirped, turning to face her makeshift mirror again as her eyes glazed over.<br />
I stared at her in confusion. There was nothing reflected in the metal except the pair of us.<br />
"It's really cool. I got these implants in my eyes that allow me to see things written on pieces of glass or other reflective surfaces. It's like somebody breathed on a cold windowpane and is writing in it with their finger," Elayne said, still transfixed by her reflection.<br />
"What sorts of things?" I asked, grimly fascinated.<br />
"Oh, stuff like relevant advertising, the latest gossip," said she, as if it were perfectly normal to want to read about these things non-stop.<br />
"Alright," I replied, trying to hide my worry. The elevator bell dinged and we stepped out into a part of the mall that looked a little more like shopping centers usually do: all sparkling lights, polished surfaces and easy-listening music. I privately shuddered.<br />
"Ooo, let's look in there!" squealed Elayne, pointing to a jewelery store immediately in front of us. I decided it was best to humor her at this point, so we walked over.<br />
A Jamaican man met us at the door and led us on a tour through his shop. He refused, however, to show us the back room, claiming that there was something extremely dangerous, a medusa, in there. But, while he was distracted by a girlishly giggling group of customers, Elayne and I crept into the off-limits room.<br />
Inside, we found Elayne's older sister. She turned around and smiled cutely at as, then continued arranging jewelery on a mannequin. For some reason, Elayne and I both agreed that it wasn't safe for her sister to stay with the Jamaican man anymore, so we brought her with us when we left. He didn't notice she was leaving.<br />
We caught the carriage-train back to the field and rejoined the Hmong dancers before my dream ended.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-16786243849972022952011-03-14T12:46:00.000-07:002011-03-14T12:46:14.551-07:00Unremembered DateI became conscious of the dream as my friends and I passed through a tea room on the third floor of the Mall of America. It was a familiar area, though one that I'd only ever visited in other dreams, at the time associating it with an art gallery. This time, though, the lighting was moody and brooding, the tables were small, circular and adorned with tea-lights, and there were no beanbags to speak of. Around the tables were seated snappy-looking business people, all uptight and tense in their shiny black shoes; they sipped their coffee (which was a black as their shoes) through precisely pursed lips, crossed, uncrossed and recrossed their legs, and adjusted the positions of their briefcases -- which were as equally shiny and angular as their apparel -- with a terseness and neatness that I found irritating to the extreme.<br />
My group of friends swaggered noisily and unbotheredly through the tense atmosphere, chatting , laughing and goofing off. We flung open the double doors at the end of the room, letting the bright illumination flooding from skylights beyond the door to permeate some of the gloom of the tea room. As we departed, I turned and noticed with satisfaction that some of the room's occupants were grimacing and wincing in the sunlight. I left the door open as I ran to catch up with my friends.<br />
At the food court, we parted ways, the more rambunctious of my friends wandering off into an amusement park section of the mall, leaving myself, my boyfriend and one of our quieter friends to fend for ourselves and go where we pleased.<br />
Hoping to escape the hubbub and nerve-wracking humdrum of the building itself, we decided to go picnic on the front lawn (I had some food in my backpack, as I avoid eating mall food when I can). The mall doesn't really have a front lawn at all, but there was, to our knowledge, quite a verdant one waiting just beyond the sidewalks that led to the mall's entrances. Unfortunately, we would have to navigate our way through the all-too-garishly-colored theme park before we could take our luncheon. <br />
We began to resignedly wend our way through the park, dodging anxious, flustered mothers, their runaway, sugar-high children wearing wheeled shoes, bored fathers, school groups, and vendors hawking their wares like you wouldn't believe. Ignoring all of this, we hurried through mazes of roller coaster lines, balloon stands, and ticket booths, finally emerging into a cobblestone-floored plaza; escape was near at hand!<br />
I looked around me, grinning, hoping to share some wry witticism with my boyfriend or with my other friend, but they were nowhere to be found. Had they gotten lost in the crush of the crowd? I called out for them breathlessly, verging on panic, but I shouldn't have worried, for they stepped out from behind a hot-dog vendor's cart a moment later.<br />
Travelling in company again, we stepped through the revolving doors and into the sunshine.<br />
It was a bright, Spring-like day. Filled with a sudden enthusiasm, for the sun was like a balm to my worries, I cartwheeled across the lawn, springing and bouncing with delight. I came to a stop sprawled on the lawn, giggling to myself and staring up at the clouds. I waited for a few moments for the other two to catch up, but they didn't come. I heard their laughing voices retreating into the woods behind the mall. What were they doing? We were supposed to be having a picnic, but somehow my boyfriend had my backpack and he and my other friend were walking into the woods and ditching me.<br />
In the time it took for me to register my immediate confusion and (surprisingly for me) anger, they had already turned a bend in the path and disappeared from my view. I sprung to my feet and ran into the woods after them.<br />
For a long while I chased the two, never seeming to be able to catch them. Sometimes, as I rounded a corner, I would see them strolling ahead of me, casually holding hands and chatting amiably before they disappeared from my view again. Occasionally, I would hear one of the laugh from what sounded like very close by, and I would get excited, nervous, confused and angry all over again, thinking that I was about to happen upon them.<br />
The farther I chased them into the woods, the more lost I became. The trees started morphing into shelving that held all manner of pharmaceuticals in shiny glass bottles, the carpet of underbrush turned into linoleum tiling, and woodland creatures took on the semblance of employees. One of them, a kind-looking blonde-haired lady, tried to stop me as I strode past her, asking what was wrong and if she could help me with anything. I shoved past her, paying her no heed, and opened a pair of double doors.<br />
It was only when I stepped into the tea room, whose atmosphere didn't seem so unsuitable anymore, that I noticed I was crying. The double doors closed behind me and everything went black.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-62283818269943751462011-01-07T08:13:00.000-08:002011-01-07T08:13:41.854-08:001/7/2011Hello, readers. Firstly, I would like to apologize for my extended absence...things got busy and I neglected my Dream Journal. However, I have two dreams from that period that I have yet to write down and type up. So there are those to look forward to, I guess. Anyhow, here's the latest from my head.<br />
<br />
I was a Spartan warrior, a member of the fiercest army recorded in history, trained to kill and not question. Everyday, I was fighting for my life.<br />
I had earned my sword and my place in the Spartan ranks through many battles, facing fearsome men and even more fearsome creatures, the beasts of legend and myth. A man of twenty-four years, I was a battle-scarred, fearless, un-bending agent of death.<br />
Presently, Sparta was at peace, or as at peace as it come close to being. Many of the warriors were then in the city, spending time with their respective family, friends, or (as it may be) their favorite tankard of hard wine. I was alone, as I always had been...I spent my days meditating on what I had done and what I had left to do. I was, as always, an untouchable figure among the commoners.<br />
It was during those few days of return to my home that I felt a black shadow cross my heart and knew my time here was ill-spent: my peace would be short-lived.<br />
But I could do nothing for it, for where was my proof? I had only a feeling, and those are usually not the acceptable catalyst for launching a war. Not to mention, I didn't even know against whom we might be warring. Things just didn't feel right...<br />
<br />
As much as I had wished against it, my premonitions of doom became truth. Late one balmy summer evening, Sparta was besieged by hordes of monsters. By some divine power, they sunk the city fifty feet into the earth and proceeded to climb down into the ditch, probably hoping to massacre us in our disorder and confusion.<br />
The serfs, women and children were the first to go, of course. And I could not help them; the city was too large, too overrun. I had to stay with the small platoon of Spartans I had gathered about myself, lest we all succumb to the creeping, misty fingers of death that wreathed the city, holding us in it's clutch.<br />
The first wave to reach us was made up of the normal human soldiers, just like us: trained from a young age in combat and tactics, trained to relish gore, worship the sword, fight, always fight. And we slew them. Without any qualms, without any casualties.<br />
The second wave to come were the wolves, creeping through the mist on padded paws, eyes glowing malevolently, circling, always circling. And those too, we dispatched.<br />
Third were the minotaurs, bellowing and rampaging, throwing their brute strength and weight around. We sent them to the abyss without so much as a backward glance.<br />
But then...then they came. The mist descended ever thicker upon our group, bringing with it a chill and a scent so sickening, most of the men vomited before they could think twice about it. The worst was the rattling, though. It was the scraping and the creaking and the rattling of long-dead bones risen from their grave, shambling towards us from all directions, closing us in, intending for us to soon join their numbers.<br />
We fought with every inch of our swords and with every whit's worth of intelligence, but still many men took the hand of sweet death and walked into oblivion that day. The skeletons were surprisingly fast. They could evade the swiftest of blows and be within range to throttle you (or worse) quicker than you could blink an eye. They were tough, too. Jab them through the back of the skull with a blade and they'd do no more than turn and grin vilely at you, eye sockets empty and lightless...then they'd slowly pull the sword from their head and jab you through your own gut with it.<br />
Dawn never came while fighting these ghasts. The city was shrouded in twilight and death's mist, hopeless and silent except for the noise of battle from our sector. The remainder of Sparta slept for all eternity.<br />
There was one point during the battle where I thought I had lost my life. I was on the ground, having been knocked over, and my sword was embedded in a skeleton not yet subdued. The horror stood up, removed my sword from itself and thew it at me. Things progressed in slow time, yet I was helpless to move; I could only watch as my blade spun on a course bound straight for the impalement of my own brain. Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound, and time stopped completely. Scintillating scarlet droplets of blood shimmered in the air, though there were none there before. A number of them coalesced into six larger droplets, which spun round and round in front of my nose, forming Death's insignia. I looked up, and there She was, blue light glimmering off of Her alabaster skin and red specks dancing in Her eyes. She smiled warmly at me, plucked the sword from the air, and planted it in the earth between my feet. <br />
"Now is not your time," She said, and walked away. All the skeletons She passed, She flicked on the skull. Pure, deep notes emitted tranquilly from each one. Then She faded into the mist and time resumed it's crawl.<br />
The blood in the air had disappeared, but the sword was at my feet; I jumped up and wrenched it out of the earth. Around me, the skeletons the Lady had touched fell over and disintegrated into ash.<br />
I took to the battle again, and my sword burned with a cool, blue energy. The skeletons I downed seemed to need but one blow to convince them to surrender their bones to the earth once more.<br />
Finally, only two of the fiends remained. They were dispatched by others with crushing blows to the head.<br />
<br />
I looked around. Only thirteen of us Spartans remained. The rest of the city had been claimed by the Dark Lady...Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-47386360996722199722010-12-02T17:56:00.000-08:002010-12-02T17:56:00.421-08:0012/2/2010I was hanging limply from a torture device located somewhere high up. Bound by my hands and feet to a post that hung at a seventy-degree angle to the ground, my torso was left to bow uncomfortably outwards. It was obvious to me that I hadn't been fed in a few days or more and a crackling sensation from my shoulders and back, along with searing, nearly-blinding pain, told me I had been whipped again. Badly. It seemed I was kept alive by an IV drip stuck into my neck.<br />
After this small self-assessment, I came to wonder what the hell I had done to get myself in this situation. However, the strain of my brief time awake seemed to be too much, and I sank back into blackness and fevered dreams.<br />
<br />
There was a time back, way back, where my body was whole and functional and unscarred, and where I loved people and had people who loved me. There was a time where festivals were held at this Pyramid Stage that was now my prison and a public demonstration point for anyone that happened by. Though most people avoided this place after what happened that night at the festival five years ago.<br />
It had been a warm, humid summer night, perfect for the garishly-colored festival that was taking place in the glowing tents sprawled all over a vast field in front of the Stage. I remember the field had a river running through it, straight as an arrow, that then divided into two paths that ran around the Stage.<br />
But no, these frivolities provided in the tents were not for me. I was here for the main event, the show that was to be played right where I now hung.<br />
Eventually, the summon for the commoners to gather at the Stage Plaza came, and I moved with the slowly-flowing masses to the Plaza to an aisle seat very near the front. Then the show began.<br />
It was a flurry of movement and light and color and noise. Dancers garbed in rainbows galloped across the stage, leaped, and soared, never seeming to return to the ground. Lights flashed and spun, highlighting the intricate array of knots, twists and turns created by the orderly tangle of limbs and flowing hair. The music blared, telling all of the story without any of the words, masterfully painting the perception of an expression on the dancers' inert faces.<br />
I don't know what moved me to do it. Perhaps a beckoning glance from a dancer? Perhaps I saw something going on behind the curtain that I needed to be a part of? It still remains a mystery to me, and I have paid dearly for my mistake. The mistake in question was getting up from my chair, bypassing the guards at the bridge to the Pyramid, climbing the red stone steps, and going backstage to watch the performance from there.<br />
From that vantage point, it became plain to me that there was much less that was actually dazzling or real about this show. It was only the magic of the night working here, it was only the moonlight sparkling on drops of dew, both of which would disappear with the dawn. This event, televised to the nation and mandatory to watch, was nothing more than bread and circuses.<br />
Meanwhile, hiding behind a piece of scenery, I was receiving nasty glares from the performers and stage technicians. What was wrong with this? Why shouldn't I see what was really going on? Were they afraid I would tell the other "commoners" what it was they were watching?<br />
Eventually, I was dragged from the scenery, onto the stage to face a shocked crowd. the dancers were already gone, having exited stage left, but I was certain that they watched from behind the curtain, perhaps smiling at the justice I was about to receive for disrupting their sacred and mighty performance, for becoming aware of the rotting cogs that turned the clock hands.<br />
The device that I was currently strapped into was erected, I was attached to it, and then I was submitted to a televised public whipping while the anthem played in the background. I blacked out after the first fifteen lashes, but still the agony continued. When I came to, I was in my present situation, bound, alone, starving, injured, naked, cold...more feral, frightened animal now than human...<br />
<br />
Suddenly awake and free of the mind-numbing pain, revitalized by this memory-refreshing episode, I strained at my bonds, opening the gouges on my back. I gasped as the first hot drops of blood rolled off my torso to splatter on the stone.<br />
My anger-fueled struggling was interrupted by a noise, so slight I might not have heard it if I had been breathing any heavier than I already was. It was a whimper, coming from behind me. And it sounded human.<br />
My bonds and injuries prevented me from turning to look, so I had to communicate in the only way I still had energy to: bird whistles. Ii whistled for a while, creating twisting, spiraling songs that echoed off the red rock around me.<br />
Finally, I was able to stir a response in my fellow captive; a weak, four-note response reached my ears. Yes. Someone was there.<br />
I spent days recovering enough of my strength to speak, and finally I was able to converse with the boy who had been imprisoned with me. We formulated a plan of escape. Another festival was due to happen in two days' time, at this very same place, in commemoration of my imprisonment and to make a spectacle out of the new boy. That would be our time to run.<br />
By examining our bondings, we found that if we manipulated our hands correctly, they would slide right through the straps. After that, it would be easy to unhook the straps securing our ankles. Once free, we would go around the back of the Pyramid and escape into the woods.<br />
<br />
The day of the festival came. Guards checked our securements, clothed us in ragged, ripped-up shirts and worn-through pants and applied make-up to our bodies and faces to make us appear more haggard than we really were. The lash wounds, of course, were all too real.<br />
People gathered in the field below all throughout the day, though the festival was not as I remembered it. the color was all gone.<br />
Finally, the moment came. My partner gave a whistle, and I immediately struggled and soon dropped free of my bonds, shoulders and arms aching as they returned to their normal positions , chains clacking as my feet touched the ground for the first time in five years. I freed my legs as well, and turned to face the boy at exactly the same time that he flipped around to look at me.<br />
The devilish, tooth-baring grin he gave me seemed almost savage, but familiar, and was exactly how I would have greeted this particular partner in crime. Moving together, we dashed to the stairway I had climbed to get backstage and raced down it, out into the field where the tents were. <br />
I was intent on running the length of the river, all the way back to it's source, the source that must surely be untouched by this distopia of man -- it must surely be a place in my element where I could have time and nature close to my heart to heal me. But it seemed my associate had other plans. He swerved to the right, a steely glint in his eye, heading for the largest tent of them all. I swerved with him, fearing for him and also for the rest of these brainwashed people, these sheep, that he might unleash his wrath upon.<br />
I didn't see the small, silver grenade in his hand until it was at his fingertips, already beginning an arc through the air that would land it directly on the largest tent -- the President's tent.<br />
He suddenly reversed direction, crashing into me and throwing me into the river. We sank quickly to the bottom. As we touched the sandy riverbed, feather light, a muffled blast rolled through the water and was followed by a tide of red that washed over the surface of the river, boiling and exploding again and again. the turmoil finally subsided and we floated back to the surface to find the field empty.<br />
It was still verdantly green and unblemished...but all the tents had disappeared, along with the hateful Pyramid, and, as we floated along with the water's current, I realized the river was curved.<br />
A feeling of emptiness, of hollowness, of desecration poured into me as I clambered onto the shore and took in our surroundings once again.<br />
The dream faded as we staggered upriver into a bloody red sunset.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-88614817606163162682010-12-01T09:39:00.000-08:002010-12-01T09:39:52.334-08:0012/1/2010It was another fishing dream. My fishing partner and I, poles in hand, shoved off from the dock in our aluminum rowboat, she rowing out into the lake, I scouting for the Spot. There's always a Spot where the fish will be and where you'll get a good number of bites, it's just a matter of knowing what a fish likes at certain times of the day.<br />
Now, the matter of my fishing partner is a bit more confusing. I don't know her, I've never met her, but she's extremely familiar and strikes in me the kind of love that comes after many years of friendship. It's the kind of thing where you know just exactly how their wrists look or how someone always crosses their right leg over their left when they sit down. It was how I knew the shape of her eyebrows, the slant of her nose, the quirk that might have been a smile upon her mouth but really signified that she was upset. It was how I knew that if I were to ask her about it during our tour past the willows on the bank, searching for a Spot, that she would not tell me - only when we returned to the dock and the boat was anchored would we sit side-by-side at the edge, staring into the water, that she would unload her concern unto me.<br />
I, unsettled by all this familiarity for the first time, Spotted poorly. She trusted my judgement, however, and steered our little craft into a shallow cove that, if it were before sunrise, would be swarming with crappies and bass, but, being the middle of the day, we would have to cast out into deeper waters if we hoped to catch anything bigger than minnows.<br />
We spent the early and fishless afternoon there, reeling in our lures during lunch, tossing them back out afterwards adorned with corn and live bait. We waited in silence, absorbing the surrounding environment with all our senses, practicing the zen of fishing. Not a word was passed between us since entering the boat, but there didn't need to be - our understanding of the other's need and want for silence was impeccable.<br />
When the sun had passed it's zenith and was on it's way to the western horizon, we pulled in our lines once again, I hoisted the anchor, she took up the oars, and we made our way back around the lake to the cove whose entrance was draped over by trailing willow tendrils, where our dock lay. The anchor was planted, ropes were tied, lunchbox, tacklebox, poles and bait-tubs were removed one by one and returned to their proper places in the cabin set back from the lake some way into the trees, and, just as I expected, a silhouetted figure waited for me at the end of the dock, laying on her stomach, trailing her fingers in the shallow water, her brown hair no longer ponytailed and hanging in a glossy curtain over her face.<br />
I sat down next to her and her story began, words tumbling from her and undoing and coloring the silence between us.<br />
She told a tale of two musicians whose music had been unimaginably beautiful together. Eventually, they split, for reasons unknown, and one of them, Bill, had turned up in her home, allowed to stay by her parents. No-one knew where the other was. She, for some reason, thought that I could get these musicians back together if I tried, so I agreed to look into it.<br />
That night, I went to visit Bill. He was in a spare room in the basement of my fishing partner's cabin, lounging on his bed, strumming a mournful tune on a beautiful, character-saturated acoustic/electric guitar. He had a British face, if you know what I mean, with thick eyebrows and long, sandy-blonde hair, stubble on his jawline, bad teeth, a crooked nose, overlarge ears and blue-gray eyes. He was beautiful nonetheless.<br />
I can't quite recall with transpired between us, but eventually we were on the road in a beat-up sky-blue Datsun, guitars in the backseat, him navigating to a hippie-camp somewhere in Colorado (where he guessed his bandmate might be) and me along for the ride, unsure of how I was facilitating anything at all.<br />
After a few hours on the road, we arrived. The place was an old parking garage, out in the middle of nowhere, tents taking up the parking spaces where cars would usually sit. We found the bandmate almost immediately, sitting with a large circle of people who were singing along with his strumming. Bill stood there with tears in his eyes, humming he tune and tapping a foot in 3/4 time. The bandmate looked up (his name, I later learned, was Charlie), saw Bill standing there crying, and that was all it took. The strumming and the singing stopped, the guitar was suddenly slung around his shoulder by it's strap and we were walking back to the Datsun, heading back to the cabin at the lakeside.<br />
Bill and Charlie took up residence by the lake as well. Now when my partner and I go out in our rowboat early in the day, we can expect to see another craft on the water as well, it's two passengers smiling in the silence. And at night, when bonfires twinkle around the lake and my partner and I hold starlit conferences on the dock, the sound of their sweet music wafts on the wind and mingles with the midnight orchestra.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-36114423333856549482010-11-29T10:10:00.000-08:002010-11-29T10:10:47.861-08:0011/27/2010The dream began happily, at the Renaissance Festival with my dance troupe, back at camp on the Knoll. We were sitting around, eating dinner (I believe it was also someone's birthday), chatting and preparing for bed. The rest of the evening was uneventful.<br />
However, early next morning, my father took me away from camp to a large meadow, put a gun in my hands and taught me to shoot. He said I would need this skill very soon. I just nodded, a bit confused, and we walked back to camp. The rest of the day passed in a blur.<br />
When the night came, I found myself again with the gun, running through the hills with my family and my surviving campmates, trying to escape what I could only guess were zombies. We crested a rise, looked and listened for pursuers, sensed none, and decided to sit down and make this our new camp. I, however, heard a small rustling in the bushes and crept over to investigate. As I neared the shivering bush, a black form, shimmering red, leaped out at me and straight for my throat. I stabbed it with the pen in my hand (which was somehow a poisonous weapon) until it went limp. I was unscathed, but as I set the body on the ground, what I saw came as more of a shock than contracting the zombie virus. I had killed my cat.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-61123374998015232172010-11-29T10:03:00.000-08:002010-11-29T10:03:47.035-08:0011/24/2010The day began just like any other day at my former school: enter the building and immediately head to the bottom floor for classes. Except today was different. Today, the lights seemed sharper, the colors duller, and when I reached the actual entrance to the school, two armed guards stood outside the doorway.<br />
I met both their gazes and walked into the long main hallway, which was changed. It was now made entirely out of white tile that gleamed with an antiseptic sheen but reeked of concealed grime. I began to feel uneasy...no-one was in the hall and the place was unnaturally quiet. A pair of teachers were huddled and whispering in a doorway, but when they saw me approaching, they slunk back into the shadows of a darkened classroom.<br />
I was the only student to appear in my first-hour classroom, but others slowly trickled in through the doorway - about five in all. The teacher never appeared, though another adult did walk in, requesting that we follow him to a different classroom on a lower level. He said the class had been moved and our other classmates were waiting for us there. Uneasily, we agreed to come with him.<br />
He led us down dusty flights of stairs, past locked doors, through graveyards of forgotten clutter, deeper and deeper and finally into more of the white-tiled hallways. He stopped and opened a door to our left, beckoning for us to come inside. Instead of immediately filing through the door, we peered through, which was fortunate because otherwise we wouldn't have seen the sleeping bodies of our classmates hanging in hammocks from the ceiling.<br />
Naturally, we turned and fled back the way we had come. The doctors, for that's what they were, yelled after us, but we didn't look back, as caught up in our flight of fear that we were.<br />
Things became confused and we got separated. I ended up with one other boy, the smart-ass of the class. We didn't know if the others were going to make it, so we decided to forge on ahead, to keep going up. We didn't follow the exact same route to the surface, as we emerged from one of the locked doors on the main stairwell, above the guards and only one floor from the exit.<br />
We tip-toed up the stairs, on the watch for any officials, careful for our shadows not to be seen. When we reached the exit, however, we found that it was guarded as well, and the principal, dressed in a white doctor's suit, was present. "There they are!" she said, and ordered the guards to carry us back into the school. <br />
I kicked and struggled in a vain attempt to escape, but as my hope of that faded, so did the dream.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-40486015407080900012010-11-23T09:29:00.000-08:002010-11-23T09:29:10.685-08:0011/23/2010It was very late at night. I was having computer problems. Every time I tried to log in to my Gmail account, something would pop up and ask if I wanted to install it and wouldn't go away no matter how hard I clicked the "x," pressed "Ctrl, Alt, Delete," or "Alt, F4." 'Twas frustrating.<br />
So, I went to the only person who I knew could help me: Dad. He was up late as well with his own computer troubles, but he agreed to help me with mine. He fixed my 'pooter up and told me to try logging in again. I did and the same thing happened. He helped me again and I tried once more, but the virus window popped up once again.<br />
Eventually, we just gave up and I went to sleep. As I dozed off, I woke up - to soft kitten whiskers tickling my face.Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-29220000799811883842010-11-22T09:57:00.000-08:002010-11-22T10:12:28.705-08:0011/22/2010<span style="color: black;">We were in the car, traveling through layers of suburbs and along gravel roads, out into the country. At the end of the last field (which was somehow familiar from another dream), we slowed as we neared - strangely enough - the dental office. I supposed it was time for an orthodontist appointment.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">When we walked into the lobby, I was surprised to see my father, grandpa, grandma, great-aunts and -uncles and my guitar leaning safely in it's case in a quiet corner of the room.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The guitar reminded me that I had a guitar lesson scheduled for later this evening. How would we make it back to the city from all the way out here, especially with dentist appointments to take care of first? My answer came as Dad spoke up: "Oh, 'Green, after your appointment I'll take you to your lesson - I've got the Subaru with me." I sighed in relief and thanked him.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Eventually, I re-emerged from the ortho room and made my way back to the lobby, only to find that my mother, sister and brother were the only members of my family still in attendance. When I asked where Dad had gone, the secretary said that he and my grandparents, aunts and uncles had left just two minutes after I had gone with my orthodontist for my check-up.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Frustrated, I walked behind the secretary's counter and into the back room (which I would normally not have access to), which was somehow also the mail room and the record room. The head dentist was there to greet me. He asked me what was wrong, listened to my worries, and then suggested that I listen to some of his employees' files (which were all audio-based instead of being on paper). I started with one who began by talking about her appreciation for mailmen that went by bike, instead of succumbing to the modern-day convenience of a truck or van, especially when navigating the gravel roads that led to this very office. As I got further into the tape, I realized that I was listening to the secretary's voice, and my previous amount of respect for her (based on her well-rounded sense of humor and her habit of discussing her adventures with her Dungeons and Dragons group with me) began to grow.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">I reached the end of the tape. As it clicked off, I turned to see the head dentist smiling at me. I smiled in return. At that moment, the door to the building opened. I craned my neck to see who it might be, and was a bit disappointed to see it was not my father, but happy to see that it was a mailman. I listened as he kept up a friendly banter with the secretary, and was surprised and a bit confused when the secretary asked if I could borrow his bike, as I needed to get into town. To my pleasure, he agreed to wait at the dental practice (the secretary seemed just as pleased as I was) while I went about my business.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">I strapped my guitar to my back, thanked them both and headed out the door to the lovely bicycle. I walked it into town, afraid to ride it on the gravel, lest I fall off and crush my guitar. The whole way, the secretary's tape was playing in my head, but this time, the words seemed to be altered, as though she were guiding me down the road.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">As I neared the town, the size of the gravel pieces underfoot decreased in size, until I was walking on sand, and then on cracked cement strewn with splintered tree trunks, aluminum cans, dirt and leaves and then finally on smooth asphalt. The voice in my head expressed it's displeasure with the asphalt as I mounted the bike and rode through town, unsure of where I was going.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Eventually, I pulled into a gas station/carwash/restaurant (another setting that originated in a different dream). But as the front tire of the bike hit the driveway, it transformed and I was suddenly driving my aunt's silver PT Cruiser. All the suburb folk with their hulking SUVs made fun of me as I steered into a parking space.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">I got out of the car, slammed the door behind me, walked up to the nearest lime-green Hummer and ripped a handful of foam off the back of it, holding it up and saying, "See? They're fake! They're all fake." The suburb folk just sneered at me and kept me from the rest of their foam cars.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">At this point, I realized that the Cruiser had disappeared and I had no way to get back to the dental practice. I slumped my shoulders and walked into the restaurant, in search of a suburb family that might not have heard my proclamation and who would therefore be willing to give me a ride.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The occupants of many of the tables that I walked past simply glared at me, but one table seemed to recognize me and started waving and calling my name. I was startled and approached the table reluctantly, but as I neared it, I saw that the people waving at me were a younger version of my mother and her family. Suddenly feeling much safer, I went and sat down with them. Upon doing so, I noticed that my mother's belly was round with pregnancy (What the hell is with all my dreams involving babies?!) and instinctively knew that this baby was myself. I put my ear to her belly and was able to feel myself, to hear myself within.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">I visited with my family for a while, thinking about paradoxes and the consequences my presence here might have on the future. Eventually, I left and met up with a group of my friends who just so happened to be hobnobbing around at a nearby mall. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">We had fun, walking around, playing on sculptures, but eventually things were reduced to a cuddle puddle (everyone laying on top of everyone else on the floor).</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">During this downtime, I spotted a character that came off as most peculiar in this setting: Draco Malfoy. He was walking towards us, sweeping black cloak, slicked-back blonde hair and all, with a broad grin on his face. My group of friends greeted him warmly and he was absorbed into the cuddle puddle. Eventually, he had to leave, and I quietly waved goodbye to him as he walked away and met up with none other than Harry Potter. And then I woke up.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Yeah. That was a weird one, but the first good night of sleep that I've had in a few days.</span>Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-43784986799077757962010-11-16T10:05:00.000-08:002010-11-22T10:13:13.986-08:0011/16/2010<span style="color: black;">The dream began as a large beige bedsheet billowed out in front of me. I settled it on the floor and smoothed out the wrinkles, stacking pillows at one end, washcloths, a hot water bottle, towels, blankets and other supplies at the other, weighting the corners down with rocks and finally stepping back to admire my work. This makeshift bed was positioned on the back second-story porch and was open to the sun, the moon, the stars and the wind. At the moment, it was early morning, but in the balmy summer weather later tonight, a life would come into the world at this very spot.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">My aunt was the one who would be laying on this bed - it was my duty to keep the rest of the children out of the way and to keep a supply of hot water for the bottle when the time came.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The time did come, eventually, at around nine that night. I boiled water and played boardgames with the kids until it was over, then we were permitted to file quietly onto the porch and taste the sweet night air while gazing upon the sleeping, starlit visage of the baby and the contentment and happiness of the mother.</span>Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-73137672974554172122010-11-15T09:26:00.000-08:002010-11-22T10:13:50.886-08:0011/15/2010<span style="color: black;">My dreams last night were muddled and slow-moving. I didn't really feel rested when I woke up.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">In the first dream sequence, I was with my former classmates (I now homeschool) on a walk down to the creek near the school. I was traveling in a solitary fashion, as is my wont on such trips, when I happened upon a pond-like widening and harbor of the creek, where a narrow, arched bridge crossed the water that moved as sluggishly as my thoughts. It had grass growing along the top of it. Standing atop the bridge was a man. He looked vaguely Arthurian, with a sword at this hip, chain mail gauntlets, a leather helmet and a blue and white overcoat belted over the rest of his mail. Sometimes when I looked at him, he would appear as a centaur with the same human torso and the silky, chestnut-colored hindquarters of a horse.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">We struck up a friendly conversation, I inquiring as to whether or not I was permitted to cross the bridge, he responding that no, the bridge was not mine to be crossed yet, and wasn't my class waiting for me and wondering where I was at the next bridge? I acknowledged that this was probably the case and turned to leave. When I reached the undergrowth of the woods surrounding the creek, I turned to wave to the knight/centaur and give him my thanks for his guidance, but was brought up short by the twang of a bowstring, the hiss of an arrow cleaving air, and the thunk and finality of that arrowhead embedding itself in the chest of the centaur, piercing his kindly heard and driving the breath out of him. I rushed to the centaur and tried to help him, but my efforts were futile and the dream slid into blackness.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Only moments later, the dream returned, but this time, I was hiking through the woods with my class and kidding around with my classmates as any other teenager would. In this scenario, I seemed to be both watching myself from across the river and laughing with my friends on the other side.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">In due time, we came to the cove and the bridge where the centaur was standing, although neither my teachers or classmates had been able to see it before. We prepared to cross the bridge, single file, and the centaur spun around and fled into the hilly, sun drenched portion of the woods that dominated the other side of the creek. After I was across the bridge, I tried to find him, but ended up becoming hopelessly lost in the myriad tunnels of tall berry bushes that snaked along, around and in-between the hills and trees. I sat, alone, on the sunny crown of a hill, surrounded by berry bushes, unsure of which way to take before the rest of the dream disappeared like smoke.</span>Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8860263060746190017.post-8909584138488333862010-11-15T08:54:00.000-08:002010-11-22T10:14:24.541-08:0011/13/2010<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Upon waking at around 5:30 AM to the first snow of the winter, this is the dream that I was able to recount:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">In the beginning of the dream, I was in some sort of hospital, though the architecture of the building hinted more at that of a large, many-roomed lakeside cabin. I was brought by three nurses to a room with a wide double bed (covered by a faded quilt) for my examinations. They told me to lay down. While I did so, a man (the senior doctor) appeared in the doorway. He was holding a clipboard.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">He commenced the examination gently. While he was probing my stomach, he paused, hands hovering over my belly, eyes widening. "My dear," said he, "Do you realize that you are with child?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">I don't remember saying anything affirmative or to the contrary, and I don't remember thinking anything was amiss. It was only when I returned to my room and considered the fact that I was still a virgin that things started to spiral out of my hands. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;">The rest of the dream is hazy, but I can recall wondering if I should tell people through one of my newsletters (my immediate family already knew and were quite pleased) and deciding against it. Sometime afterwards, my boyfriend and his friend were at my house gaming (which is odd, because we don't own any consoles, not counting the computer) and I was having trouble finding the words to tell them, least of all my boyfriend. I remember biting my lip and looking down at the rip in the knee of his jeans (I've never seen a pair of his jeans ripped before, so this was also odd) and feeling all jumbled up and panicked before I woke up.</span>Whalesonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715682734380774noreply@blogger.com2