It was a cruel game Bob and Clay had played on their father. Back when they were younger, when they were still the same height and their voices sounded exactly alike (Clay’s voice broke first, Bob ended up being taller), they’d pretend to be one another. It was easy, in the mornings, for Bob to dig through Clay’s duffel bag and pull on some of his clothes. Clay just had to pull a baseball cap on backward to cover his hair, let Bob carry his bass case, and their father never knew.
But in dreams the prank took on a twist. Most nights, once a show was ready to roll, Bob and Clay would have to give themselves up, because they were good actors, but they couldn’t play each other’s instruments.
More than once Scott had woken up to the sound of Bob tossing and turning, moaning and kicking at the sheets. Bob was usually the quietest sleeper of them all, and Clay would kneel beside him, shake him hard, but it was impossible to wake him up.
Because in his sleep, no one believed him when he tried to take his identity back. He was twelve years old and backstage, tapping his foot impatiently, because Dad’s pep talk was the same every night, and Bob just wanted to crank out his twenty-five push-ups and hit the stage. Twenty-five push-ups it was, and then Bob was on his feet. He rolled his wrists a few times to loosen them up, tugged his gloves on, and reached for his drum sticks - only Clay had picked them up and was heading for the stage.
Bob tried to catch his shoulder, protest, but then his father yelled at him, told him to come pick up his bass, because Scott was already onstage. Bob tried to explain the truth, that he really wasn’t Clay, that Clay would completely and utterly ruin the rhythm line, but his father shook him, told him the bass was part of the rhythm section too, and to get out there, because Dan was terrible at stalling a crowd.
Bob insisted - he wasn’t Clay. His father spun him around, tugged the baseball cap off his head, and pushed him toward the mirror.
The face looking back at him was Clay’s.
Bob screamed.
He opened his eyes, and the face looking back at him was Clay’s. He lashed out, tried to break the mirror with his fists, and then Clay had him by the wrists and Dan was beside him, stroking his shoulder and making wordless, soothing sounds.
For the next two days, Bob refused to look in a mirror.
(443 words)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Battle of the World
"In my dream, I stood on a high place. Below me I could see armies of the world, past and present, marching across the land. Men in chariots, men in tanks, and men on horseback. There were jets streaking across they sky and bombs falling with bright flashes. I could feel the earth rumbling under my feet, the sky was dark and there was a storm in the distance. The scent of war was on the wind, sharp, acrid, and it burned my nose. The wind was also hot, stuffy, and laden with the the decay of bodies," Joe recounted his dream to the psychologist at his yearly checkup.
Joe continued, "I saw the armies below me in vast platoons, moving slowly across the fields, bent on destroying each other. All around me there were dead and dying men. And I didn't know who I belonged with. I looked around and saw others just standing there, watching as the world destroyed itself, and I didn't know if I was dead or alive myself. I thought for a while that it would be better to be dead. I looked at my own hands and found them stained with blood, bright, vivid red and dripping," Joe finished, looking up at the psychologist.
Laura finished neatly writing down an observation and looked at Joe, "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. I know I have seen many awful things since I have come here. I have done many extreme things," Joe said, hesitant to lead her in any way.
"Well Joe. I think that you need a short vacation. I want you to get away somewhere peaceful and quiet for two weeks," Laura said. She wrote a brief explanation to Major Cole.
"Do you have anywhere in mind?" Laura asked as Joe was standing up.
"No. I am sure I will find somewhere though," Joe said as he walked quietly from the office.
Joe continued, "I saw the armies below me in vast platoons, moving slowly across the fields, bent on destroying each other. All around me there were dead and dying men. And I didn't know who I belonged with. I looked around and saw others just standing there, watching as the world destroyed itself, and I didn't know if I was dead or alive myself. I thought for a while that it would be better to be dead. I looked at my own hands and found them stained with blood, bright, vivid red and dripping," Joe finished, looking up at the psychologist.
Laura finished neatly writing down an observation and looked at Joe, "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. I know I have seen many awful things since I have come here. I have done many extreme things," Joe said, hesitant to lead her in any way.
"Well Joe. I think that you need a short vacation. I want you to get away somewhere peaceful and quiet for two weeks," Laura said. She wrote a brief explanation to Major Cole.
"Do you have anywhere in mind?" Laura asked as Joe was standing up.
"No. I am sure I will find somewhere though," Joe said as he walked quietly from the office.
Second Unlocking
Maybe the teachers shouldn’t have given him that chemistry textbook, because he was too smart for his own good, and a few hours with that book and an old biology book and suddenly he knew how people were put together.
People looked the most beautiful in his dreams, because he could see each and every part of them, the strands of coiling oxygen and hydrogen, iron and carbon, calcium and potassium that made up blood and bones, marrow and muscle. He learned about polypeptide chains and hydrocarbon chains, and when he looked at the boys who haunted him on the playground, he could see colors dancing through their skin. He knew that if he tugged just the right one - a shimmer of violet tinged fuschia at the edges - he could unravel every single carbohydrate in a given limb.
The rush of power through his body was exhilarating, and in his dream-world he felt as though he could fly.
When Naoya woke in the middle of the night to one of the orphanage mothers screaming, he realized that his talent could wake without him.
And that another door had opened when he was dreaming.
(194 words)
People looked the most beautiful in his dreams, because he could see each and every part of them, the strands of coiling oxygen and hydrogen, iron and carbon, calcium and potassium that made up blood and bones, marrow and muscle. He learned about polypeptide chains and hydrocarbon chains, and when he looked at the boys who haunted him on the playground, he could see colors dancing through their skin. He knew that if he tugged just the right one - a shimmer of violet tinged fuschia at the edges - he could unravel every single carbohydrate in a given limb.
The rush of power through his body was exhilarating, and in his dream-world he felt as though he could fly.
When Naoya woke in the middle of the night to one of the orphanage mothers screaming, he realized that his talent could wake without him.
And that another door had opened when he was dreaming.
(194 words)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Just so you know...
I'm not dead.
Will join back in next week when I must give the assignment.
Sorry guys. ;(
Stress has given me writer's block.
Will join back in next week when I must give the assignment.
Sorry guys. ;(
Stress has given me writer's block.
Twenty-Seven Across, Thirteen Up
It came to him on random nights, when he least expected it, the journey into hell.
It began, in the dream, with an obsession. A clue she’d left him when they were children, something she’d whispered to him back in the days when he could wind his arms around her waist and hold her and call it “tag”. Somehow he knew how to find her, and the looks on the faces of the black-suited agents when he asked for Carolyn Pierce were priceless.
Their poleaxed expressions were usually the last moment worth laughing at as the dream sequence spiraled on downward. From there it was...paperwork. For some reason his subconscious decided paperwork and requests, poking through outdated paper archives and microfiche deserved their own montage, like a bad eighties movie, set to Massive Attack’s Safe From Harm.
He wondered why, when he was in the dank basement of the nameless agency, he was safe from harm.
The first half of the sequence was lit in sepia and gold, all warm colors, like faded sunlight on an autumn afternoon, but as soon as he found the answer, the world would turn blue, all cerulean shadows and turquoise lights. He could feel the slip of paper in his hands. Name, rank, serial number...and address.
The world shifted from blues to greys, then to blacks and whites, because the drive was agonizing. He was only asleep for a few hours before he woke sobbing, but trapped in his own slumbering mind, the drive lasted for days and days, and the entire time his palms tingled with desperation and anticipation against the steering wheel, and his free foot tapped a nervous rhythm, which would ruin his hi-hat work later.
By the time he reached the address (marked with strange coordinates) he knew what was coming, but his lead feet dragged him up to the gate anyway. When he pushed it open, it creaked, and then he marched across the grass, head held high, determined not to let anyone see him break.
And then he stared out across the rows and rows of uniform headstones, and he counted. Twenty-seven across, thirteen up.
Carolyn Pierce lived to see eighteen, and then she died serving her country.
He sank to his knees, head bowed, and slid a hand across the grass, across the cold granite, and thought, She’s gone.
(397 words)
It began, in the dream, with an obsession. A clue she’d left him when they were children, something she’d whispered to him back in the days when he could wind his arms around her waist and hold her and call it “tag”. Somehow he knew how to find her, and the looks on the faces of the black-suited agents when he asked for Carolyn Pierce were priceless.
Their poleaxed expressions were usually the last moment worth laughing at as the dream sequence spiraled on downward. From there it was...paperwork. For some reason his subconscious decided paperwork and requests, poking through outdated paper archives and microfiche deserved their own montage, like a bad eighties movie, set to Massive Attack’s Safe From Harm.
He wondered why, when he was in the dank basement of the nameless agency, he was safe from harm.
The first half of the sequence was lit in sepia and gold, all warm colors, like faded sunlight on an autumn afternoon, but as soon as he found the answer, the world would turn blue, all cerulean shadows and turquoise lights. He could feel the slip of paper in his hands. Name, rank, serial number...and address.
The world shifted from blues to greys, then to blacks and whites, because the drive was agonizing. He was only asleep for a few hours before he woke sobbing, but trapped in his own slumbering mind, the drive lasted for days and days, and the entire time his palms tingled with desperation and anticipation against the steering wheel, and his free foot tapped a nervous rhythm, which would ruin his hi-hat work later.
By the time he reached the address (marked with strange coordinates) he knew what was coming, but his lead feet dragged him up to the gate anyway. When he pushed it open, it creaked, and then he marched across the grass, head held high, determined not to let anyone see him break.
And then he stared out across the rows and rows of uniform headstones, and he counted. Twenty-seven across, thirteen up.
Carolyn Pierce lived to see eighteen, and then she died serving her country.
He sank to his knees, head bowed, and slid a hand across the grass, across the cold granite, and thought, She’s gone.
(397 words)
Where Lovers Meet
David became aware of the warmth of a body beside him; a long slender figure curling into his side; arms wrapping around his chest.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
At the End of the Day
At the end of a long, hard day at the office, Carolyn wanted to punch something. Or cry.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
Trying to Remember
Alastrina dreamed about the bar that night. Heard his voice in her sleep. It was if he was right there, singing her softly to sleep. She could only see his eyes and his smile, just as in life. Her unconscious mind wanting to fill in the blanks.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
Dreams or Visions
"I had a dream last night," Steve said.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
Monday, June 15, 2009
First Unlocking
Dreams were the key to unlocking his mind, opening doors to places he never even knew he had. Naoya closed his eyes and dreamt of vengeance, tucked under a threadbare blanket in his corner of the dorm room. The other boys threw rocks at him, called him a freak.
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Project Assignment # 31 - Dreams
Dreams are very useful in fiction, as well as fun to write. They are a part of life. They can also be used to show a character's mood or even to make a point, as a sort of allegory in the mind of a character. Write a dream for a character.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
Okay, I had a few bump this week. I found that the songs that I chose for the piece didn't always fit, or I would start them at the wrong point. I also found that I need to expand my music collection.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
So this assignment ended up being better and worse than I thought it would be. It was better because by the end of the week, I had a series of key scenes that could realistically be turned into something in the way of a novel. I'd have to pick a better starting point, and I'd have to develop background and conflict more (what was so important about Bob anyway, right?), but it could be done. All summer I've felt like all I've been writing are tiny pieces that end up being nothing and that my ability to complete a work has gone down the drain, since I skip straight to the fun scene and don't work at the nuts and bolts. But this could be something, and who knows what it would be.
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
Slapstick
Mark settled into his seat in the darkened theater just as the beginning credits were starting to roll. Wednesday was his favorite night to go to the movies. Old black and white and silent films were the best. Grinning from ear to ear Mark popped a a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth the antics started.
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)