To Whom It May Concern

I stared at the letter in my hands and had to reread the letterhead several times. Then I scanned the contents of the letter and swallowed hard. It was business-like and impersonal, if polite, but then it wasn’t addressed to me. It was addressed to whom it may concern. I knew who this letter concerned, and it sure as hell wasn’t Chief Moreno.

I darted a glance over my shoulder at the other two desk sergeants, then dove for my cell phone. I poked through my contact list and cursed myself for not adding my brothers to speed dial sooner. In the time it took for five rings to jingle across the line, I tapped my foot impatiently and read the letterhead again.

Five years of complete and utter silence, and now this? It was pure chance, I knew - the dry legalese stated that this department had been chosen to represent part of a “random sample”, but how random could it be, really, that this letter had ended up on my desk?

“Dammit, pick up,” I muttered.

After the fifth ring, someone said, “D’you know what time it is, Dan?”

Only Clay would be that rude from the get-go. “I don’t care what time it is,” I said, and darted another glance over my shoulder at the two sergeants. My heart was pounding in my chest, and hell, was this even a good idea? That didn’t matter. “Get Bob on the phone now.”

There was a rustle as Clay dragged the phone away from his ear, and I heard a faint Bobby, phone for you. Your brother’s an effin’ nut.

And then Bob said, “H’lo?”

“Get a paper and pen,” I said.

“Dan, it’s eleven hours’ difference,” Bob began, but I cut him off.

“Get a pen, dammit!” I ducked instinctively, realizing I’d raised my voice, but no one looked my way. I was low man on the totem pole, fresh out of the academy, and I was pretty sure the other guys hated me. I couldn’t really afford to tick them off, but - this was huge.

“All right, all right, gimme a moment.” There was more crackling, then a crash - Bob was probably fumbling in the dark. Some swearing and then a Turn off the light filtered through the phone line, and then Bob said, “I have a pen. I swear, if this isn’t Beyoncé’s number, I’m coming all the way back to Calgary just to kick your ass.”

I bit my lip. Should I do this, really? “Write down this address,” I said, and read it off to him.

“Who do we know who lives in...Cedarville, Utah?”

I closed my eyes. I was going to regret this.

“...Dan? Dan, I swear if you hung up on me, I’m gonna - Clay. Get up. We’re going to Calgary to kill Dan.”

I felt my head begin to swim. This was almost worse than the day I’d told Dad about me and Joey. “Bob -”

“Just so you know, we’re coming to kill you. Triplets no more, Dan.”

“Bob, that address is for Carolyn Pierce.” There. I said it.

Now Bob’s end of the line was silent. I counted the beats of silence, waiting. Had I killed him? Had he keeled over dead? Clay wasn’t screaming, but then he slept like a corpse... “Bobby?”

“If this is a prank, I really am coming home to kill you.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. My voice came out sounding miserable. “No, it’s not a prank.”

“How do you know it’s her?”

“She always said she’d be a lawyer.”

(600 words)

Revenge

I have thought of nothing but my revenge since Arianna's death. The only thing to take my mind off of it was my next mission. The next mission and training, endless training that would lead to my revenge. But always, my mind came back to revenge. I have imagined it a thousand times, a different scenario for every night that she was not by my side. I imagined guns, bombs, knives; slow torments and quick deaths, none give any relief to my mind.

Each plan never seemed to fulfill my need for revenge, each fell short. Each one ended in his death. He would never suffer the way that I have suffered, because he will be dead. He will be dead, and I will still be alive.

Alive without her.

Project Assignment #32: First Person

I know you guys have done a POV challenge before, but it is rare that we see any first person POV around here. I want to be inside your character's heads, or at least hear the way they see situations as opposed to the general omnicient third person POV.

100-600 words, I'd say. That's good.

I swear I'll post this week guys. Let me know if this isn't an up-to-par challenge.

Overview #31 - Dreams

This week didn't go as I planned. I had thought to give greater insight into the characters by their dreams, but that didn't really happen. I found myself giving premonitions or visions almost to their dreams. Like Steven's a vision of David dying, or Joe's seeing the battles of the world in his sleep. I have come to realize that I pick on Joe quite a bit. If there is abuse to be given, Joe usually gets it. I should really stop abusing him so much. Mark and Bryan tend to have it easier. Steve gets plenty of abuse and David gets his fair share. I hipe I am able to define my characters more in the weeks to come.

Overview #31 - Dreams

So this didn't quite turn out how I wanted it to. When I started with Naoya, I had grand visions of painting surrealist worlds with words alone, because dreams are so rarely linear and rarely clear, but I ended up...torturing Bob and Carolyn some more. Which is, admittedly, pretty mean of me. It was interesting not to write any dialogue, which was good practice. I think I got some good description in there, but in a couple of places I can see my attempts at description go awry. Either way, it was a definite learning experience for me, and one that I enjoyed. The exercise made me think back on dreams that I've had, the ones that were completely unreal, the ones that seemed so real I was still terrified when I woke up, and the ones that I like to have over and over again. (I will confess, more than once in my life I've fallen asleep to 2BP on my iPod, and it has done weird things to my dreams.)

It's a good thing Freud wasn't hanging around this blog, hm?

Ordinary Day

Sometimes dreams were deceptive. Those were usually the worst kind, because Carolyn couldn’t tell if she was awake or asleep until it was too late.

The dream she hated worst started just like an ordinary day of hers, with her opening her eyes thirty seconds before her alarm went off. She hit the button to shut off the alarm before it could start and rolled out of bed. She hit the gym in her apartment building for a good half-hour workout, then hit the shower. She dressed and ate and headed for the office.

Kara, the receptionist, was as bright and bubbly as ever and greeted her with a list of appointments, a stack of files she had requested, and a chain of sticky notes for all of the calls left on the office voicemail for her.

Carolyn was halfway to her desk, puzzled as to why the attorney general was calling about the Millay case, and then Kara called her back. There was a Robert Summers waiting in her office, Kara said. Slipped in before her ten o’clock meeting.

It took Carolyn a moment, because she’d never really called him Robert aloud before, and only infrequently in her head, and then she knew precisely who Kara meant. Kara smiled and said he was polite and soft-spoken, seemingly shy, but pretty darn cute, and she hoped he wasn’t in some sort of legal trouble.

Carolyn only half-heard Kara’s words, and the stack of folders in her arms would have tumbled to the floor but for the glimpse she caught of a man standing in her office, back to her. His head turned, and she saw the line of his profile, traced its familiar shape, and her heart began to pound in her chest. How had he found her? The Agency had declared her officially dead, given her a new start.

But what if it wasn’t him? The man standing her office had short hair, and was taller than she remembered and -

She woke up.

Thirty seconds before her alarm went off.

(344 words)

Looking Back At Him

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)

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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!

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.)