Lucid Waking

Well, the last time I had to do a news post was because of the new Muppet on Sesame Street. That was more than two years ago on August 14, 2006. But today, I saw something just as cute and perhaps more perplexing. On August 15th of this year, an unusual candidate of the Norwegian Royal Guard was knighted. He had been a colonel-in-chief for years and honored with medals for long service and a statue in his honor. But what makes him so different from all the other wonderful Norwegian soldiers? He’s a penguin.

Yes, that’s right. You can see the video here if you don’t believe me. Nils Olav had been the army’s mascot for a while and he was finally knighted by the king of Norway at the Edinburgh Zoo. Darren McGarry, animal collector at the zoo, said Nils was on his best behavior for the event. He certainly did a good job checking the troops, although he did try to walk away when he was being knighted. He was being honored for strengthening ties between Norway and Scotland during his lifetime.

Unfortunately, the real Nils Olav died in the 1980s and was replaced, but obviously, his legacy continues on. I’m sure wherever he is now, he’s puffing his feathers with pride at being a knight for the king of Norway.

Filed under: Real World by Bri
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        “What are you smiling about?” Libby asked. She stared at the strange woman more harshly than she meant and longer than was polite, but there was something about her guest that rubbed her the wrong way. She couldn’t figure it out—in fact refused herself to think about it for very long. Her body would ache and her hands would tremble if she let herself contemplate too long about this woman who just showed up at her house one day.
        She didn’t speak; Libby didn’t know her name. She had never seen her before. The girl was beautiful, but her clothes were close to rags. She wore everything gracefully and her days were spent perched on the couch as a statue of temptation. Libby wanted to take a hammer and knock of the girl’s head. Her sons would often watch TV with her when they should have been doing their chores. But no one thought this strange girl was a big deal. The police didn’t see anything wrong with it and no one was reported missing. So the girl stayed. She didn’t eat or take up space. The only hassle she presented was the space she took up on the couch. Libby’s friends had since given up with asking about the girl, though they often didn’t stay as long as they used to at her house for various reasons.
        The girl had always had a straight-faced stare. Libby used to think the girl was watching her about the house, but after weeks of waking up to see the girl still staring at the sleeping television, she since gave up that thought. But no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get the girl to move beyond the first steps she took into the house and onto the couch. She had toyed with the idea that the girl was a robot, but refused to have anyone search her for a switch. "It’s a cruel trick,” she had said to her husband. “And I just hope she leaves soon.”
        But the girl didn’t leave. She sat collecting dust. Libby turned of the television that had somehow been turned on and as she moved to the dining room past the girl, she noticed something different.
        “What are you smiling about?” Libby snapped. The girl didn’t move. Libby walked over to the dining room and glanced behind her shoulder instinctively. The girl was staring at the blank TV.
        “I really don’t see anything funny,” Libby said turning back to the dusty table she had come to clean. She felt a hand at her shoulder. Her heart leapt and she spun around. The girl smiled and slapped Libby across the face. Then she went to the kitchen and turned on the burners of the stove as high as they could go. She opened the oven door and turned it on. She threw something into the microwave and turned it on. The kitchen sizzled as things heated up.
        “What are you doing?!”
        The girl turned to Libby and laughed. It was the first sound she had made since her arrival. She dove into the refrigerator and started to eat. Libby could hear the girl’s jaws smacking against each other. Libby flipped the door of the oven closed and shut it off. The girl reached for a knife in the knife rack, but a little too slow. Libby had reached her hand in two strides and pushed the smiling girl against the table.
        “Next time, ask.” Libby took the rag in her hand and tied up the girl’s hands. She struggled with her to the door and then pushed her out with the rag, leaning all her weight on the door and shutting it with a slam.
        The house was silent except for the whisper of gas from the stove. The smoke detector went off and Libby ran to the kitchen to shut off the stove while whatever was in her microwave spit out black smoke. She glanced towards the kitchen window then decided against it and went up to the second floor and opened the windows there. She wet a rag with water and turned on all the fans in the house. Then she opened the microwave door.
        She couldn’t see right away if there was fire as the black smoke billowed out. Libby shot to the floor and breathed through the rag as all of the air was circulated and dispersed through the window up the stairs. Then she checked to see if there was a fire in the microwave and perhaps recognize what it was the girl had thrown in there. The only thing left was a small copper frame from a cheaply framed picture that had said: home sweet home. It was located in the entryway and had been there most of the day. Libby didn’t know how it got in the kitchen, but she tried not to think about it long. She ran up the stairs to the upstairs window hoping to close it and stop up any vulnerability that her house had to the strange visitor. But as soon as she had bounded up the stairs and into the room, there was the girl. She was sitting on the bed, but she wasn’t smiling. She didn’t move when Libby came in.
        “What do you want?” Libby asked, close to tears.
        The girl turned to her; the first sign of recognition of a voice since she had arrived. She pointed to pillow on the bed and lie down.
        “Go ahead and sleep, then,” Libby said. “I’ll wake you in a couple hours.”
        The girl stared at Libby until she left. What a strange girl, Libby said taking a shaking breath and continuing down to the kitchen to clean up the mess. But as she reached the microwave to grab the burned picture frame, she noticed it was clean. The picture frame wasn’t there, either. She glanced around the kitchen and noticed that the haphazard mess that had been there before the girl’s arrival was cleaned up. Libby went to the dining room and noticed her rag sitting on the table next to the can of dusting solution. Not know what else to do, Libby continued dusting.
        Hours went by and there was no movement from the bedroom. Libby cautiously climbed the stairs, broom in hand, pretending to have taken a break from sweeping. But Libby was more afraid of what the girl might do to her than any interest in house cleaning. As soon as the door was open, the girl woke up and sat on the bed with a refreshed smile.
        “What now?” Libby asked. The girl pointed at Libby and when Libby didn’t move, got up and pushed past Libby to the bathroom across the hall without a word.
        “Well come on down when you’re finished,” Libby said, shakily. She went back to the kitchen to replace the broom and then started gathering things for dinner. The girl was on the couch in no time and Libby could hear the television going in the other room. She kept her eyes on the knife in her hand as she chopped vegetables. Her hands were shaking, but when she glanced up, the girl hadn’t moved. Finally the television shut off and Libby looked up just in time to see the girl standing in the kitchen doorway.
        “Hungry? Dinner is at six thirty,” Libby said smiling, then remembering the fiasco added, “but if you’re hungry I can pull up a small snack. What would you like?”
        The girl pointed to the pantry.
        “Do you want to get it yourself?”
        The girl shrugged and got a box of cereal. Libby got a bowl down from the shelf and handed it to her with the milk and a spoon. The girl smiled and poured herself a bowl of cereal. Libby listened to the clink of stainless steel and china as the girl ate, keeping a close eye on the knives. Finally, the bowl clinked down into the sink. Libby turned to the girl once more, but she had gone.
        Libby put the vegetables she was chopping in the frying pan and tried to search the house with one eye on the vegetables. But the girl wasn’t anywhere to be found. Shrugging, Libby went back to cooking dinner just as the door opened and shut and her husband called out to her.
        “Hello,” he said, kissing her on her head. “How was your day?”
        “Strange,” she said.
        “I see our visitor is gone,” he noted as he walked past the couch with dishes to set the table.
        “I don’t know about that,” she said. “One moment she was a holy terror and the next she’s gone.”
        “Well, good riddance,” he said. “I can finally watch my television in peace.”
        “I suppose,” she said, thoughtfully. Then struck with an idea, added, “Why don’t we invite Ellen over for dinner? I can add more ingredients so we’ll have enough.”
        “Why?”
        “I don’t know,” she said smiling, “I just feels good to be hospitable.”

Filed under: Fantasy, Horror by Bri
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        It’s just like practice. Jason will crack a joke…
        “The one thing I’m scared about it what they’re saying about me on those overly dramatic videos they play before they pan to a close up shot of your face. Forget the Chinese; I’m afraid of what people would do if they knew what toothpaste I use. ”
        …and Adrian would laugh the loudest. Coach would tell Jason to focus and he would protest that he was focusing.
        “If you laugh, you’re relaxed,” he’d say. “And if you’re relaxed, you’ll do better. I just hope that tip is lost in translation with all these different languages here, ‘cuz that’s brilliance.”
        But then I see myself running, flipping, and sticking the landing. And pretty soon, the stands are flying by, my back flips like a pancake, my hands contact the vault, and then my feet meet the mat with no steps or falls. But this time, there’s a roar of noise and the adrenaline is gushing through my veins. I step down to my team for high fives and smiles. The score doesn’t matter; if my team is happy, I’m happy. As long as we win gold, I don’t care.

Filed under: Realistic Fiction by Bri
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        Taralee was sitting in her moss garden outside on her roof, her feet dangling to the water below. Her pet carp, Syl, was resting by the rocks, swaying with the current of the river. She sighed and looked up at the perfect blue sky. The air was full of water and she could feel the imminent rain.
        “Good morrow, Taralee,” a voice behind her said cheerfully. She closed her eyes and tried to see who was behind her. She saw him before he sat down next to her. It had been a while since she was able to speak to him calmly and without a fight.
        “Hello, Damascus.”
        “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. She waited for his next words, but they never came. She found herself smiling; it was something that he did often. But? she prompted him. She opened her eyes and glanced at the newcomer. He was perched on the rock next to her looking over the river to the other bank. He was patient, and watching something that she knew if she glanced that way, she wouldn’t see. He wasn’t in armor, like she was used to seeing him, but he still had an air of business and superiority. She knew that wasn’t his fault; he always stepped up to what was expected of him and a lot was expected of him. But his unconscious attitude and polite manner bothered her sometimes.
        “What brings you here?” she asked after moments of silence. They sky was getting grayer as they waited and she didn’t want to be stuck in the rain. Which is strange for you, she thought, you’re a water fairy.
        “You’ve heard about the Fairy Guardian, haven’t you?”
        “Only that she’s gone.”
        “Well, I need your help.”
        “Don’t tell me the oracle thinks you’re the one to save her. If you say yes, I will forfeit my faith that she really does love you.”
        He sighed, but he didn’t laugh with her. “No, I need a good mage just in case anything happens. She predicted a young boy to be the savior. A flower fairy.”
        “That’s how it always goes, doesn’t it? Well, then…tell me, why didn’t you pick a fire fairy?”
        “Maybe because I think we’ll be traveling through forest most of the time.” She could feel the hint of irritation and hostility in his voice. She had never heard that from him, even on the battlefield. It scared her a bit, but she kept her cool and said:
        “All right, I might as well go.”
        “Then prepare yourself and we’ll meet you here in two days.”
        “That seems a bit slow.”
        “I want the boy to get used to traveling.”
        “All right,” she said. She stood up and got ready for a dive. “You’d better hurry back. It’s going to rain.”

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        It had been eons, but in the life of a fairy, it was only a couple years to make the bulk of the population nervous. The Fairy Guardian had been missing for some time: off on holiday, the note on her desk had said. But it wasn’t written in her usual neat scrawl, but a hurried scribble with blotches of ink blurring the letters. Her office was a state of pandemonium, when before it had been as neat as well-kept flower garden. The fairies were always ones to have faith in their ambassador, whether the situation of her disappearance was odd or not, but the fairy king was getting tired and scared of relations falling through between his people and the large folk. So he, sent word to their oracle to ask what had befallen the beloved Fairy Guardian and who should save the fairy world. Word came back of a flower fairy known as Panachon. He was a small sprite, and of course an unlikely candidate to save the Fairy Guardian. But, the king had faith and sent his best knight, Damascus, to meet Panachon where he lived among the field fairies. Meanwhile, he would press the oracle for news of the Fairy Guardian and where she was held.

        “But I suppose you knew all of that,” Damascus said politely as he took another sip of tea that Panachon had poured for him.
        “I had heard rumors, but I didn’t know they were true.”
        “Absolutely.”
        “So I’m supposed to go with you to find her?”
        Damascus smiled. “The king wouldn’t let you go alone. There’s also someone else I’d like to bring along, if it’s not too much trouble. She’s really much better at magic than I am.”
        Ever polite, Panachon said, “Not at all.” But he had a sinking feeling that there was something he would need that the famous knight would not be able to provide. The knight smiled and excused himself from Panachon’s cottage.
        “I’ll see you in three days, then,” Damascus said mounting his small Pegasus. “Prepare yourself for a long journey.”

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        Everything was beautiful in Eversummer. The leaves were so rich a green they looked like velvet, the snow sparkled silver, and the magnolia trees bloomed early and their blossoms stayed late. Every tree had a story of the town’s highly attractive residents and were more than happy to give the ripest fruit in the largest quantities. People came and some went, but most stayed where they were finding true love and prosperity in their childhood town. It was young and vibrant: everyone was kind to one another and the animals that coexisted with them. Never was a hearth empty and never a heart too full. The fish in the town practically jumped upon the river bank and no fisher ever took more than his fill. There was never a drought or a flood; the rain came and went when it pleased, but it always came back for the same kindness the people gave it. There was no intolerance, violence, or bigotry. Eversummer had whispers about its name as heaven on earth.
        “And why is it so perfect?” Retha asked, opening her steno notebook quickly and placing her pencil on the page.
        The man laughed. “Why it was blessed by the fae, marm. Everything about it was just the way people wished to live.”
        “But every blessing comes with a curse.”
        “No, they were open-minded about things. For every small misfortune, there followed larger fortune and people here are born with enough sense to count their blessings well. Besides, the man who founded the town was extremely intelligent; he knew how to ask things of the fae.”
        The door opened and the young woman who had agreed to board Retha came in with tea. She smiled and apologized for interrupting. Retha told her it wasn’t a problem and the old man thanked her for the refreshments.
        “If you don’t mind me asking,” the old man said once Retha’s landlady had left, “why exactly do you want to know about this place?”
        “I’m afraid I’m a bit curious about things,” she said. “When people eat more, they get larger. So anyone would expect that with the other towns getting smaller, Eversummer would get larger. But this isn’t the case and I want to know why.”
        “Part of what makes Eversummer perfect is that it isn’t too large or crowded.”
        “I understand the theory. And believe me, this is a beautiful town. But neither of those things explains where all the people have gone. Do you know, Mr. Apricot?”
The man looked abashed. “No one has gone missing. The whole town would know who did!”
        “I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Retha said taking a sip of her tea. “I’m just a curious person. You have to be to be a journalist.”
        Retha stood up and thanked Mr. Apricot for his time. He told her it was his pleasure, though she knew her answers to his questions were not pleasurable in the least. She went up to her room and opened her log book, making more notes on his answers and stance. Then she recorded hers. Perhaps, she thought, they might be useful if I could see what I said at the beginning of this mess. Well, she added to herself, I hope it won’t be a mess at all.

(Listen to it)

Filed under: Fantasy, Mystery by Bri
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Is there order in our lives?
Can we see past woven lies?
Can we find a pot of gold?
Can we believe everything we’re told?

Is there a limit to too much?
How many hearts can we touch?
How many lives will we change?
How many people will think we’re strange?

Is there a chance to fix the world?
When different flags are unfurled?
And different languages keep us apart?
Can we listen to our central heart?
Is Human nature so long lost,
We won’t weigh the outcome before the cost?

Filed under: Poems by Bri
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        He was a handsome lad of about nineteen. He was muscular, his hair had a perfect healthy shine, his blue eyes glowed expectantly, his smile was magnetic, his skin was like porcelain, and he spoke with a fairly light Irish accent. He was also completely egotistical and arrogant. Alaina knew this and she hated seeing her friends fall into his siren like trap of being able to play guitar. She knew so many of those people, being a guitarist herself, who picked up the instrument just for attention. He was no rock star, she fumed, he was a “wannabe.”
        What equally annoyed her was his ability to pass a class with seemingly no effort. She didn’t know how he did it and wondered how many people he had paid to get his work done. At the rate he was going, he would be valedictorian of his class by the time he graduated while she would end up at the bottom of the heap.
        She hated him for his easygoing nature and seeming laziness. She worked hard and she hated that he got everything he wanted without a quarter of the work. She wished she had what he did and she would have been less jealous and liked him a little bit more if he was humble. But while he was blessed with many things, he was not blessed with integrity and it made her skin crawl to think about him.
        Which was why her mind was utterly blank at the moment and she felt the color drain from her pale face. Her mouth was dry and she fought against flapping it open and closed as if the words would come out all the while looking like a deranged baby bird. Her hands were sweating and she realized she looked like a bad horror movie extra as she stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth metaphorically nailed shut and leaning forward in disbelief.
         He laughed nervously. “Is that a yes?”
        She stared at him, something bubbling in her stomach. He had asked her on a date. She hated him, so why was the first thing coming to her mind a “yes”? She leaned back against the wall trying to get the painful feel of dry saliva out of her mouth. She swallowed.
        “Sure,” she said. She felt herself mentally kicking herself and the bubbling in her stomach turn into a large rock. Now, why did you do that? she asked herself. Are you out of your bloody mind? What in the nine hells has gotten into you?
        I don’t know, she thought, but you’d better shut up. He smiled his magnetic smile and her stomach tightened. She felt herself smiling back.
        “Great! I’ll see you Friday night right here. Have a good day,” he waved as he walked away.
        “See ya!” You sly Cassanova; once and only once. I will never go on a date with you again.
        Damn, she thought shaking her light head and walking towards the lecture hall. What has gotten into you? Oh well, at least you’ve got a date with Micheal Brady!

Filed under: Realistic Fiction by Bri
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        The Sanguine River was more beautiful than it’s name implied. It ran well over half the country and even traveled between the Angora Mountain Range in the north. The river was a fortress wall for many civilizations and extra protections to most. It ran through several farm fields and guided many others to where they needed to go. The river and its tributaries were the best modes of transportation second only to the main highways on land.
        North of the Angoras and a little south of where the river ended was a well-known bridge spanning a rather seldom traveled part of the river. It was known as Riveria as it was itself a town for the little folk. In order to appease the river fae, the King of the North built the bridge as a town where they could stay. It grew to be a much larger town than anyone had supposed and still allowed boats to travel by—as long as they paid a toll—unscathed. The river ended in a waterfall at the Fae Grove and the fairies of Riveria were close enough to that main spot to live industriously and happily.
        Cassy was knew all the traditions of Riveria, as she was the main traveler between the fae and the humans for as long as she could remember. When she was too young, her brother and her parents went. Finally, she had inherited the title. Her cargo was small this time around and her pay not quite enough to pay the toll. Luckily, she wasn’t planning on passing through. She stopped her boat against the shore before the bridge and walked right on top of it. The bridge was strategically large enough for a small cart and she pulled a pinecone out of her pocket and let it drop down below. She waited a few seconds before she noticed the upper ledge of the bridge slip away and climb higher and higher into the sky. Suddenly she noticed a small door in one of the supporting poles open up quickly and a fae dressed in dark blue come out frowning.
        “Are you trying to mock us?” he said sternly. Then he recognized her and his expressions became puzzled. “Oh, hello, Cassy.”
        “Hi,” she said. “I have a delivery for you. I need to talk to someone in charge if possible.”
        The guard smiled. “Glad it’s you, the town is a bit in a party mood, I’m afraid. We just don’t want to deal with a cheeky human. Well, follow me.”

This won’t be finished, but I’d love to see what sort of ending you come up with. If not, just imagine something.

Filed under: Fantasy by Bri
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        “I just want to be appreciated,” she said her eyes growing dewy. “Is it so hard to ask for an artist to be appreciated?”
        “Maybe we should make tee-shirts: ‘Have you hugged an artist today’?”
        “I’m serious, Tom. And you should start appreciating me too.”
        “I do appreciate you.”
        “More than just my cooking.”
        “Hey, I like your company too.”
        “Honestly?”
        “Absolutely.”
        “Then tell me why I never see you at any performance. You’re not at the ballet, I can’t get you to go to the symphony or an art museum; you hardly read any good literature. I love you; but you are most certainly not an artist. I’d help you learn these things if you want to but all we ever do is go to the pool or see a Hollywood film downtown. If you appreciated me, you’d appreciate my work, too.”
        “You’re a fantastic photographer and dancer and cook and pianist. Why do I have to tell you this over and over again?”
        “Don’t tell me. Words are not truth. Actions speak more than words. Come to a show. I have one Tuesday night. Stay afterwards until everyone is gone and wait for me. You don’t have to say anything; you don’t have to bring flowers. Just please be on time and stay to watch.”
        “That’s all you want?”
        “That’s everything. I said I loved you and I don’t want to let you go, but I’m not going to continue this if I don’t get support from you. Art is all I have and I need one of the people I respect the most to appreciate me and my art.”
        He pulled her in closer to him and brushed her hair gently with his hand. “I promise I’ll be there. Just for you.”

Filed under: Realistic Fiction by Bri
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