Lucid Waking

            One particularly sunny day, Cat was sleeping on the rooftop of his favorite house. He had just eaten a bowl of cream and was purring softly in ecstasy. Dog barking hysterically down below suddenly broke his thoughts.
            “Cat you have to help! Owl is having particular trouble catching this one mouse and now it’s starting to kill him! Come quick!”
            That doesn’t seem like a very plausible story, thought Cat, but he stood up and stretched. “I’ll be right down,” he called to Dog.
            “Meet me at the willow tree in the forest, Cat. I’ll be helping Owl there and I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”
            Cat stretched again and then jumped neatly off the roof and ran after Dog. I wonder what’s happened to Owl, he thought, this just doesn’t seem very probable that a mouse is beating him up. Cat reached the willow tree and looked around. Despite him being positive that he had followed Dog for the whole way, he couldn’t find him.
            “Silly Cat,” Dog said. “Owl didn’t need your help, I was just hungry and I couldn’t figure out how to get you down.” As Dog was talking, Dog’s friends appeared out of the shadows, jaws clacking impatiently at their easy target. “You’re so trusting; you made it almost too easy.”
            Cat started to run and ran up the nearest tree from the willow tree. Dog and his friends were barking up the tree angrily while Cat decided what to do. Just then Owl passed by with a fresh mouse in his beak. Cat waved to him and waited while he perched on a branch above Cat.
            “Owl,” Cat said close to tears, “look what happened. Dog said you were in trouble and I came to help, but he tricked me because he wants to eat me. Can you help?”
            Owl stared at him and said slightly bitterly: “Sure, but only if you promise not to go after my young again in the trees. It’s the only home they have.”
            Cat agreed, though he couldn’t remember torturing Owl’s young ever and patiently sat still while Owl gripped Cat’s paws and lifted him off the tree. Dog and his friends followed after them, barking wildly. Soon they reached a river and Owl swooped towards the waters.
            “I don’t know why Dog wants to eat you,” Owl started swooping lower, “but I don’t want you tampering with my meals. You should know it’s very hard to find a good mouse. I’m going to drop you here.”
            Despite Cat’s wild cries towards the contrary, Owl dropped Cat into the freezing cold river and flew off quickly. Cat sputtered and quickly swam diagonal to the current towards the far shore from Dog. While Cat was flailing wildly, Alligator swam up next to Cat.
            “Do you want a lift to shore?” she said hungrily. “I’d be more than happy.”
            “No thank you,” Cat said swimming faster. Finally, his paws came in contact with the shallow part of the shore and he ran towards dry land.
            “Well, fine,” Alligator cried after him and deciding he was not worth the effort, swam the rest of the way upstream.
            Cat shook himself dry and breathed a sigh of relief. Then glancing warily at the river and the dispersing pack of dogs, he trotted off towards home and the sunny roof that was calling his name in order to dry his wet body and disperse his fears. And so, that’s why you should always trust your instincts because just as Cat suspected something might be wrong, you never know when a noble cause may not be what it seems.

Filed under: Fairy Tales and Fables by Bri
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Just a little heads up to those who don’t read the Comments page regularly. If you haven’t noticed already, there is a page up called "Best of the Blog." You can get more information if you visit the page, but on that page is a list of all the posts I’ve done this past year. Each post will be judged by you, the reader, on which you think is the best post of the year. On December 31, I will reveal the winners and the next day, we will start anew. Due to the large number of posts that I’ve written from 1/1/06 to now (11/10/06) I highly suggest that you start reading the archives sometime this month. Now, I’ve set up a list on "Best of the Blog" with prompts from each post so that if you think you don’t remember a post, the prompt may jog your memory so you don’t have to read the whole post again. I still think that you should start thinking about this soon.

A problem for me that doesn’t seem like a problem for anyone else is my habit of posting late and unfinished work. So far I have four unfinished posts in the archives (three are very old). I would like some feedback on whether I should finish them, or just leave them be as they are. Keep in mind, if I finish them, I most likely will not have a post for a weekend, or two. In the future, if you prefer all the posts to be finished before I publish them, let me know, but this will cut back on update time. I cannot control the time at which I update the posts, for this is Real Life’s fault and should be blamed on her. The fact that I never finish a post is also partially her fault, but partially mine. I get distracted while writing and then I find it’s 10 or 11 o’clock and can’t finish because I’m falling asleep on my keyboard. If you would be so kind, could you leave a comment telling me what you prefer as a reader and any advice you have.

Another thing if you choose to email me or leave a comment, how does the system work for you? Do you check Commentary, or do you just read the post and that’s it? Do you care about "Best of the Blog" or am I wasting my time? Do you want me to leave little notes like this, or do you just want poetry/ prose? Please, leave a comment with thoughts you have on any ideas I posed in the post above. Thanks.

Filed under: Real World by Bri
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            “If you followed the Sanguine River, you would eventually reach Destruction Point. Now, it seems silly: why the hell would you follow a river by the name of Sanguine to a place called Destruction Point? Seems like trouble waiting to happen (or death). I’ve heard it all before. And right now as I’m pointing out your thoughts you’re wondering why the hell you should listen to a tree sprite like me,” she pulled a cigarette out of a non-existing pocket and lit it hastily. “I just got to say the years have not been good to the likes of me.”
            He looked up at the sprite patiently, but his traveling companion snorted jealously and walked farther away from the pair.
            “Hell, you don’t trust me,” she said to the second girl walking away, following her progress with blood shot eyes.
            “If it’s any consolation,” he said, “I believe you have some purpose to telling us this.”
            The sprite smiled. “Honey, I’m at least three centuries older than you and I’m not the type to go for younger guys. Especially paladins.”
            The man smiled and stood up, but his partner was nowhere to be found. “I suppose you suggest we go to Destruction Point.”
            The sprite took a drag on her cigarette. “Why else would I have mentioned it?”
            He thanked her and walked off in the direction the sprite pointed.
            “I don’t trust her,” his monk sidekick hissed. Her cat eyes were glowing blue with her frustration. “What makes you think she would tell you the truth, Faustus?”
            He shrugged. “She had nothing to gain by lying. It seems plausible to go to Destruction Point to get to the city of the dead.”
            She shook her head. “Your job is to get Llewelyn back to his people, nothing more. I know you want to make this a personal mission and get back Maureen, but if we have to strike a deal, our bargain is foremost.”
            He glanced at her. “Do I have to keep up this façade, Ariel?”
            “I thought for sure,” she said digging the barrel of her gun into his back, “you were going to give us away.”
            They walked onward through the mud of Sanguine River, following the crystal clear water. After six days, they reached the point of the river where it bulged outward, ripping the landscape into an almond shape. The water was black with blood and, as Ariel whispered an incantation, it swirled towards the center in a rapid whirlpool. She grabbed Faustus’ hand and walked towards the center of the pool. A freezing cold wet sensation shot up their legs as they approached the center of the circle.
            “Ah, Messenger, we’ve been expecting you,” a smooth, low voice said. Ariel’s eyes turned green and she stepped into the center of the storm.

To be continued…

Filed under: Fantasy, Science Fiction by Bri
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Originally published on January 14, 2006

           It was one of those nights where the moonlight casts shadows on the ground. I was confident and cocky, like I usually was then. Nothing could have possibly have gone wrong. Or so I thought. It was only after I got home that…

           Shannon closed her journal and shoved it under her pillow with the pen as she collapsed onto the bed. She waited patiently for her heart to quiet down as she counted her stepmother’s footsteps.
           "Shannon?" as silvery voice whispered into the room. Shannon counted her breaths and relaxed. "I know you’re awake, love. But, I must admit you are such a good actress."
Shannon sat up and faced her stepmother. "I should have known you would figure it out. After all, what better detective than my mom."
           A small sincere smile crossed her stepmother’s lips as she walked over and sat at the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?"
           "What do you mean?"Shannon said frowning.
           "Since your father left."
            Shannon looked down at the bed. "I’m fine."
            "I got a call from Todd today. He seemed a little sad that you missed–"
           "God, it’s nothing."
           "Shannon," her stepmother leaned over an hugged her. Shannon held on tightly and tried to swallow back the solid lump in her throat. Her eyes stung and started to water, but she shut them tighter.
           "I love you. You’re such an extraordinary girl and I think that you should embrace your friends and your acting for this. I don’t think you should push people away. Tomorrow, I’m going to be late on the way home. Do you think you can manage?"
           Shannon nodded. "Of course."
           Her step mother smiled and got off the edge of the bed. She turned around in the doorway and blew Shannon a kiss before walking off to the bedroom.

Filed under: End of Childhood, Realistic Fiction by Bri
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Originally published on January 08, 2006

Winter is soft white crystals plastered on the window pane.
It is a whirl of ice crystals and biting wind making the cold silence even more     unbearable.
It is a frightening image that brands your memory and looms until it is pushed out by spring
It is a bride waiting forever for her wedding day.
Winter is a bang of a firework that freezes everything in its direct path.
It is chills running up and down my spine.
It is sleepy silence.
Winter is cider and hot chocolate warming me.

Filed under: Poems by Bri
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            I’ll start out by saying that my entire childhood was plagued by a curse. I’m not exactly sure what took place, as my father was quite embarrassed about it and no one spoke of specifics, but as the fourth daughter of a king in a tight spot, he gave me to the forest fae. When I was finished with my task, whatever that was, I was returned the very next day without any memories of what had happened. Regardless of whether my stay was really only a day, according to all the humans at home, I was only gone that short amount of time. All that I knew was that I was never comfortable after that. Even the softest cushion on a seat felt like I was sitting on cold marble.
            One day, I believe I was sixteen, my father sent me out to the forest with a gift. I was not told where to go, only that I should keep walking through the forest and if I reached the other side, I should return back. About three nights in, it started to rain and I was drenched. I distinctly remember feeling the drops like stones on my body until I started to bruise. Eventually, I reached a large castle built into a clearing of the forest. I didn’t think anything unusual should happen if I rested for the night and I knocked on the door.
            A funny little lady answered my knock and I could tell she was going to leave me out in the rain all night when I suppose she saw the basket I was carrying. After inquiring what it was, I told her it was a gift. I realized it was not the best answer, but she accepted it and let me in. I have lived in a castle all my life and I am no stranger to the many estates of kings throughout the empire, but I had never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. I was quite awe-stricken and didn’t even notice the fuss going on around me when the queen (or a woman who was later clarified as a queen) saw a bedraggled wet girl in her precious castle. By all means, I would have been bristling with anger, but there was something about that place that calmed me.
           The lady of the house suggested something about a test in her screeching, but I was too tired to protest. She led me to a room at the end of a long hall and wished me a pleasant comfortable night and told me the maids were waiting for anything I wanted. At this point, I was frightened, but as a princess and the youngest, I was used to suppressing my emotions. Youth is something everyone wants to obtain in a partner and even the slightest smile at a man’s statements could give me a lifetime of trouble. Anyway, I was too tired to resist and I lay down in the bed. Pain shot up my spine and gave me a splitting headache. I ordered more mattresses. I was slightly more comfortable at ten, but I needed a ladder to get atop them. That’s when I noticed the bothersome bump right in the middle of my lower back. Everywhere I turned, I felt it protruding through the ten layers of rocky mattresses. I asked for more and more, until dawn broke and the rain had settled into a light mist. I don’t remember when I fell asleep, but eventually not even the foreign mattresses were enough to keep me awake and I slept well into midday.
           There was nothing to do in the afternoon save wash up and watch people in the barracks outside my window. I didn’t have a very good view and it was very loud with all the fighting, but it sufficed to entertain me. The gift I had been carrying was gone and strangely, the door was locked. It must have been because all I did was stare at the trees and listen to the shouts below. I watched a few boys getting an archery lesson; they all looked younger than me, and had strange coloring. From where I was the golden headed boys looked green. I watched the pages assist some of the knights and occasionally the ruckus below would stop and people would talk. I watched the queen talk to a boy who looked a bit older than me, though I am not good at guessing people’s ages; I learned much later he was her son and thus the prince. When the sun set, I went down to join the family for dinner.
           Everyone was dressed quite well, making me look like a street urchin in comparison. The queen was at the head of the table, not the king, and she asked me how my night was. Not wanting to be rude, I told her I had quite a nice stay and the bed was very comfortable. She wasn’t pleased with my answer, and the maid for reasons unknown at the time, mentioned that I had twenty mattresses placed on my bed. When asked why, I told her about my problem. She asked if there was anything in particular that I needed twenty mattresses for. I said that there was a lump in the middle of the bed bothering me. The events that followed were, honestly, a blur. All of a sudden the humans I had supposed them to be all turned into forest fae and the room lit up in celebration. I was proclaimed “the one” and showered with gifts. Later in the evening I was told I was to be married to the prince the following day. While I did not particularly like this arrangement, I was not one to complain especially not with the fae. I have heard stories of people disappearing at fairy dances and they gave the magical arts a horrible reputation. I should have realized now that the gift was I, and that the reason I had this horrible curse was because the fae wanted to make sure that my father held true to his promise. I only realized this after my wedding night, when my problems ended and I could sit on a chair again without feeling pain. I no longer needed ten mattresses to feel remotely comfortable and my life was slightly better. I never learned exactly what promise I had fulfilled, but everything turned out all right in the end.
           I suppose everyone has a happy ending. We all find something to be thankful about even if most of our lives seem dismal. I eventually got used to my lifestyle and recalling that I was forced into it doesn’t bother me much at all, now. Then again, this was such a long time ago. When I became the fairy queen they gave me the gift of immortality that they have and I am well on my way to my sixteen-hundredth birthday and my five thousand and fortieth year as primary queen: Queen Cynthetta DuPont.

Filed under: Fairy Tales and Fables by Bri
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