Lucid Waking

Archive for July, 2006

There’s a Spider in My Closet!

Just a little nonsense to get you through until August. Go to "Comments" to find out why.

            “So let me get this straight,” he said. “All I have to is wish it and it will be gone.”
            The pixie on his pillow nodded her head emphatically causing her small body to act like a rocking horse, while her wings flapped to keep her on the pillow.
            “And this is easier, how?”
            She shrugged her tiny blue and white polka-dotted shoulders until they reached the top of her pointed ears.
            He closed his eyes, tight and thought hard. He went towards his closet and lined up all of his clothes on the pole, paired and lined up his shoes, and put his sports equipment away in his duffel. He removed the dust, got rid of the spider, and just for good measure cleaned the walls until they shone. He looked over his work one last time and satisfied opened his eyes. The room was unchanged, except that the pixie wasn’t on his pillow. He carefully tiptoed over to the closet doors and opened them. His clothes were falling off the hangers or stuffed in piles on the floor. The clothes covered his shoes and his sports gear was thrown all over. Dust and cobwebs decorated the inside of the dark dirty closet. He threw up his hands exasperatedly and slammed the door shut before falling on his bed.
            Inside the closet there was barely light enough to see by.
            “My, my just a little dust. And they are so inhospitable these days,” the spider said.
            The pixie giggled. “Humans just aren’t used to insects anymore. Especially arachnids.”
            “I’ll say,” the spider said carefully walking up the wall towards the crawlspace door. “Well, stop by again, you know where to find me.”
            The pixie nodded and waved, “I’ll see you soon.” And with that, she disappeared in a puff of dust.

Meeting for the Flood

Originally published on September 24, 2005

            The town was generally a quiet place, bland and not unique. The only interesting place was a large bar called Jake’s Place. There wasn’t a single person, child, or adult who hadn’t gone in there at least twice. It was the place to go to hang out, meet old friends, or negotiate treaties.
            It was at one of these meetings that Chris broke the news. He had arranged to meet with his old friends who lived in the town on what he mentioned as pressing matters. His best friend, Jack sat across the table from him with drink in hand. His mysterious traveling partner, Robin sat between the two, cloak covering her entire face.
            “Alright, Chris. What’d you want us for?”Jack said smiling as he took a swig from his full glass.
            Chris sighed and traced the wet top of his glass with one finger. “The flood’s coming.”
            Jackie swallowed his drink hard and coughed. “What are you talking about?” he said as soon as he recovered. “There hasn’t been a flood in sixty years.”
            “Seriously, though. The flood is coming.”
            “Stop teasing Chris. There can’t-"
            Robin cut him off with the raise of her gloved hand.
            “Fine, so the flood is coming,” Jack said annoyed as he turned back to face Chris. “What can we do about it.”
            “That’s the thing,” Chris said sadly. “The town isn’t prepared for this. The last time this happened, people knew about it in time for the entire town to be raised and fortified. It lasted the entire fourteen weeks in order for the water level to lower down. Now, there isn’t enough time and not enough people to believe me if I do tell them.”
            “Time was our biggest option,” Jack admitted.
            “Yes, and we’re sadly out of options except evacuation.”
            Robin pulled out her dagger and fingered the blade silently. Jack shook his head. “We don’t have the same influence we had before. People would believe us almost less than you. And even so, no one will want to leave.”
            “It’s not about wanting at this point,” Chris said. “It’s about survival.”
            “How many people do you know will face the need to leave generations worth of belongings, food, home, and a town they’ve known for their entire lives for survival?”
            Chris shook his head. “They don’t have a choice.”
            “Chris, really. No one will- leave choice, or no.”
            “So we’re going to leave them to die?”
            Jack frowned. He leaned back in his chair and motioned the waitress over.
            “Yeah, what can I get ya?” she said over cheerfully, grinning.
            “Another two.”
            “Alright,”she said and bounced off.
            Robin placed her dagger inside her cloak and leaned forward. Jack and Chris followed her lead.
            “Perhaps,” she whispered. “We need to talk to Jim. I’m sure he’ll have the force to change the minds of every person in this town.

Lost Richard

More at a later date… Please don’t comment, yet

            “Every night I used to do the same thing. I would make sure the lights were off, the curtains drawn, the house locked. And I would check to make sure he was all right before I went to bed. Sometimes he would wake up and tell me not to worry. I didn’t want to worry I just…and then, he…”
            She pulled a cotton handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her eyes for a moment before giving up and sobbing into it. Her muffled wet sniffs and sobs filled the room, sobs like a small child and quite loud too, reminding Michael of a baby squirrel calling out into the early morning for its mother.
            “And then?” Michael patiently said when her sobs had quieted down. He picked up her teacup from the rim and handed it to her. She looked at him with large, wet, green eyes, but didn’t take the cup.
            “He was gone,” she chocked going back into her sobbing convulsions into the handkerchief. Charlotte Winston was an aspiring young actress who lived in the southern reaches of London in a small townhouse with her son, Richard. She was a delicate woman with large red lips and frizzy blond hair. Her body was long and slender and moved gracefully, even as her shoulders bobbed up and down to her sobs.
            “Do you know what happened to him?” Michael asked putting the cup down on the table between them.
            “If I knew do you think I would be coming to you?” she yelled, hysterically.
            Michael took a deep breath and clenched and unclenched his fists. He stood up and looked out the window at the carriages driving by. He heard her loudly slurp down some tea from her cup and place it back down with a loud clank of china.
            “No I don’t know where he went.” She sniffed. “I just went to his room to wake him up for school and he wasn’t there.”
            “Anybody who would want to kidnap your son for any reason at all?”
            She placed her head delicately on her hand and looked up at the ceiling. “No I don’t think so. All the teachers at his school have loved to have Richard in their classes, but I don’t think they would kidnap him. My family…well if they even recognize him as part of the family at all, they wouldn’t dare take him from my home. Most of them don’t even look at him. No, there’s no one who would dare do that.” She poured another great deal of milk into her tea and gulped it down.
            “What about the father?”
            She paused and stared at the tea in her cup. “I don’t know his father. I was too drunk to tell a bed from a chair.”
            She looked up at him, her lip pouted out and her eyes large, as if expecting him to pass some sort of unwanted judgment. Michael just walked behind the chair and placed both teacups on a tray by the door.
            “I’ll see what I can do.”

Eight Little Saplings

Campbell’s: Mmm, Mmm Good! or (as up to date) Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup: Possibilities

Sizzling warm, wet and oily.
Splash! My brother’s poured the broth all over the floor.
It is a river of golden oil pouring into a pond of food.
Glop! Blip! Drip! The cream, yellow, brown, pink, green, white, and orange pottage is     spreading to make a bigger puddle
The savory spices, simmering vegetables, roasted beef and baked chicken soaked the     paper towel
What a wasted lunch!

Hope

Originally published on September 18, 2005

I saw hope clearly
She was pretty and subtle like a cardinal in a poppy field
She glided softly, flew quietly, stepped cautiously toe then heal as a ballerina
I saw her warm eyes, soft skin, and silky hair of many different colors
I heard her nightingale song of peace softly into the night
And I felt my soul lift out of my body and soar to touch the clouds.

The Habitation Project

            She closed the door to the sound proof room and flipped on the tape recorder. There was a couple of tests where the voices were indecipherable and she sat down and flipped to a clean page in her notebook.
            “This is test number 124, subject, male, is Jeff McCarthy, id 4-6-3-8-2 on June 13, 2332 at 8:46:32 in the morning in test room 17. The subject has taken no drugs or food in the last twenty-four hours and has thirteen 8-ounce glasses of water to drink. He is here of his free will and is sitting unaccompanied in the chair across from the mediator on the left. Shall we begin?” a page flapped loudly in the microphone.
            There was silence before the mediator spoke again. “Remember, as this is recorded you will have to speak all of your answers.”
            “Yes,” the man said. He had a clear voice and she guessed that he was either in his teens or early twenties. Oh, shoot she thought, running her finger down the page thoughtfully Tammy didn’t mention his age.
            “What do you know of the Habitation Project?”
            “Well, hmmm,” his voice trailed off into a short period of silence, “I know that they’ve started researching people from different planets and solar systems to figure out psychological differences and similarities between species. At least, that’s what they say. It seems to be a research project to get to know aliens and figure out through matching which environment would be best for humans and moving alien populations around to different planets where each one has the best chance for survival. The only problem is that Earth is the only place that’s been messed up enough to make a difference like that. If an alien species lives on Venus, let’s say, just because they could now live on Earth, doesn’t mean we could live on Venus. If we could live on Mars, does that mean Martians can live on Earth like this? Right now, it is just in its preliminary stages and all that’s been happening is interviews and charting the information they get. It’s not a threat, yet.”
            “Yet?”
            “I don’t think that’s part of the procedure,” he said a little too slyly with a hint of boisterous pleasure.
(more…)

Memory Lane

Galactic 60

            The moon was the only light among the old park. An ancient lamppost stood guard over the clearing, but shed no light. He sat down on the picnic table and lit a cigarette. She pulled her coat closer around her instinctively, though no wind blew.
            “Aren’t you a little young to be smoking?”
            “I’m older than you.”
            “Only by a couple months. But I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you already look like you’re in your fifties.”
            He shot her a dirty look, which she ignored. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it on the wet leaves, stepping on it quickly.
            “Look I put it out. Happy, now?”
            She muttered something like damn Americans under her breathe before walking over to the other side of the picnic table. “That’s not important. What’s crucial is that we figure out who’s behind the assassination attempts at headquarters.”
(more…)

Haikou of the Moment (No. 1)