Lucid Waking

Archive for October, 2006

Between Night and Day

Originally published on January 06, 2006

            “There are creatures in the world where day is night and night is day. They are fearsome savages set on blood and nightmares. They prey on those alone and helpless. Even the drow fear them. They are beautiful, but do not believe everything you see. Talons grow from their hands and feet and their teeth are sharp and long. Their eyes can shatter stone and their lips whisper pain. People that have been devoured by them are only found as bloody skeletons lost and long gone in the middle of the woods. They are the Orne-gwaith and their home is an unsurpassable labyrinth of trees.”
            “If you are telling me this to frighten me, I have no fear,” the young man said. His chin rested in his palm and his face was drawn.
            “Only the fearful say that.” The older woman had silver white hair and she sat at the table with her embroidery in her lap. Her needle moved in and out of the cloth with expert speed. Scenes of dragons and wraiths lay on the cloth, destruction and chaos portrayed in its threads.
            “Or, the very foolish,” a young girl walked into the room. Her onyx black hair fell over her shoulders and her arms. Her steps made soft clicks on the marble floor as she crossed over to the window. “Perhaps he is not ready for such stories, Safta.”
            “Don’t be silly, girl. If he wishes to be a true king, then he will know of such creatures. It’s important that he knows the dangers and responsibilities of a ruler.”
            The girl raised one eyebrow, but she remained silent. The boy rose and pushed in his chair. “Thank you, Safta,” he said glancing at the girl. He bowed before leaving the room.
            “Poor boy, he doesn’t know what kind of things are out there. Head always in the clouds,” the girl watched him leave and shook her head.
            “You shouldn’t talk about your brother like that,” the woman reprimanded, “Besides, he is plenty ready to be king.”
            The girl snickered, but her back was to the woman. “He better be.”

My Known Future

Originally published on January 05, 2006

            It was one of the biggest mistakes she had ever made. She was sitting nervously a large padded wooden chair in front of a balding old man. He had on a black cloak and was gently caressing a crystal ball, which he would occasionally call Aggie. It was her first time getting a reading and she was already nervous.
            They had been having a conversation for the past ten minutes. The man was silent and reassuring as she checked her watched every minute or so in an attempt to signal that she wanted to go.
            “Don’t be afraid, I haven’t even begun to talk about anything really unusual.”
            “What are you talking about? I know that I’m going to have two kids, I’m going to marry a childhood sweetheart and I will spend the rest of my life in the police force, I don’t know how much freakier it gets.”
            “Would you like to find out?”
            She was taken aback, but still nervous. She looked down at the crystal ball, which seemed to stare up at her, smiling. “What the heck,” she said shakily, “might as well.”
            “A year after your death, your daughter will be going to your grave with her children as they always do every year. You will have been ninety-three, a good life. This year however, when she gets home, her daughter will ask about your life. She will pause to think and cut her finger. When she goes to clean it up, her son will bump into the pot on the stove and send hot soup all over scalding himself. They will drive to the hospital while he is treated for some minor burns. Meanwhile, the rest of the family will come in for the annual Thanksgiving dinner and not see the family. They will however, see the knife and expect the worse. Shall I go on?”
            She was pale and stricken; her hands were clutching the chair and pushing her body away from the man at the table. “Absolutely not!” she yelled and ran out of the tent.
            He quietly placed Aggie on the table and closed the door to the tent. “You didn’t have to be quite so thorough, Aggie. You scared the poor girl to death.”
            “You didn’t have to stop there, you could have gone on,” Aggie said.
            Neither said another word and they left it at that.

The Garden

Originally published January 02, 2006

Five little roses waiting for spring
Five little roses waiting for summer
Silently waiting, under the snow.

Untitled

Originally published on January 01, 2006

           It was a terribly black night with rain falling faster than arrows in an ambush. She was sitting where she always sat doing what she always did. And what she would be doing for an eternity more. A knock on the door shattered her thoughts and with the movement of lightning, she was at the door.
            A cloaked figure stood at the door holding the hand of a pregnant Halfling. The woman was doubled over in pain; her knuckles were white on the fist holding the figure’s gloved hand.
            “What have we here?” she asked nostalgically.
            “You know bloody well, woman. I don’t have time for this. Take the girl or you will feel my blade.”
            “Give me one reason why I should be afraid of you, Shaghira.”
            Thunder crashed in the sky and the rain came down harder. Acid cold drops drenched the Halfling already almost drowning in sweat.
            “Don’t do this for me, do it for her.” The figure picked up the halfling and placed it in the woman’s arms before disappearing into the mist. The woman closed the door and placed the Halfling on the bed. Soon cries of a tiny infant filled the small hut and the rain started to stop.
            “Damn this weather,” she said as she sat down again in her usual spot. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the Weather Master had something to do with this.”
            The sun glistened in wet windowpanes and cast distorted dots on the mother and child’s face. The flowers outside turned up towards the sun and a lone nymph behind a tree smiled.

Hiya, January!

Originally published on January 01, 2006

A double post today because, not only is it the beginning of the month, but it’s also the beginning of the year! One of the things I’m going to try to do with my posts is not explain them and write a lot less on the top. But if I need to explain a few things, I’m not going to hesitate to tell you up here.

           December placed his cards down face up on the table and reached for the bowl.
            “Read ‘em and weep, little brother,” January said as she grabbed the bowl and emptied it onto her plate. Potato chips, tortilla chips, and onion rings, fell onto her plate before she replaced the empty bowl back in the center of the table.
            “We can’t play anymore; you keep winning and I’m out of chips,” December said as he looked at his plate.
            January smiled. “Alright. Here,” she said as she put some of the chips on her plate back on his. She shuffled the cards and set up a game of solitaire while December got up and turned on the television.
            “Trouble all around, hey sis?” December said turning to face her.
            “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she said laughing.
            December turned around and faced the television again.
            “You know what I mean,” he said, “a memorial?”
            “It wasn’t a choice of mine, but I feel it’s a gift.”
            “I wish I had your outlook,” December said as he shut off the television and climbed up the stairs.

Pointless Town (Description 2)

            The sun rose accusingly over the tall grass, piercing through thin curtains and casting deep shadows to distort the building faces. Buildings on the edge of town were less frightening, but the farther you went into town, the more pronounced the building faces were. Faces colored dark, hiding away from the sun’s light in the corners, pulling away from the town’s center. There was silence, save for creeping sounds of small animals wandering around.  There were several places behind buildings in which someone or something could hide. In the middle of the town was a looming rectangular building with a steeple-like projection cutting into the gray sky. In the middle of this out of place jut was a large glaring clock with irrelevant roman numerals on the four cardinal points of the face. There were no other numbers in which to add to the frightening fixed face, which was a bloody red from the sun.
           Behind the humongous building, the world was in complete disarray. Garbage skittered back and forth with the wind and collected menacingly in narrow passages between the buildings. The smells were distracting: an odor of waste was stifling and was almost covered up by perfume flowing from broken glass bottles. Rivers of liquid waste flowed quietly through small ridges in cracks on the ground. Run down houses were almost shoulder-to-shoulder and held darker shadows than the ones on their surface. Beyond this disaster lay fields of green with large bald spots of erratic soil. The grass was wet and short because of the animals being led day by day to eat until they got fat and strong enough to crush. Under the smell of fresh grass was the unmistakable smell of dung. The fields seemed to go on infinitely and they were covered in droppings from animals that were forgotten. The sun slowly rose threateningly in the sky and a slight noise of people waking came clambering from the village. The buildings were now their original sienna. People shuffled about quickly, decisively, and hastily as they went through their day.

Pointless Town (Description 1)

            The sun rose over the dying grass, penetrating its diffuse light through flimsy curtains and casting thin shadows across building faces. Buildings on the edge of town hogged sunlight from others, like the defense in a basketball game, so that the farther you went into town, the more the buildings were drowned in shadow. They were portrayed as a detestable orange color in the increasing light. The silence was almost unbearable, enough to feel the pressure of the air pounding your eardrums. Not a living thing moved. In the middle of the town was a rectangular building towering over the rest of the town with a steeple-like projection jutting into the pale sky. In the middle of this high projection was a large glaring clock with inconvenient roman numerals on the four cardinal points of the face, which was a weathered red.
            Behind the large building, placed clumsily and ill planned in the middle of the town, the world was in complete disarray. Garbage flew back and forth with the wind and collected tiredly in narrow passages between the buildings. The smell of waste was stifling and made worse by a shallow attempt to cover it up by perfume oozing from broken glass bottles. Rivers of liquid waste flowed unabashedly through small ridges in cracks on the ground. Run down houses were almost shoulder-to-shoulder and smelled almost worse than the streets they avoided. Beyond this disaster lay fields of green with large bald spots of soil spreading like a disease. The grass was wet and short because of the animals being led day by day to partake of this bland delicacy until they got fat. Under the smell of sickly sweet grass was the unmistakable smell of dung. The fields seemed to never end and they were covered in droppings from animals, lazily left for nature to take care of. The sun slowly rose higher in the sky and a cacophony of lazy people waking came clambering from the village. The buildings were now their original snuff-colored hue. People shuffled about quickly and decisively as they went through their drab day.

A Night with Carmen

Originally published on December 29, 2005

            She slowly pocketed the ripped paper in her coat pocket. She calmly took off her leather gloves and put them in her pocket as she got on the elevator. The second floor was shaped in a square around the walls. The center was open to the lobby below. The floor was shined black marble and the ceiling was in an arc with a representation of several different operas. In the center of the ceiling hung down a huge chandelier held together by several crystal ropes. Gold pillars extended from the black marble to support the third floor. The second floor had cherry floors with a white runner down the center all the way around. Hundreds of different scenes from plays, operas, and ballets were sewn into the cloth. She walked along scenes from Macbeth and Giselle until she got to two largely ornate oak doors. She pulled them open and came into a smaller dark room where a lonely piano was pushed to one side and covered. She stepped into the great hall by means of another doorway and looked out from the balcony into the concert hall. Seats covered the vast area to the stage where a blue velvet curtain was covering the last minute scrambles to get the show ready. Many different shades of dark as well as a few spots of lighter colors were starting to fill the area on the main floor and the sounds of chatter and laughter lifted up towards the second balcony. She thanked the usher for the program and sat down in her seat. She flipped through cheap thin pages of ads and show promotions until she reached the cast page and plot: Carmen. The lights started to dim down and she put the program down into her lap and her binoculars to her eyes. The noise started to die down and the orchestra started up with the overture.

Post Update

By the way, Seven Red Roses is almost done, if you skipped over it, you can go check it out now, if you want.

Fairy Wings and Pixie Dust

Originally published on December 28, 2005

I heard the title song from Faith Hill’s album Firefly. I fell in love with the lyrics and was very tempted to buy the CD just for this one song. Courtesy of Leo’s Lyrics Database, here are the lyrics to the song:

Before you met me, I was a fairy princess
I caught frogs and called them princes
And made myself a queen
And before you knew me
I’d traveled ’round the world
And I slept in castles and fell in love
Because I was taught to dream 

I found mayonnaise bottles and pokes holes on top
To capture Tinkerbell
And they were just fireflies to the untrained eye
But I could always tell

‘Cause I believe in fairy tales
And dreamer’s dreams
Like bedsheet sails
And I believe in Peter Pan and miracles
Anything I can to get by
And fireflies

Now before I grew up I saw you on a cloud
And I could bless myself in your name
And pat you on your wings
And before I grew up I heard you whisper so loud
Well life is hard and so is love
Child, believe in all these things

           Heather Rose was my favorite little girl. I would see her playing on the sidewalk in front of her house with her sidewalk chalk drawing pictures of flowers and small women with paper-like wings. I knew she cried when it rained and all her beautiful artwork would run together and blend into the sewers. I lived across the street at the time and I would watch her out of my front window. I watched her pick up frogs from the backyard and take them to the front for tea parties. I watched her try and give the rabbits carrots. But I watched her particularly when she would go out at night and catch fireflies. When her parents would call her in for sleep, she would open up the lid of the jar and let them out. She would then replace the jar by the side of the house and go in. When she was older she had a butterfly collection and she would sit on top of the roof in the morning at dawn and catch the dew-laden butterflies. She would ride her bike in the summer and spring to the forest preserve and pick flowers; in the fall she would gather fallen leaves.
           It was one spring that seemed clearer than our past springs. Not a drop of rain was in the forecast and the weather was warmer than usual. Heather was fourteen. Her mother came home late one day, driving much slower than she usually did, barely turning tight enough to miss their neighbor’s lawn. Later that night when the ambulance came roaring down the street, I knew something was wrong, something much worse than the weather. I decided this was as good a time as any, perhaps a better time, to introduce myself to the family so I put on my jeans and walked across the street.
           “Hi, I’m Megan DuCross. I’m your neighbor across the street,” I said.
           Heather’s dad seemed a little distracted and worried and he nodded abstractly at my while hugging Heather. Heather hid her face in her father’s sweater and faced away from me.
           “Look,” I said, “I’m a doctor. If there’s anything I could do for you or your family—“
           “Dr. DuCross,” one of the paramedics ran over to me gently grabbed my elbow. “We don’t know what happened to her, she seems to have collapsed.”
           “Any signs of physical distress?”
           The paramedic stared at me. “Megan, she collapsed.”
           “I…” I was frazzled and didn’t quite know what to say or do. I wanted to stay with the family but I wasn’t sure what I could do. I had only just introduced myself seconds before and this wasn’t the best time to make friends.
           The paramedic pulled me towards the ambulance. “Perhaps it’s best if you come with us.”
           “Besides,” she whispered, “you can deal with emergency staff and getting her in a room. If you want to help the family, this is how you do it.”
           I wasn’t sure the last bit of that was for me, but I didn’t resist her nudging. I climbed into he back, expertly if I do say so myself, and got on my knees beside her. Heather’s mother was a beautiful woman with clear pale skin and slight freckles dotting her high cheekbones. She looked perfectly fine to me; her golden brown hair was even neatly place around her head.
           “Well?” a second paramedic had sat down across from me. He already had rubber gloves on and he had his hands out in question.
           “I’m afraid I can’t do anything until we’re in the hospital. If it’s anything at all, I’ll need an x-ray.”
           “Are you sure?” the female paramedic asked. She was in the navigator seat and she turned back to face us.
           I closed my eyes and breathed out as slowly as I could. “I really hope this isn’t brain cancer,” I said and shut my eyes tighter. “Please God, don’t let this be cancer.”