Lucid Waking

Archive for August, 2007

Another Cup of Tea?

    Mrs. Horncroft was sitting in her garden sipping tea and talking with her sister, Abigail. The two women were dressed in light colored cotton and sitting under the willow tree, which shaded them from the sun in the bright blue sky. There was no wind, but it wasn’t hot and the tea was still steaming out the spout of its pot.
     Mrs. Horncroft laughed. “How’s your husband, dear?”
     Abigail’s face clouded. “Oh, he’s just fine.”
     “That’s good to hear.”
    Mrs. Horncroft poured herself a cup of tea and stirred in a little milk with one lump of sugar. Abigail’s cup made rapid clinks against its saucer before she finally put it down on the table and leaned back, smiling against the back of the chair she was sitting.
     “Is he still at the bank?”
     “No, he…lost that job a little while ago.”
     “I’m sorry to hear that. Did he find another one?”
     “Well, Thomas is asking him to go work at the steel mill with him, but he’s too stubborn to go.”
     “Dear, it isn’t an honorable position; I don’t blame him.”
     “But it’s a job.”
     Mrs. Horncroft put down her cup of tea. She allowed her eyes to get appropriately wide enough, but here sister wasn’t paying attention.
     “Thomas and his friends are still young and they have a little time to get a good job and settle into an appropriate position in order to find a wife. I don’t think someone his age should be looking for a girl, just yet. He’s only nineteen for heaven’s sake!”
     Abigail nodded absent-mindedly. Her sister raised an eyebrow, but that also went unnoticed.
     “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”
     Abigail looked at her sister. “No, not at all.”
     Mrs. Horncroft cleared her throat daintily and poured more tea into her sister’s cup. Abigail’s hands had stopped shaking and she folded them in her lap as she waited for her sister to hand her the tea. She smiled, but Mrs.     Horncroft did not return it.
     “Darling, what is going on?”
     Abigail shook her head. “Nothing.”
     “How is Thomas, by the way?”
     “He’s just fine. He’s going back to school in the fall; the contractor is letting him go. And he’s going to the university after that. All of the schools love his grades, so I’m sure he’ll be able to find an upscale school.”
     Mrs. Horncroft smiled.
     “But John hasn’t found a job?”
     Abigail used the silence as an opportunity to take a large gulp of tea, which she uncomfortably swallowed down.
     “He’s decided to go to the United States,” she said finally. “He thinks he can start a business over there selling liquor. He insists that his business will thrive there and won’t listen to me otherwise.” Tears started to well up inside her large brown eyes. “I told him not to leave his son and present a good example, but he told me he already set up the shop and has a ticket to travel across the Atlantic for Thursday.”
     “Why can’t he get a job here?”
     “He was fired from the bank based on some awful rumors that we had been harboring the serial killer, Jack the Ripper. I had never heard of such a lie, but apparently the bank didn’t want to risk it and let him go. He’s had a hard time getting another job since the bank is influential and has spread the rumor very fast.”
     “But your son—”
     “Thomas doesn’t know anything about it and unless this rumor impairs him, he doesn’t need to know.”
Mrs. Horncroft watched as her sister put down her cup of tea and wiped her eyes on a bleached white handkerchief. Then, Abigail took another shaky sip and put the saucer back down on the table.
     “How is your husband, dear? And your daughter?” she asked.
     “Oh, they’re well,” Mrs. Horncroft said. “Sarah says she found the perfect gentleman, but she won’t bring him home and she’s only sixteen. I worry about her choices.”
     “I’m sure she knows what she’s talking about.”
     Mrs. Horncroft took another sip of tea instead of snorting as was instinctive. “I don’t want her to end up in the family way.”
     “I’m sure she won’t. She has wonderful morals.”
     “That may be so, but I won’t dismiss what she does without thinking. Every child does it sometimes.”
     “But she’s almost a woman.”
     “Almost, but not quite.”
     Abigail took a sip of tea and remained quiet. She swirled around the dregs as her sister sighed.
     “I suppose you’re right to some extent.” Mrs. Horncroft picked up the teapot. “Another cup of tea, dear?”

The Center (2)

            “Who is the long, swift daughter of the forest and borne along with an innumerable throng of companions equally encompassed, who speeds over many paths, leaving not a trace behind?”
            Cathy thought for a moment, but her mind was going blank. Andrew came out and put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled at him and whispered for help.
            “A ship,” he said.
            The statue cocked its head. “There are two of you? Only the hero may answer the question.”
            “Then it’s a ship,” Cathy answered.
            The statue remained silent.
            “What is the right question?” she asked. She hadn’t expected an answer, but she hadn’t expected the dryad took a step forward off of her pedestal and put a ball of thread in Cathy’s hand before walking back and becoming still again, either.
            “This would have been more useful before we went in,” Andrew said looking at it.
            The scraping noise returned again and the entrance opened up. But the walls were white marble and not stone this time. There was just enough room for Cathy and Andrew to walk in a line. Taking no chances, Cathy went first with the ball of yarn and they were able to pass unharmed out of the maze.

The Center

            They had finally reached it. After weeks of searching through this labyrinth of riddles, they had finally reached the heart: the Minotaur. Cathy’s white dress was now soaked through with muddy water, making it stick in wrinkled shapes like a worn paper bag. She climbed through and breathed a sigh of relief. She ran over to Andrew who sat staring at the statue, his eyebrows knit in contemplation. There was a marble statue of a woman wearing a cloak, where the hood hid her eyes. She was leaning on a sword, which were engraved the words: I can never say quite as much as I know. On her left was a Nymph and her right the Minotaur.
            Andrew turned to her. “Any ideas? I’m plumb out.”
            “A ball of thread,” Cathy said to the statue.
            Nothing happened and Cathy shrugged her shoulders to Andrew and walked around the statues.
            “Wait. Maybe everything is just asleep,” Andrew said. “We can get out if we’re quiet. That’s how Theseus managed to kill the Minotaur.”
            Cathy finished her circle around the statue and walked to the middle. “There’s no other exit. This is it.”
            “But if we’re in the center—”
            “Theseus left the same way he came. There’s no need to have another way.”
            “So let’s leave the way we came.”
            “And face all those traps again? I don’t think so.” She stood in front of the statue, her legs spread shoulder width apart and putting her hands out in front of her, palms first, said: “Tell me what you know.”
            Andrew grabbed her arm, but too late. The room burst into light and the statue looked up at Cathy.
            “I am the oracle of Apollo, the last descendant of Greece, and the key to your last riddle. For every three questions, I ask one. If you get my question correct, you get three more. We continue until you ask the right question, then you are free to go.” A shuffling sound continued as the statue was talking and when Andrew turned around their exit had disappeared and they were locked in the room with the oracle and her two minions.
            Cathy turned smiling to Andrew, but he wasn’t there.
            “What is the ultimate reward of answering these questions and getting out of this labyrinth alive?” she asked.
            “Fame, fortune, perhaps love. There is no clear answer of where your path lies, but what fate has in store for you. I can no better tell you what fate has in store now that history has written itself, but I can tell you to expect great things in the outcome.”
            Cathy thought for a moment and the statue stayed still. She wanted to make sure she asked the right questions, but at that particular moment the only questions coming to mind were fluffy ones, like “what’s your favorite color.” She supposed the trouble she was having was because she had no idea what to expect from the oracle’s questions. She contemplated her second question and took a deep breath.
            “As we are without string, how will we find our way out?”
            “I’m uncertain as to the ‘we’, but finding your way out should be the least of your troubles. You have already traveled the way out on your way in. As for string, there is no need for that.”
            Andrew let out a breath slowly, thanking whatever god there was in this place, that the statue hadn’t seen him. Cathy looked at it puzzled, before realizing that Andrew was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he hadn’t run off when she called the statue to life. When, she turned around and saw the exit gone, a small pit grew in her stomach. If he had run off, he was gone now. She turned back to the statue and stared at the blade. It had turned slightly blue and the words “I can never say quite as much as I know” had darkened to a black. She bit her lip contemplatively and waiting for an idea. The statue made no move or sound as minutes went by.
            “Why did Apollo place you here?”
            “Apollo had no part in placing me here. It was a test for Zeus to test the heroes from the average citizen. Only those who could make it through mentally as well as physically could be worthy of the gods. In order to please Zeus, my god sent me, his most faithful servant, into the center with a Dryad and the famed Minotaur to watch for the next hero. Now, it is time for one of my questions.”
            Cathy’s heart sank, but she stood tall. “All right.”
            “What white bird featherless, flew out from paradise, perched upon yon castle wall, when up came Lord Landless, who took it up handless, and rode away horseless to the king’s white hall?”
            Cathy stared at the statue in shock intent. “What?”
            The statue cocked its head. “It is not quite time for your questions, you must first answer mine.”
            Fears started to circulate through Cathy’s blood stream. She had never been good with riddles; Andrew got them through that. She was there solely for the purpose of providing history and keeping records, nothing more.
            “Give me a moment,” she told the statue and turned around to face the back wall. She thought if the statue couldn’t hear her answer, then she could keep going as long as she kept quiet. Ok, she thought, this can’t be that hard. ‘What white bird featherless,’ well it’s obviously not a bird. ‘Flew out from paradise, perched upon yon castle wall,’ shoot this isn’t getting me anywhere. Ok, calm down. What’s next? Shoot. ‘what white bird featherless flew out from paradise perched…oh, when up came Lord Landless?’ What? ‘who took it up handless,’ so, Lord Landless has no hands. Or Lord Landless isn’t real. Ok, so you have a metaphoric bird being picked up by a metaphoric Lord Landless. And then…shoot…he rode away to the king’s white hall.’ Wait, horseless, he didn’t have horse. So she’s really asking me what can be picked up by something and carried off? No, too generic. “Picked up by what?” she whispered. “Damn.”
            Cathy pursed her lips and let out a breath. “Well, it’s got to be something from ancient Rome or Greece because she is the oracle of Apollo. So what would they have known of there? I suppose that narrows it down to a couple things. Paradise: somewhere up above, heaven. Oh,” she snapped her fingers and smiled, “the bird came from up above, falling down and perching on a wall. When up…maybe it’s down because he brings the bird back up to paradise again. So, the question is what goes down only to be brought up again,” Cathy bit her lip. “Something with the weather.” She turned around at the statue who was still in its position, unmoving. There was something about the dryad and the minotaur that looked more realistic and warm, but she couldn’t place what. Perhaps because there was more color in the stone…she tried not to think about that. “Rain, that’s it!” But it’s white, she thought quickly. Finally it occurred to her.
            “Snow and the sun.”
            The statue nodded and stayed silent. Cathy breathed a sigh of relief.
            “Why do you ask all these riddles of the people who come in?”
            “A hero is not solely one who can fight. He must have wit along with it. Those with brains to match their skill can get through with very little trouble, but those with skill that does not match their brains, will slowly whittle away to nothing. Follow a tree: as it has no mind it can be chopped down with very little struggle. And its life is gone in moments.”
            “That’s horrible!”
            The statue did nothing, but its sword glowed slightly red. The inscription disappeared to a dull pink among the glow.
            “How can I figure out the right question?”
            “You have to first figure out the answer you are looking for in order to ask the question. If you don’t know what answer you need, you can’t ask the right question.”
            Cathy sighed and sat down on the floor. “Is there an easy way to answer your questions to get out of here?”
            “If you are indeed a hero, this shouldn’t be a struggle for you. But if it is some consolation, you are almost finished. A question from me, and you are free to continue.”
            “That’s not what I meant.” Cathy said plopping her chin on her hands.

Lost Hope

            The sky was red today, but as far as she knew, no killing took place. Perhaps it was one of the many omens that her time had finally come. The cracking of wood and rustle of the sails served as the comfort for the rest of her watch until the rest of the sailors woke up and started their appropriate jobs. She took her place in the crow’s nest way above the action and out of trouble where she might be spotted.
            The wind was at her back and brushed her clothes so they went billowing out in front of her. She took off her cap and put it in her pocket, letting the wind play with her hair. The salt of the sea was faint, but the air was clean and the small line of land she had spotted the other day was getting larger. Low voices shouted out orders from the helm while the captain kept his eye starboard towards the land.
            It was only a couple days later that the bow of the ship hit the sand. She was ordered out of the nest and into the rest of the ranks for a talking to: orders from the captain about where to go and what the mission was on land and exactly how long they would stay. He reviewed the signal with a deafening gunshot and then set out the plank towards the shore from the edge of the ship. She followed in the back of the line and only when she was out of sight and scattered did she dare run. She wasn’t used to running on rocky ground in bare feet, but she ignored the pain and continued searching. Finally she spotted a glimmer on a rock and when she looked at it, it disappeared. Quietly she called out. The leaves rustled but she held her ground and finally, someone grabbed her wrist and ran. She heard her fellow sailors behind her going slowly and making lots of noise, but she was caught up in the excitement that she might have actually reached home…
            She knew very little of their language, but she could guess that they were surprised to find someone who could speak it from the ship. At least since they brought in that other prisoner. Her heart skipped a beat. She was brought in front of their chief and she bowed, as she was taught.
            “What are you doing here? You know our language and our customs; what do you want?”
            “I only ask for two things. Who is the boy who came to live with you six years ago?”
            The chief cocked his head to one side. “What is it to you?”
            “He is a good friend.”
            “I think you mean a lover.”
            She didn’t recognize the word, so she was afraid to agree. The chief smiled and waved for his previous prisoner. She almost didn’t recognize him, but was glad that he recognized her. He ran up to her and hugged her. She was so glad that her plan had worked, she started to cry.
            “Please,” she stammered to the chief, “can I live with you?”
            He smiled. “I suppose so. You know our culture well enough. But I do not want more outsiders coming into my clan.”
            “There won’t be,” her friend said and escorted her away to see the rest of the village.

Please Stop the Rain

Please stop the rain
I know it’s good
But it’s out of the drain
And flooding the block.

My dad’s out there
Stuck in his car
And I don’t know where
Or how long he’ll be

Please stop the rain
Thank you so far
But I don’t want this strain
Of waiting for him

The Harmonica Player

    The boy was sitting on the edge of the station fountain and playing his harmonica. His hat was sitting next to his foot with piles of coins in it. Most people tossed him some before leaving to catch another train or going about on his business. This little entrepreneur had an unusual way of getting people to notice him and give him their money, though he did nothing showy or illegal.
    Samuel was on his way to Chicago when he spotted the boy at the fountain. He checked his watch, but no matter what the time was, he thought he could spare a little bit of time for this strange boy with the overflowing hat. He seemed not to pay attention to what was going on in the station around him, but when a child reached for the money, he batted the child’s hand away and made sure the child was gone before proceeding again. It was at these times that the guards would look over and one would start to approach, but the boy could take care of himself and when he started playing again, they would return to their duties.
    Sam walked up to him and introduced himself. The boy stopped playing.
    “Hi, Mister. I’m Jack.”
    “Well, Jack. How would you like to play professionally?”
    “I get enough money as it is,” he said. “I don’t need to take up my time with unions.”
    “I can assure you, you can get more money.”
    “No thanks,” Jack said going back to his harmonica.
    Something inside told Samuel that it was no use pressing the issue and he found himself giving the boy a five-dollar bill before leaving to go back to his luggage.
    What a strange little boy, he thought before walking outside to the city, his luggage following tightly behind him.

Once Upon a Time (No. 5)

            I was the youngest daughter of three. My sisters were terribly vain and whenever our father would go to the Fair, they would ask for material things. My mother left the family while I was at a young age, but she left behind a satin purse where her name, Rose, was embroidered. I did not want a purse; I had no use for one after living at home with my father and two sisters all my life. I asked for a red rose.
            My sisters spent their days conceiving of all the rich and wonderful men they could marry with the new dresses they were about to get when Father returned home. Such daydreaming was not above me, but I knew better. It was going to be arranged and no matter how much I disliked my future husband, there was nothing to deny it. None of the villager’s sons were very nice or handsome and I must admit, you had to settle for one of those traits or the other, never both.
            Father came home and forgot the red rose. My sisters were ecstatic and reveled in the fact that I had no gift. The next time my sisters asked for jewelry and I, a red rose. Again, my father forgot. By this time I was tired of getting harassed and did not care for the rose except that it was the only gift that I would actually cherish. Though it wasn’t as useful as a dress or slippers, I wanted to distance myself from my sisters and did not care about appearing beautiful. Sure, I wasn’t the prettiest of my sisters. I was not slender or graceful and my structure was thick, my hair was thin and my face was covered in blemishes. I would lie threefold if I said I didn’t care, but I didn’t see anything to do about it.
            The third time Father set out, he came back with a red rose. However, he also said that having this rose trapped me into marriage with a stranger, whose father he bought it from. Quite a price to pay for something I was not so keen on having in the first place! I wish my father had recognized that I was not upset that he came home empty handed, but he aimed to please all of his daughters, and I was no exception. So I put the rose on my windowsill and waited for the approaching gentleman.
            Little did I know he would come in the form of a falcon and this unusual falcon would transform into a man that I did not feel I could possibly deserve. And how silly that it turned out he felt the same way. Not to bore you with details, but after talking first and finding out that he was a prince, he left as a falcon the next morning and myself, in much better spirits.
            The next night, he came again and all because I had the red rose in my window. It was only the next morning that I realized my sisters were jealous and wanting to catch me in the wrong, stayed at my door eavesdropping. This brought more ridicule behind Father’s back, which ended in me going to my bedroom early and going to sleep just as fast. The middle daughter, Chriselda, snuck into my room and, leaving the flower, set a trap for this unusual guest of mine. I found out much later that he got caught and wounded in the trap and after becoming disheartened, left for his kingdom miles away. The commotion woke me up, but I was too tired to discover what it was before he was long gone.
            As soon as I did, however, I wasted no time in trying to find him. I don’t feel like recounting the entire tale with all the details, but I managed to reach a kingdom where he was being held prisoner by a witch who wished to marry him. Her weakness was unusual and expensive trinkets, so I managed to give them to her in order to be by his side. She kept him under a spell at this time, but never the less, I was determined to get him away from her. Perhaps I was starting to love him, which after only two nights with me, was quite a feat. I did not get caught in appearances so easily and was proud to consider myself a very clever and self-supporting person.
            On the last night before the wedding day, I found a red rose on the windowsill. I figured that was how she managed to get him to her castle and he must have figured that I hadn’t lost heart after all, but discovered only too late that it was the wrong window. But I wasn’t sure how he could mistake a castle for a cottage, so I picked up the flower and flung it as hard as I could out the window. I’m not sure why, but he woke up just then and after seeing me and sharing a bit of what had happened (he was drawn by the rose but only because he had no choice in the matter) we escaped the castle. It was quite easy for me to pretend I was the castle falconer because none of the guards knew that there was one, let alone what he or she looked like.
            We ended up parting ways a little ways on my journey and I went the long way back to my village. I told you before, I wasn’t one to be married off just because I saved the prince’s life and had actually talked to him thrice. I still used the rose to call him, yes, but those were only on occasion when I wanted to talk to someone. My sisters were not satisfactory friends and I didn’t have anyone else. That night that he admitted that he was completely lost in love with me and I was torturing him with being indecisive, I gave in and got married. I thought that if he could tell me that, honestly, and have trouble saying it, he probably had my best interests in mind.
            My sisters were less than ecstatic, but they dealt with it fine. They both married handsome men of the village who were moderately rich. I never followed up on them because I didn’t know how I would react if I found out they were abused or put in jail for heavy spending or whatever misfortune that was sure to befall them. However hard to get I was and however much I disliked my sisters for ridiculing me, I don’t want to see them hurt.
            I’m living happily as Queen Victoria Stone in the castle of Summerfalls and am enjoying a long co-reign with my husband. It’s been quite a distance for a woodcutter’s daughter, but I can’t forget where I come from. And the red rose is still in my windowsill with no sign of ever wilting.

(Here is the fairy tale this account is based off of.)

Clean and Pristine

            Carol Lepont lived happily on Sundance Street close to the western edge of town. The houses there were perfectly in tact and shone with white paint and copper roofs. The front lawns were pristine and short, the flowers neat and growing straight towards the sun. The people who lived there took special care towards their houses and were always proud of being recognized for their work in making the town look prettier to the people traveling from the west.
            On the other side of the street lived the only person who did not partake in the pain staking work it took to beautify their property. No one knew the name of the woman who lived there, but she was not a favored person. Defacing her property was not only wrong, but it did not improve the image of her house (as countless endeavors to do so already illustrated) so there was no way that the residents could see to get her to clean up her property. There was nothing left to do but to leave her alone and ignore her presence.
            For reasons unknown to the rest of the people, the house at the end of the street that was such a defacement of the rest of the houses went up for sale and, within the week, it was sold. The house was painted a vivid blue and the lawn was covered with prairie flowers instead of grass. The roof was charcoal gray instead of copper and, though the run down house was still unorthodox, but still neatly kept. Still, the people who lived there were too afraid to welcome this stranger who strayed from the white and copper for blue and gray. It wasn’t until Halloween night that they actually met the couple that lived there.
            Sarah Lepont ran ahead of her mother, who was busy talking to the neighbor and rang the doorbell to the forbidden blue house. A tall woman and her equally tall husband came to the door when the doorbell rang and, surprised but pleased, handed her a neat package of candy.  She politely thanked them and then returned to her mother, now gaping, at the edge of the sidewalk. Carol insisted on looking through the bag of candy before she let Sarah keep it, but there was nothing wrong with it; all the things had remained prepackaged and there was no rip in the plastic.
            Slowly the town started accepting these strangers and the tension towards the house on the end of the block dissipated. There was no complaint filed from anyone staying, permanently or temporarily, or just passing through. The people of Sundance Street stopped noticing the difference in the blue house and some were even daring enough to paint their own houses a vivid color. But such behavior induced a blind-eye also and by a year since Halloween, none of the houses were white.

The Game

            It was him against her: a battle of the wills. She was moving faster now that her pieces had broken from their normal charms and could move with grace along the board without rules. Struggling to keep up with his insistence that rules should stay, he was moving within the confines of the game and doing surprisingly well. A game of chess never went so far, but she was the master and no one could realize that she never followed the rules. Finally, he broke and the pieces went scattering everywhere. Pieces attacked each other without rhyme or reason and soon traitors were showing up— his white knight was now fighting his white bishop. Suddenly it all stopped and her king was being held hostage in his corner by a bloody white queen. The pieces were breathing heavily waiting for those final words when they could collapse on the board…
            “Check mate.”

Cold Wind Song

The cold wind whispers in the silent trees:
“Come softly, come softly and sing with me
“For winter is coming as quick as can be
“And time will continue as the sea.
“Don’t let it fool you; summer is not long
“For you to play among daffodils; warm wind blowing strong
“Without a care in the world, humming along
“As the woodpecker and crickets sing you their song.
“But everything ends; nothing gold can stay
“And with it, the sun of summer goes away
“In order to allow with the coming days
“And to welcome winter with its diminishing rays.”