Lucid Waking

Archive for January, 2010

Have You Seen…?

        “Hey look,” she said walking into the dining room with the carton of milk, “I didn’t think they put ‘missing persons’ on these things any more.” She shoved the carton in front of his face forcing him to look up from the paper work he was doing to read the container.
        He glanced at a very fuzzy picture of a young girl and next to it her name (Pauline Winters) how old she was when she was lost (16) and when she was last seen (December 16, 2005). He pushed the milk carton back her way and said angrily:
        “I thought she died.”
        “I thought so too,” she answered. “Apparently someone managed to identify the body. DNA testing and all that they have now-a-days.”
        “You told me you were careful.”
        “Josh…I was careful. Besides, it’s been four years, how much digging to you think the police will do?”
        “But what if they find out?”
        After she put the milk back in the fridge, she walked up behind him and started massaging his shoulders. “They won’t find out.” She leaned down and kissed him on the neck, but he didn’t respond.
        “Don’t be such a worry-wort,” she said and plopped down on the couch to watch television.
        “Pauline,” he said, exasperated.
        “What? You think I’ll just let some random person get a DNA sample from me? Besides they have to ask first.”
        “And if they do? What’s your excuse going to be to deny them?”
        She shrugged. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Wasn’t my quick thinking the reason why I was asked to join the team?”
        He involuntarily smiled and shook his head. “Don’t get too cocky, kid.”
        She laughed. “All right, oh wise and wonderful mentor. I’ll be careful.”

Author’s Comments on post 345: Sorry about not having a post yesterday. I was very busy and stressed and my ten minutes didn’t produce anything I wanted to show. But I’m making up for it now. Enjoy!

Journey Alone

        She sat down on the bench at the outdoor train station platform and pulled her suitcases closer to her legs. The day was dreary and cold, but she preferred to sit out with the elements than huddle in the underground station. The cold air cleared her head and gave her time alone to think.
        She had walked out of the apartment earlier that morning and left a note on her pillow beside him in bed. She had slammed the door as much as she could, but she didn’t hear him stir when she put her ear to the door, nor did she hear any noise from the apartment as she slowly descended the stairs and started walking to the train station.
        She felt in her pocket for her cell phone and held it in her gloved hands, gently rolling it between her hands absentmindedly as she stared at the sign across the tracks that said “Danger: Voltage.” A few other people started to join her on the platform, but didn’t look at her. She put her cell phone back in her pocket.
        Eventually the train rolled in to the station and she picked up her suitcases and walked on to the train. She thought she heard someone call her name and she stopped and looked towards the staircase to the station, hoping. But after a seemingly long moment, she rushed into the train right before the doors shut behind her. She prepared herself for the subway ride to the cross-continental train station and then ride that would suffice as her home for the next two days.
She pulled her cell phone out again and clutched it in her hands that rested in her lap. She watched the gray scenery fly by, mostly just to avoid staring or catching anyone’s eye. And she waited for him to call; she hoped he would.
        But he never did.

Author’s Note on Post 344: I want it known that I do not think all men are jerks, even though the character in this piece is. I think there is equal opportunity in jerk-hood for all. Please do not read this as a feminist piece, but as a human nature piece. And sorry for this being sad; I have a tendency to do that…

Well, that’s that. Thanks to http://shortstoryideas.herb.me.uk/scenarios.htm for the idea. Another special tomorrow!

Why Can’t We Be Like Yesterday

Why can’t we be like yesterday?
Full of modesty and grace.
A gentleman would hold the door
and bad language was disgrace.

All the cultured could dance and sing;
The arts had high regard.
Courting didn’t seem a sport;
Women cared if their virtue was marred.

I’m sure the world has improved:
the legal rights for our peers,
but I just want to regain a little class
That we’ve lost over the years.

Author’s notes on post 343: After reading a biography on John Keats, I thought "wouldn’t it be lovely if things were really as easy as biographies make them out to be?" and then I thought about the (arguably) good ol’ days. This is the product: something different. See y’all tomorrow and thanks for the feedback about this project so far!

Early Morning Conspiracies

        The clock struck one. He rubbed his eyes and forced them to focus on the book he was trying to read. His eyes watered and blurred. It was no use, but he kept fighting his natural urge to crawl straight into bed. Suddenly his cell phone rang and he instinctively turned towards his roommate’s bed, even though he knew his roommate was a deep sleeper. Like he was hiding a confidential phone call from the police, he ran out his door and ducked into the hall.
        “Hello?”
        “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
        “Who is this?”
        “Listen, I’m just calling to make sure you’re going to be there.”
        “Be where?”
        The caller laughed. “Oh, very good. Well, I’ll assume that means yes. But just in case: three o’clock at the carillon.”
        “What? Who is this?”
        There was a click from the other line and then silence. What the hell? he thought, looking at his telephone as if it was an alien object. The hallway was quiet and still, but now eerily so. He knew it was wrong to follow the phone call, but something very strong was trying to convince him otherwise. At first it was a tugging feeling as if someone was trying to lead him somewhere from his insides out. Then it was this excited energy; maybe that was because of danger or exploration or curiosity, but he couldn’t tell.
        Then, he yawned. It wasn’t a very decisive or dramatic action, but the excitement left him anticlimactically and he decided to go to sleep and leave any strange dangers waiting at the carillon alone.

Author’s Note on post 342: Another ten-minute story. Don’t know what else to say about it. Thanks to Short Story Ideas for inspiration.

Life on Mars?

        So this was it. This was what society twenty years ago had called “The Future.” Darren sighed and waited for Marianne Leblanc, a historian who specialized in repetitive events and who had a particular curiosity with Homo sapiens landing on Mars.
        He didn’t have long to wait; the space shuttle pulled into the station precisely on time and a short, well endowed woman wearing a military uniform stepped out of the vehicle first before a long line of scientists and military personnel. She walked with a purpose and had already extended her hand towards Darren before she was even close to coming within contact distance.
        “Mary White,” she said, “I prefer to go by the simpler name.”
        “Darren Snyder,” he said.
        “Well, Darren. What have you got for me?”
        “Really nothing. HQ wanted me to see you to your hotel, but they didn’t give me any orders. You’re already aware, I presume, that nothing natural was found on Mars.”
        “Ah, but that disease—”
        “Just something they came up with to scare civilians.”
        “Sure it was,” Mary said, smiling. “Let’s pretend I play along, why would they want to spread a story like that? I should think that getting people to flock here would be their goal; you know, to stop over population.”
        “Ms. White—”
        “Mary is fine.”
        “Mary, over population is already a huge problem that won’t be solved if we open the doors to Mars now rather than later. And really, it’s not my place to tell you any rumors I might have heard. Whatever reasons HQ asked you here, they are keeping to themselves.”
        “All right, Mr. Snyder. If you insist. But I still think you’re hiding something.”
        “Think whatever you want.”
        He led her in a gentlemanly fashion to the shuttle outside serving as a taxi. After noting quickly how authentic the blue atmosphere shield looked, she slipped into the vehicle, which sped towards the central station where everything was being prepared for opening day. Little did she know the information HQ had in store for her; Darren wouldn’t be surprised if this little opening of the planet would be delayed for quite a while while they figured out what to do about the bacteria-sized Martians that were already inhabiting the planet.

Author’s Note on post 341: This trend in naming my posts after songs is not on purpose; the title comes to me after the work is finished. But they work so well. Anway, this came to me after I finished 2001: A Space Odyssey which might be why, if you’ve read the book, you might be able to see similarities. I hope to be getting better at this 10-minute story thing.

Dangling Conversation

        Every week it was the same routine. Megan made her way across the large window of the café to the seat in the corner and sat down across from him. He had thoughtfully already ordered what she usually drank and it was still piping hot when she took her first sip.
        “Frank, why do we do this every week?” she asked indignantly.
        “Because I like seeing you.”
        She unconsciously smiled, but caught herself and frowned again. “This is ridiculous. You know I’m married.”
        “What exactly are you implying?” But before she could answer he added, "It isn’t like that at all. I keep telling you this week after week.”
        “Excuse me for feeling that you are just a little too clingy. I can understand wanting to keep in touch, but meeting every week…?”
        “Then why do you come?”
        “I don’t know! I guess I’m just afraid…”
        “That I’ll kill myself? I’m not like my brother, even if we were twins.”
        She sighed. “If you aren’t in love with me, then I don’t know what your motivation is in all of this.”
        “Who said I wasn’t in love with you?”
        “You—”
        “I said I knew you were married and you know me better than that to think that I would ever want to step between you and your husband. Come on, it’s just for breakfast.”
        She didn’t respond.
        “You could always call it off, I won’t be offended.”
        “You would, but you just wouldn’t show it.”
        They sat together in silence.
        She sighed, again. “Well after knowing you twenty years, being married for five and coming here for six, there’s really nothing new. I’m in the same old job and I’m still hoping to have kids in the near future.”
        He smiled. “That’s all right, I’m still in the same place.”
        They sat in more moments of heavy silence.
        “Frank, I have to go,” she said, “but it was nice seeing you.”
        “Nice seeing you too. Next week, same time?”
        She nodded in response. He waved to her as she looked back before walking out the door. She was such a pretty woman.

Author’s Note on post 340: Another ten-minute fiction. This one I like a lot better, though if I could, I might go into more detail. But that’s not the point of this exercise. Anyway, special thanks http://twitter.com/storyprompt for the prompt and to Simon and Garfunkel for the title of this post. Feel free to check out the lyrics for maybe a little extra insight into the characters.

Cured

        Quarantined. No one knows how long it’s been or how long it will be. For another endless day, or at least, the time in which the sun shined after he woke up, he contemplated the passage of time. Having run out of numbered blocks on his calendar, he gave up trying to mark its passage and hold on to the last bit of society he had left.
        The thing with Armageddon was that he had expected it to be much more…dramatic, flashy, even, than it really was. Perhaps, it was as T.S. Elliot thought, man did not go out with a bang, but a whisper. Or was it a whimper? He couldn’t remember. Hundreds—thousands—of years of culture had been for naught. And it was all because a scientist wasn’t careful enough with his virus samples. It seemed ironic.
        He sat down at the piano, like he did every time after he woke up and played dead composers. The music didn’t comfort him so much as the feeling of the keys and that constant connection with something that seemed to understand, or at least respond to, his feelings.
        Suddenly, a telephone rang and he jumped, upturning the piano bench and sending it sliding a little ways across the room. He ran to the phone and snatched it from the cradle.
        “Hello?”
        “Mike, listen. I think I discovered a cure.”
        “Hillary? Wh—”
        “I can’t talk now, just head outside.”
        “They’ll kill me if—”
        “Go out the back and sit in the sun.” And she hung up.
        Though this disease was eating him from the inside out and though the sheer boredom would perhaps kill him just for a change of pace, he was afraid and doubted her advice. But finally, with a last loving look at the piano, he snuck out his own house and ran to the greenhouse at the edge of his property. It was a sunny day and she was right, basking the sun was making him feel much, much better.

Author’s Note on post 339: So I decided to try something new; every day for ten minutes I would write something. I’m not sure if everything is going to be published, but this is my goal. Ten minutes. This is the first fruit of this experiment and quite frankly, I’m not fond, but it’s the act of writing that is most important. Wish me luck!

Best of the Blog 2009: Contest Winners

Good morning, everyone. Welcome to a new year, new decade, and end of another Best of the Blog contest. I’ve been doing this since 2005 and finally refined the system so it works fairly well. Thank you to everyone who voted, whether consciously or unconsciously.

Without further ado, the winners of the Best of the Blog 2009 are:

• Reach
• The House of Animalia
• Report on Artidae Totalus

See you next year and thanks for reading!