Lucid Waking

Archive for March, 2010

The Wanderers (7)

        Dorian hesitated.
        “You can take it,” Mr. Leblanc said.
        “Thank you,” Dorian answered.
        Mr. Leblanc smiled. “You’re welcome. But you should really thank Exec.”
        “There is not need for thanks,” Exec said, smiling. Dorian had never seen a robot smile and it looked surprisingly natural.
        He followed Exec out of the office and not knowing where else to go, back to his. Exec sat down in the rolling chair behind the desk and turned towards the computer. After a couple minutes of complete silence except for the tapping of keys, Dorian stood up.
        “So that’s it, then. I guess, good bye.”
        “Goodbye, Dorian. I would not mind if you would come and visit. I feel that getting to know humans and their customs has made me better at my job and it would be nice to talk to someone who has time to talk and does not think that he is superior to me.”
        “I’m not superior to you; I’m part of a servant race, as well.”
        Exec looked up puzzled surprisingly well. “I do not understand. I cannot see any error between you and a human. What do you mean you are part of a servant race?”
        Dorian paused. “I’m a runaway clone.”
        Exec nodded. “I have read about you in the newspapers. But luckily, no one will know unless you tell them. I am curious, however; why did you run away?”
        Dorian chuckled. “I thought that the outside world would be better than the lab. But I find out it’s exactly the same, if not more dangerous. There are advantages to being designed for a purpose and having a routine. Having one direction gives you a sense of accomplishment; you know where to go. Here, I’m just wandering, trying to find a direction.”
        “I am sure you will find a direction. I have found an enjoyable position among my fellow robots.”
        “But you were designed to do that.”
        “I believe that my superiors will be checking in soon to observe my work. It is not polite to turn away a friend or to interrupt, but my calculations indicate it would be worse if I let you stay here.”
        Dorian sighed. “Thanks, Exec.”
        Swiftly exiting, he made his way down the hall back to Visitor Services and this time when he tried the door, it opened.

Author’s comments on post 367: I’m hoping that as we go along, the purpose of the story is getting more and more aparent. There is a reason that I titled it The Wanderers. I appreciate any feedback, especially since–though I think I’m doing well for a first draft–there is something about it that bothers me.

In other news: I started a new tradition: How To Fix Your Blues which I plan on doing every Saturday. I can’t review movies that often, but I plan on recommending something to do or watch for those who are looking for something new. I like doing reviews and since this is my blog, I thought I could branch out a bit. Also, I’ve discovered that I can schedule posts to be published at a certain time. Thus, if I know I will be absent for a time and can schedule ahead, you won’t be missing any posts. I’ve found this advantageous, thus far. So for sure, I will have something tommorrow!

B’s Review (No. 1)

Now that the Oscars are long over and Sandra Bullock won "Best Actress," it seems like The Blindside is old news. But for those of you who haven’t seen this movie, there’s something to be said about all the hullabaloo.

I just saw this film and I have to say: it was fantastic. Sandra Bullock did an amazing performance as did all the other actors and actresses in the cast. Even though it was a drama and there were some nail-biting parts, there were parts that got me to laugh. All of the characters were well developed, the dialogue was well-written, and–so what it if was predictable–the story was well-told. It’s the tale of a boy who was given a chance–two actually–by a few people who believed in him. Take away whatever you will about humanity and courage, but this movie gives everything to the viewers. Most importantly, it talks about family.

So if you’re bored on a Saturday night with nowhere to go and nothing to do, I recommend renting The Blindside because you won’t regret any minute of it.

Going

        “Mommy, how far away is London?”
        “Far,” the woman answered, keeping her nose in the newspaper. The headlines described government corruption, war, terrorism, and poverty, but she was more interested in the horoscopes. She read all of them—her own twice.
        The little girl next to her was sitting so close to the glass that her nose almost touched it. She could feel the colder temperature outside the window as they sped past acres of countryside. The sun was starting to set, so the world was too dark to discern any distinct shapes, but she pretended that the unicorns and deer were gathering at the edge of the wood to see her off.
        “Why do we have to leave and live in the city?” she asked.
        “Because your father is a bad man.”
        “Why can’t we live in the country?”
        “Maggie, I want no more out of you. Sit down and be quiet. We’ll go to dinner in a couple of minutes.”
        Two minutes turned into ten, and then thirty before the woman dragged her daughter to the dining car and ordered the first thing she thought her daughter might like. She reprimanded her for picking at her food and then ignored her when she asked for a slice of pizza. The arts critics didn’t like the new play that her ex-boyfriend was in. She smiled.
        “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
        “Then eat your dinner.”
        She flipped past that to the sports, but was uninterested in the scores. She stood up and took her daughter back to their car and put her to bed. She left the newspaper on the table. Once her daughter was asleep she went back to the dining car and ordered a bourbon. Sipping it calmly, she watched the last light of the dying sun and thought about her decision to leave her husband. She repeated over and over to herself that it was a good one and that she was better off without him.

Author’s comments on post 366: Not sure what to say about this. I hope you get something out of it, and something a little more up beat tomorrow. Or rather the day after tomorrow because I’ll be publishing more of The Wanderers tomorrow.

The Wanderers (6)

        Mr. Leblanc stood up when they walked in and smiled at Exec.
        “’Morning, Exec. What can I do for you?”
        “Good morning, Mr. Leblanc. I had already asked you about a favor and you had responded with positive enthusiasm. I would like to ask you to get a job for this man.”
        Mr. Leblanc’s smile slightly faded “Is he a friend of yours?”
        Exec paused ever so slightly. “Yes.”
        Mr. Leblanc sighed. “I don’t know, Exec. I really shouldn’t pull strings like this. I thought you were going to ask me to proofread one of your press releases, again.”
        “I understand, but I have calculated that you have a 3.5% possibility of getting caught and a 1.3% possibility of ruining the system. I believe these percentages are considerably low enough that no harm can come from this.”
Mr. Leblanc smiled slightly at this speech and sat down, shaking his head. Then, for the first time, he turned to Dorian. “What’s your name?”
        “Dorian (er—) Archer.”
        “Well, Mr. Archer, this is your lucky day.” He breathed a heavy sigh and turned towards his computer module. “Exec, you’re going to get me fired one day.” He quickly typed his password into some program and then Dorian’s name. He frowned. “Hmm. You’re not coming up in the database; that’s strange. Are you sure you exist?” Mr. Leblanc laughed. “I can’t imagine a glitch like this. Oh well, I can just make you a card and we’ll sort out the details later.” This statement was followed by more typing and several mouse clicks. “Well, since you’re not in the computer, I can only assume you have no job experience. Fortunately, there is still a job opening at this warehouse on the edge of town. It’s an assembly line for space craft, you might enjoy it. Not that you really have a choice, but it’s a good job, anyway.”
        A printer started up behind Exec and Dorian. “That should be your resume.”

Author’s comments on post 365: Sorry about the absense; it’s been a hell of a week. I’d also like to apologize about this ending of this post this week, but I had to stop at ten minutes. There really isn’t much more to the scene and I’m sure you get the gist of how it ends, anyway. I’m finding that when I take a story in small chunks, it’s easier to keep with continuity because I reread that last bit before I write this one to refresh my memory and thus, the big glaring continuity error in this one got fixed. I think this is much better than the first draft.

Casualty

        Whenever I looked over the landscape, I did not like what I saw. We weren’t living on just a desert, but on a wasteland. This wasn’t just a product of greed, but one of paranoia. It only took one smart survivor to see the potential in what was left after the nuclear war. He decided to create a new Utopia. It took no time for his army to grow restless and tired of what it had. But his grasp was strong and no one escaped.
        It was at times like these when I watched the missiles, bombs, and running people through the smoke below my balcony that my mind continued to go back to the last conversation I had with the one friend I really cared about.
        The world was raining bullets, debris, and bombs. We found shelter under half a fallen tank when he turned to me and said:
        “The problem with fascism is that eventually, someone gets the guts to stand up and say how unjust it is. Inevitably, it will end.”
        “This is a funny conversation be having in the middle of a battle between rebel forces aiming for your dictator-loving heart.”
        “Come on, Cathy. I’m saying we should just wait here until the shooting stops. Either way we’ll get through this. If they find us, we can reform and turn ourselves in and if they lose, no hard feelings on our side.”
        I searched his face for some sort of weakness, but his resolve was stronger than his grip on my arm.
        “But who’s to say the rebels will take us in?” I asked.
        He smiled. “Well then, if they kill us, what would we have lost if we died fighting out here?”
        There was something logical missing in his argument, but in war, nothing is logical. I sat back and stayed silent. He took that as an answer and pulled back between the fort made of fallen concrete and tank parts.
        It seemed anti-climactic that we should have been found out by our own party and that he was killed by stray bullets. There was no purpose to any of it, but we had to run through the thickest fire to retreat and inevitably one of us would get hit. It just had to been him: a dreamer.
        And what of me?
        “Colonel Mathis, come inside. You are needed in the war room,” a lesser pion called from inside the tower.
        I had a duty to survive. Whatever that meant.

Author’s comments on post 364: Definately inspired by this: http://www.youtube.com/show/nowandthenhereandthere. I’ve been flying through the episodes that they have online. That’s about it, really. More tomorrow

The Wanderers (5)

        Dorian awoke to a cold hand vigorously shaking his shoulder. He couldn’t feel his one arm underneath him, but he managed to push himself up to a sitting position.
        “I am sorry to wake you, but it is very important that you not stay here. My superiors will be here any moment to check on me and my work and you cannot stay. Fortunately, the individual who is in charge of the employment office has arrived early and agreed to perform a favor for me.”
        “I’m not sure this is what he meant,” Dorian began, but did not finish as Exec began to pick him up off the floor. After a frantic flailing of limbs, Dorian found his balance and was quickly escorted out of the small office down the opposite end of the hall from where Visitor Services was located. Exec seemed to be in a hurry though he took large, calm, and collected strides while Dorian felt foolish following in a frantic and hurried trot. Eventually they reached the door labeled “Employment Opportunities” and without a moment wasted, Dorian was pushed through the door.
        “Good morning, Exec,” the secretary said once they entered. “Shall I get Mr. Leblanc for you?”
        “Yes, Sylvia. Thank you.”
        The two waited in the rather large waiting area that reminded Dorian of the doctor’s offices he had been forced to attend. The pictures on the walls looked equally fake and the image seemed complete by the inclusion of magazines next to sets of chairs. He had no more time to think about the parallels as Sylvia called from her desk that Mr. Leblanc was available and Dorian found himself quickly following Exec to the frosted window door that led to Mr. Leblanc’s office.

Author’s comments on post 363: Apparently when I said I wasn’t going to write much more of The Wanderers, I was wrong. Right now, the plan is to alternate stories every other day, but I don’t think this will last once I get back to school. But enjoy what I have for you and I hope to have more tomorrow.

Bree MacGuinness

        Bree MacGuinness walked down her gravel driveway in high heels with a pile of books on her head just in time to catch her father’s truck park in front of their house. The books went crashing to the ground as she ran to greet him. He looked tired but he picked her up and spun her around in the air before setting her down to get a good look at her. His face got cloudy, but he smiled.
        “How’s my baby girl?” he asked.
        “Good, Papa,” she said.
        “Good,” he said and put his arm around her shoulder to lead her back to the house. When they came to her books she scooped them up hurriedly and held them against her chest.
        “How was work?”
        “Exhausting as usual,” he said sighing. “But I’m home now.”
        He opened the door for her and she walked into the living room where the smells of apple pie and fried chicken wafted through the house. Her father went straight to the kitchen where her mother was reading a book and waiting for dinner to finish cooking, but Bree went to her room and quickly kicked off her shoes. She leaned back in her bed and looked at all of the posters decorating her walls: Audrey Hepburn, Billie Holiday, Paloma Faith, Bernadette Peters, Michelle Pfeiffer, Rosy the Riveter. And she had a poster of Elvis after her mother let slip her concern for all the posters of women Bree had in her room and her grandmother dug it up from basement for Bree’s birthday. It was signed to her mother from the person who gave it to her, but Bree liked it all the same.
        She felt under her pillow for the letter from the Boston Theater Academy just to make sure it was still there. But before she could pull it out and read it again, she heard her mother call her from the kitchen and she bounded from her room to where dinner was waiting for her hungry stomach.

Author’s comments on post 362: Another character who lives in that yet undecided small town with Johnny. At another date you’ll find out more about her and her family, but for now, I hope you enjoy just the small introduction.

The Wanderers (4)

        All at once the room was flooded in light forcing Dorian to blink several times slowly until his eyes adjusted. When he finally could look up he was greeted by an artificial face, smiling slightly until it caught his attention.
        “Please, sit down,” the robot said extending its arm as a human might to the seat in front of its desk. Dorian could tell from the billboards lining the main street that it was a 3062 model—one that seemed to be built like a car: streamlined, attractive, practical, and expensive. It was a “working” robot, so the human-likeness didn’t matter; its chrome skin reflected some of the office light.
        The office itself was nothing to brag about; it was the size of a walk-in closet with a single desk and two chairs apart from the rolling desk chair. The leather covering on the chairs was ripped and mended with duct tape that tried to blend in. The walls were painted a drab tan and the furniture was scratched up; its one usual occupant was the newest looking object in the room. The name tag on the desk read “Executive 221” and in smaller letters underneath: “Robot Ambassador to U.S. Troops.”
        “Executive 2-2-1; is that you’re name?”
        “Name? Yes, I forgot that humans exchange names as a part of their bonding process. I am usually called Exec. What is your name?”
        Dorian smiled. “Dorian.”
        “I am sorry, Dorian, that you will have to sleep on the floor.”
        “That’s perfectly fine. It’s much better than sleeping in the hallway.”
        “I do not understand.”
        “Here, I won’t get caught.”
        Dorian sat down on the ground and tried to get comfortable.
        “By the way, Exec. Do you always sleep with the light on?”
        “The light is how I ensure that no one comes into my office. If the light is on, the security guard on rounds will assume I am working and leave me alone.”
        But Dorian barely caught the end of the explanation for after a long day of running, sleep was not going to let him escape.

Author’s comments on post 361: I’m probably going to stop here for a short while. I have the rest planned, but I am losing a bit of interest. Don’t be surprised if I adopt other stories to tell. I have one that will go unplanned (which we’ll see how long that lasts) with my friend, Johnny, and some other people in that town. A post for sure tomorrow and probably the next day as well. My apologies for yesterday, I got caught up in the Oscars.

Johnny Walker

        John slipped on his helmet and all at once felt invincible and incredibly bad ass. Completely in black he couldn’t decide whether he liked the ninja or Batman imagery better. But once he had saddled his bike and set off down the unpaved small town road that ran a couple miles from his house, he was completely engrossed in driving and any ego stroking was pushed aside. He loved riding his motorcycle down the country roads where nothing could stop him from focusing completely on the world around him. He loved nothing more than driving in the wind and feeling the speed. He loved every minute of it.
        He almost missed his stop, he was so engrossed in that ecstatic feeling. He had to turn around to drive his bike into the driveway of the general store. He stopped his bike and took off his helmet, self consciously ruffling his hair in case it had gotten flat. The gravel drive crunched under his feet as he walked toward the store.
        “Hello, Johnny,” Mr. Perry said from the counter. “What can I get ya?”
        “Hi Mr. Perry,” John said. “My mom needs a pound of potting soil, two pounds of flour and a half pound of sugar.”
        Mr. Perry smiled and went around his store getting the items. John rocked back and forth on his heels, surveying the merchandise that remained the same every time he ran an errand for his mother. As Mr. Perry returned, he pulled money out of his pocket and paid.
        Struggling just slightly with the weight of the groceries, but hiding it as best he could, he walked back to his beloved motorcycle, put the groceries in a crate tied to the back and then put on his helmet. The confidence—the cockiness—returned and he revved up the engine just to hear the noise before speeding off down the road. Mr. Mason smiled and shook his head as he watched John ride away.

Author’s comments on post 360: Just a small note to start out: I did a little research to find out whether Johnny Walker was a real person in case that was why the name was rolling off my tongue so naturally. I found out it was type of liquor. I did not know this fact previously, so I am not referencing the alcoholic beverage (FYI).

I really like this character who rides a motorcycle, but isn’t quite the "bad boy" image that we expect. I came up with him on my ride today but didn’t quite have a context. I’m pleased with this one and quite happy with the setting that this boy, Johnny of course, lives in.

In other news: I will continue The Wanderers, but I needed a small break. I will also post the story in its intirety as a seperate page so that it is easier to read the whole thing rather than finding all the parts to get the story. This will also free me from keeping The Wanderers posts in succession. This has become a very long note, so I will say au revoir and I’ll have more tomorrow.

The Wanderers (3)

        As he thought that last cynical thought, the doors to the elevator opened giving him no time to scramble out of the way of its light. He panicked and started before instinct made him freeze and stare at the figure exiting. The individual who stepped out was nothing but a silhouette as it walked straight out of the elevator. Dorian stayed still, but for all his praying to go unnoticed, the person looked at him right before the doors shut cutting of the light in the hall. Dorian could see two glowing blue lights where the eyes should have been facing him.
        “Hello,” a tenor voice echoed electronically. “What are you doing here?”
        Dorian started and then stood up. “Nothing.”
        The blue lights followed him as he stood. “Nothing? Yes, I can see that. Why are you here?”
        Dorian had no answer, but the individual he was speaking to did not seem to be in a hurry to move or respond. Nor did it seem to be accusing him of anything.
        “I was hoping to find a map around the city, but everything is now shut down.”
        “Why did you need a map?”
        “I wasn’t sure where to find a hotel.”
        “May I assume you need a place to stay?”
        Dorian looked at the figure skeptically. “Yes.”
        “Then perhaps I can help. Please follow me.”
        The blue eyes swiveled away from him and the soft pattering of feet seemed to continue away from him.
        “Wait,” Dorian yelled and then caught himself and said: “I’m sorry, I can’t see you.”
        “Of course. I am terribly sorry. I forget you humans do not have thermal identification cameras in your eyes. Just a moment.”
        Suddenly Dorian felt something cold grab his hand and continue to lead him forward. He relaxed slightly as the grip was neither very tight nor unwelcoming and he felt that it was not trying to lead him to any authority. At last they arrived at some sort of office and the electronic figure leading opened the door with a key and led him inside.

Author’s notes on post 359: After writing all day, I somehow managed to get a post out. Continuation of the story, which is slightly modified from the original. I’d like to think that this new character has more accurately written dialog from the original one but even if that’s not the case, I’d say, that so far, the story is going well. More tomorrow when I get a chance and get in town.