Lucid Waking

Archive for April, 2010

Self-Destruct

        Dr. Hillary Arbeid stared at her co-worker in surprised disbelief. Dr. Jason Baumgartner just continued shaking his head in a tightened resolve. They were standing around in the break room that served as a home away from home for many scientists working on a late-night project, much like they were.
        Hillary knew that Jason had taken their experiments on artificial intellegence just a little further and designed his own robot to act as a prototype for others. As part of an agreement to use company supplies, he started studying his creation’s psychology and collecting data for a report. Thus far, nothing substantial had come from his observations, so Hillary felt safe to ask how it was going, not expecting much of an answer. What she received instead was much more than she bargained for.
        “What do you mean, he committed suicide?” she asked.
        “Well, you know I put in a circuit breaker just in case he got homicidal, but I didn’t expect him to push the button himself,” Jason answered, bitterly.
        “Did this just come out of the blue?” Hillary asked. “Suicide just doesn’t happen randomly.”
        “I suppose there were signs of attachment and separation anxiety, but I didn’t think that was more just the programs desire to serve.” He sighed, “God, I should have known!”
        Hillary walked over and put her hand on Jason’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known; this was a breakthrough experiment.”
        “He was more than just an experiment to me. I made him and designed him and I was really getting fond of the guy. Now he’s gone.”
        Hillary didn’t know what else to say. She knew dealing with grievers was not her strong point. “I’m sorry,” she answered. It seemed appropriate. “Let’s go back to work and get your mind off things right now. We can talk about it later.”
        Jason nodded. “We still have a lot more to finish of this project before tomorrow morning.”

Author’s comments on post 383: I was working on a project for class and reviewing Arthur C. Clarke’s space odysseys when this idea popped into my head. I was intrigued by the idea so I sat down to write it and when I went to save it, my word processor crashed and lost the story. So this is the second draft, not quite as magical as the first, but I still like the concept.

Another Work Day

        Three o’clock: the end of the shift. Marianne finished wiping down the counter and then wiped her brow. The heat had gotten to her a while ago. She undid her apron and placed it on the hook near the back door. She stepped out to the main dining area where some of her co-workers were ringing up orders and grilling food. The radio crackled with static, a few random beats piercing the white noise. Then there would be moments of clarity and rock and roll music before the radio would lose the signal again. The room was sparsely populated, but a crying toddler made up for the lack of noise from the other patrons.
        “See ya, Marie,” her fellow co-worker yelled from the grill behind the counter.
        “See y’all tomorrow,” she answered, waving.
        The parking lot was full of cars. Heat swam up from the pavement and the sun sparkled from windshields and iridescent paint. Without sunglasses, finding her car was slightly difficult, but she found it in no time and swiftly inserted the key into the lock. Heat rolled out of her car once she opened the door and she stood for a few moments with the door open in hopes that the car would cool. Not wanting to wait longer, she sat down and perched herself on the seat so that her bare skin did not touch the leather seats. After rolling down the windows and putting on the radio, she was out of the parking lot and on the street. Her car cooled down, she stopped sweating profusely, and her fatigue was almost gone as she sang out to the songs on the radio while she drove.
        She pulled into the driveway of the house that she co-rented with a large sigh. Her body ached and her eyelids sunk, but she managed to get herself into the house before collapsing onto the floor. Working with very little sleep was taking its toll and it was when she was alone that she felt the hopelessness of her situation. She heard one of her house mates exit the bathroom and she found enough strength to get up and go to her room to start working on her homework.

Author’s comments on post 382: Practice with description. This was based on a scene in great fast food place where I ate today. Nothing else to it.

Just to recap: Busy week; I’ll try to post. I’ve only got 23 more days left, but what a busy 23 days they will be! If you want to read "To Look for America" click here; the story will resume when I have new ideas.

Closing Time

        Anna finished wiping down the bar stools and counter after a long evening of work. She surveyed the room quickly and was pleased with the cleanliness of the bar. At three in the morning, she was more than ready for rest. But, she reminded herself as she opened up the cash register in the back room and pulled out a small black book, she still had one more thing to do.
        The book looked innocent enough at first. The small pages were filled with tables and numbers labeled with dates. She took it to the corner table that sat in the darkest part of the room—the overhead lamp was never quite bright enough illuminate anything—and opened it up to the very last entry from the night before. She closed her eyes and focused on retracing her evening carefully from the moment she walked in to the point she was now and tried to remember every detail and every person. All at once she started hearing whispers that started quiet and gradually got louder. She barely opened her eyes and watched the glowing blue smoke flow into the black book from the walls.
        Once her day was finished, the ceremony continued and she watched the now technicolor smoke tendril around her arms before entering into the pages. Then the affair dissipated and she was left with the black book again with a new entry and time from the bar’s evening. A number sat next to the date and below it the final total that was held within the book. She glanced at the numbers and marveled that she had collected two thousand, five hundred, and thirty six stories from the time she started working. She knew her boss held many more of these small books in vaults somewhere. It was quite an amazing collection.
        “Anna, you ready to go?” her co-worker called from the back room.
        She nodded and got up, replacing the book in the cash register before leaving the bar. It was late, but clear and the moon was out. She sighed and was momentarily blinded by the fog of her breath. She got into the passenger side of her coworkers car and thought about her own story.

Author’s note on post 381: Coming up to the final stretch, so I’ve been busy. I’m working hard on school and my muse seems to have taken the time off, so I apologise if I’m sparse.

I had this tucked away already, so I dusted it off. I like the concept, but I’m not fond of the ending. I think I wanted to do more with it, but ran out of time. Oh well, I can’t be too deep in 10 minutes. I’m taking a break from "To Look for America" until I can get a clear picture of where it’s going next. Who knows when that will be, but you can read what I’ve written so far, right here.

Newsflash: Oh My…

Tired of sitting around and waiting for your prince charming to come and present himself from where he’s lurking in the shadows? Well, have no fear, another distraction is here! Ladies and gentlemen of darkness we present to you more Twilight merchandise because what you have simply isn’t enough! For your enjoyment, and your enjoyment only (because we really aren’t making money off of this) we present to you: Twilight the video game!

All right, all sarcasm aside, I’m amazed. Amazed at the notion that economists and video game developers think that they can get a 7-figure profit margin from making a video game based off of the Twilight saga. I’ve never read Twilight, so I probably shouldn’t talk, but I have read numerous reviews and  parodies as well as word of mouth reviews from people who’ve read it. I’m not going to be mean and say that, as a real writer, I can legitimately say it’s bull pucky, but knowing what I do about Twilight, I can say that there is way too much hype about a story that is illogical, unrealistic, and has sparked a new trope in the fictions "don’ts."

Why would people buy this stuff? I don’t understand some people’s obsessions. Though this could be true about anything. The biggest thing with something that gets popular, is how it is a model in how we live. I’m not saying that we should revere everything we read or everything that’s popular. I’m saying, if you’re not going to take it with a grain of salt, you might want to check out exactly what you’re getting. Specifically: relationship advice. I’m not so sure how we could take any good relationship advice from Twilight, but some people seem to think so. The author’s claims seem accurate, in a sense, but I have some problems with his arguments; mainly I dislike sweeping generalizations. The more I’m around the more I learn that an individual is and individual and to try and understand a person based on their gender will end up mostly wrong. Seems to me, this article is more accurate. There’s more wrong with their abusive, stalker relationship as well and even though I’m an egalitarian and not a feminist, I’m siding with their take on the issue.

My main point is this: since Twilight is so popular (enough at least to even consider making a video game out of it) then young people are getting the wrong message. It’s not a good work of fiction and it’s most definately not "a perfect relationship." Ugh.

Hopefully these children will grow up to be rational, intellegent adults. And that’s a genuine hope, not sarcasm. I really do hope the world is not as stupid as it seems to be. Or at least, we can be open minded enough to be smarter.

To Look for America (7)

        “I don’t know; this just sounds like a bad idea.”
        “Please,” Bree said, calmly. “Just ask her. We’ll have fun no matter what happens.”
        John sighed and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling. “I’ll ask her when she gets home.”
        Bree smiled. “Good. Let’s work on some homework like we’re supposed to.”

        Dinner time quickly approached and John drove Bree back to her house. He was slightly peeved to find the house empty when he got back, expecting his mother to be home starting dinner, but welcomed dinner in his own home than the better-cooked, but awkward meal with the MacGuinnesses. The sky got dark outside and John turned the lights on. He got bored with his homework, but thanks to Bree had most of it done before he moved on to other things. He was in the middle of movie when he spotted lights in the driveway. He stopped the film and quickly put it away just in time for his father to walk into the house.
        “Where’s your mother?” he asked, a little too loudly. He wobbled towards the kitchen table and put down his construction tools.
        “At the hospital with Grandma,” John replied.
        His father grunted in reply. “You should probably get to bed, it’s late.”
        John got up and went to his bedroom. It was late if he caught his father coming home. He flipped on the light switch and surveyed his room with a sigh. Posters of airplanes, motorcycles, and movies stars plastered the walls and made the room look small. He flopped down on his bed, clothes and all and stared up at the pictures of spacecraft he had taped to the ceiling. He heard his father break a dish in the kitchen with a loud crash. John rolled over on his side and sighed again. He closed his eyes and listened, but he was asleep before he heard their family car enter the driveway.

Author’s comments on post 380: What a whirlwind of a week! I’be been working on writing when I can, but to say it’s been busy would be an understatement. I decided the Johnny should have a father, though an absent one. I didn’t want to get too stereotypical, either, so hopefully this is something of a new spin on a usual character. More on Wednesday.

Gone

It wasn’t that I wanted to let him go.
I held his hand from Russia to Pompei,
I held his hand for the length of the train,
And yet, he managed to slip away.

The paths we took did not converge
Though I never did asked him why.
I thought our connection would always last
Then saw the truth that everything must die.

I never saw his face again;
I never really tried.
I stay here lost without my friend
As the days continue by.

Author’s comments on post 379: I’m not in a depressed mood and this doesn’t have significance to my life. But when I try to write something happy…

I think depression is more interesting to write about. But don’t have a sad day, be happy and enjoy life!

B’s Review (No. 3)

This week’s "How To Fix Your Blues" is dedicated to the reason why I won’t be staying home. This past week the words "final four" have been everywhere; people are talking about it, thinking about it, and generally obsessed with it. I don’t blame them; I’ve been getting caught up in it, too. Butler University is not only the smallest school in the Final Four, but also the only school to have the event in their home town. It’s easy to see how we can get overly excited.

I’m not going to the game, but I’m probably going to watch it. I’m nervous as a cat around water about it, but I’m going to be glued to the television anyway, like everyone else around campus. People have considered it blasphemy not to. So, if you’re bored tonight, I suggest you take a seat and watch the game with us. Don’t tell me if you’re rooting for the other team, just don’t send bad vibes our way. There’s sure to be a riot no matter what.

You can watch the game streaming live here once it starts at 6:07. Go Dawgs!

To Look for America (6)

        But he could tell that she did. He straddled the bike like he always did to start, but the rush of adrenaline was ruined by a pair of arms tightly clutching his trunk. He tried turning on the engine and revving it to make him feel better, but he just felt embarrassed. Mechanically, he turned his bike around to return back to his house. A little ways down the road he felt that familiar adrenaline, but it was just a tinge rather than a rush. Bree held on tighter and he was forced to yell back at her not to hold on so hard. She apologized rather sheepishly and loosed her grip just a bit. Enough, at least, for John to take a deep breath. That feeling of home returned and he lost himself in the speed, the wind, and the open fields.
        He went passed his house once and had to turn around to go back. Bree genuinely did not seem displeased with this accident, but she was more relieved at having both feet on the ground than anything else once he had parked his bike back in the Walker’s garage. He escorted her into the house and asked, as he was taught to do, whether or not she wanted a drink.
        “No, thank you,” she replied. “Sorry if I held on too tight.”
        “It’s fine,” he said.
        Bree cleared her throat. “Anyway, I have a plan. I mentioned to my parents that I wanted to go on a trip this summer and they were quite enthusiastic. I also sent a letter back to the Miss America contest letting them know I was going to arrive. The big problem is, the contest is before school lets out, but I talked to Mrs. Anderson and she said that it was fine and I could still graduate—”
        “Wait a minute! Slow down! What about me? And where are we getting money for gas, food, hotels? What if my mom doesn’t let me go? And it doesn’t feel right that we should be allowed to miss school for this.”
        “Me, slow down?!” Bree chuckled. “Mrs. Anderson said that we could miss school on the condition that we come back with an essay finished about something we learned while in New York. She’s hoping we write about something you could find in a museum, I’m sure. Anyway, as for the money, my grandmother is willing to give me cash for the trip and my mother has insisted on giving me a credit card. So we’re set there. You just need to tell your mom.”

Author’s comments on post 378: Oh, planning. There’s always something that you forget to think of. I believe an order of business might be better for them to start in order to keep organized.

Tiny Galaxies

        “Take a seat, Dr. Hammond,” General Murray said, though he himself remained standing. “I want you to tell me about this revolutionary theory of yours.”
        “Why? Is there a problem?” Dr. Hammond asked, a slight bitterness in his voice at the General’s attempt to be intimidating.
        “No, I’m just curious about this proposal.”
        “Well, the lab developed a microscope that magnifies such a small molecular level that we can examine quarks in detail. We found that these particles were made up of smaller particles within vacuous space and the formation of these particles are similar to what we see in our own universe. In fact, quarks are actually made up of stars—extremely tiny stars and we believe that the small specks we see in the microscopic pictures are actually planets revolving around these suns. The theory is that if our atoms are really made up of a collection of galaxies, then who’s to say that there is no life in our own cells?”
        “Dr., …you don’t possibly believe this, do you?”
        “I’m willing to suspend my disbelief enough to create a stronger microscope. But if we find a little planet Earth, then I refuse to admit there is opposition.”
        The General moved to glance out his window at the world below his office. He sighed. “I suppose I should admit that my motivations for asking you here are not from pure curiosity. I was given orders to prevent you from publishing your theory. Now, I respect you and your work, but if this information was given to the public, someone somewhere would turn it into fuel for panic. What if we are just a small part of a larger being? We could be part of something else’s quark—as you put it.”
        “I thought the same thing. And it really puts humanity into perspective, doesn’t it?”
        “I think you’re missing the point, Dr. Hammond. This whole thing could scale into a global catastrophe.”
        “I disagree,” Dr. Hammond said standing. “But who am I to exercise my right of free speech?” He bowed ever so slightly and then exited from the General’s office.

Author’s comment on post 377: I originally wanted this longer, but I couldn’t find a plot long enough to fit the premise. It works much better in this shorter format. I had the idea for a while, and I’m glad it’s out on virtual paper. Hope you enjoy it!