Lucid Waking

Archive for May, 2010

Kitten Queen

More sketches.

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The Pond

        The water looked deep and inviting. Heat hung on the air along with thick clusters of flies and gnats. Though the sun was orange, the light was gray and becoming darker. Jason glanced at Carol, who smiled seductively. She dove beautifully into the pond and moments later came up with a gasp, flicking her hair backwards and flinging water in a perfect arc. The scene was almost too perfect and for once, Jason hesitated before jumping in next to her.
        Unsurprisingly, coldness shot up his limbs. He couldn’t see his feet for the thick sediment in the water. For all he knew, he had just jumped into a cholera and leech soup. Carol was swimming towards the center of the pond in perfect stream-line motion, but Jason stayed a bit at the edge pretending that he was watching her for enjoyment and not hesitating because of a growing feeling of fear.
        “The water gets warmer the longer you’re in it,” she yelled back to him from the center of the pond.
        “I think I’ll get out, anyway. I’m not much of a swimmer.”
        “Party pooper,” she said, laughing. She watched him pull himself out with genuine interest and then started to swim back. He heard her rhythm change as she made a large kick but when he turned to make sure she was all right, she was swimming towards the edge of the pond just as smoothly as she did traveling to the center.
        “That was weird,” she said, getting out. “I felt something grab my foot.”
        As she reported this to him, her leg began to throb and she pulled it forward to look closer. She screamed. Jason turned his head and caught a glimpse of her footless limb being consumed by a slithering purple blob of color making its way up her leg. Then, he blacked out.

        He wasn’t sure how long he was in the hospital or how he got there, but when he awoke, he was aware enough to notice the IV tubes, white walls, faded chairs, and antiseptic smell that reminded him of his short internship as a medical student.
        “Oh good, you’re awake,” the nurse said as she entered the room. “You can now swallow your pain medication.”
        “Where’s Carol?” he asked.
        “Honey, I don’t know. The hiker who found you brought you by yourself and if you’re talking about someone else entirely, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
        “No. thank you,” Jason said quietly.
        So she was gone…somehow, Jason thought. If he was going to find out, it wasn’t going to be by himself or at night or from the hospital. Images of the purple…blob…ingesting her leg was the only clue he had and he knew if he was going to get anywhere he would need a lot more than a picnic basket and pair of towels. Whatever it was.

Comments on post 386: I don’t really have much to say about this. I haven’t done horror in a while, so this was a treat. Really, that’s about it.

Creeped

More practice drawing.

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That Easy (Epilogue)

        A month later, the phone was ringing off the hook. Samson had even hired an agent in desperation; work, gigs, and fame were starting to push his blood pressure and it was easier to say yes than make educated decisions. Music became more than his life; it entered his lungs and his blood stream. He wanted to explore and discover, change his routine and even though he was widely accepted for any and all changes he wanted to live on the edge and unconditional love gave him none of that excitement that he wanted that came from risk. Performance highs became passé and then non existent.
            One night, he found himself—by choice—staring at the ceiling above his bed. In the dim light from his cell phone charging on the bed-side table, he could see patterns from the texture of the dry wall under the paint. The patterns became faces screaming with joy, some smiling, others nose-less or mouth-less, still others looking more like rabbits or rabid beasts. He massaged his naked hands and thought about the crowds. He knew why the previous owner had sold the gloves. He knew why a desire for fame and fortune usually led to the Devil; why it was a vice; why one should be careful what one wished for. But despite learning a lesson, being tired, being sick, he had a stronger desire to win. Against what or whom, he didn’t know and didn’t want to figure out, but through thick and thin he was going to stick with music unless it killed him. Maybe he was getting tired, but there was so much more to do and without worrying about talent or mistake, so many opportunities to do them.
        With that small, meager thought germinating among doubt, he went to sleep and woke up the next morning with unparalleled determination. A new record in the works and he felt invincible. Maybe vanity was a sin because people didn’t stop to look for the silver lining.

Comments on post 385: I thought that the previous post could use a bit of an explanation. I know that it was not written in the same style as the previous section of story, but I was more concerned with writing than matching style. More at a later date. I am trying something new alternating between writing practice and drawing practice, so I probably won’t have something up every day, although I’m still debating whether or not to post the sketches. Thoughts on anything would be appreciated as long as they’re polite.

Shakespears Sister

Like I said, I’m trying to get more practice in on the drawing end of the spectrum. This was my first project, which ended up being a surprising exercise in shading without gray. I didn’t finish it, but I posted it anyway as proof of my efforts.

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That Easy

        Reason stated that Samson probably shouldn’t have been in a dark alley in a part of the city he didn’t know following a man who just looked trustworthy on his word that his shop was not accessible from the street. Reason noted the sunset between the buildings and that the street lights only stood by the main street. Reason noted where his car was waiting parked by the curb with the meter running. Reason also made sure his left hand felt the full ring of keys he had in his pocket just in case he had to hit and run. But reason couldn’t beat desire and he continued past the high, damp walls and carefully dodged puddles as he followed the elderly man moving at a surprisingly fast pace through a small maze of passages between buildings.
        True to the man’s word, they stopped at an awning that said “Lou’s Magical Trinkets” in peeling white letters. Stairs led down to an iron door with peeling white paint and rusty edges. The man grunted a little as he went down the stairs, keys jingling. Samson followed him into the large dark basement that despite its location was clean and tidy. With a flicker of florescent lights, shelves of knickknacks were revealed in an eerie suspended-animation way. The old man had already toddled toward a shelf at the right side of the room which was cast in shadow due to the burned out light above it.
        “Here it is,” he said, proudly, with a shaky voice. He dusted off the object with a large breath and patted it down. “Here’s what you need.”
        The old man handed Samson a pair of fingerless leather gloves. They had a faint odor of salted peanuts, but otherwise seemed ordinary.
        “This is it? This is the secret to fame and fortune?”
        The old man nodded as if it seemed obvious from the cracked leather. “If you wear these you can play any instrument you can get your hands on like a virtuoso. And sing, too. If you want to be an expert musician with anything, you wear these gloves. And in my experience, that’s all you need.”
        Samson was still skeptical, but he agreed to pay for the gloves. A wad of cash poorer and more disgruntled, he walked back up the stairs and noticed that the alley running parallel to the door led directly to the street. His car was mysteriously parked right by the entrance to the alley, though he knew he hadn’t parked it there before.

Author’s comments on post 384: Whew. Well, I’m trying to get back into the swing of things. This was influenced by this story. I’ll write more when I have more time.