Lucid Waking

Archive for the ‘End of Childhood’ Category

Living on Clouds

        They had nothing to say to each other. Yet, they managed to say nothing in so many words that they would often find hours of their lives missing and sometimes wonder where the time went. Their marriage didn’t work, unsurprisingly, since it was built on clouds and dreams. She never told him her secret affair and brief rehab for her Tylenol addiction and eating disorder. He never told her that he was a compulsive liar who disliked strong women. She thought his chauvinism was chivalry. All in all, it was a very flawed relationship.
        I loved my parents, but I never liked them. As a teenager, I wanted to be the opposite of my mother and as an adult I didn’t mind sacrificing my complete individuality as long as I could see things better than she did. My father’s strong-willed, “take the bull by the horns” attitude made my relationship with my husband work. I wish my parents could have seen my accomplishments and how I took their traits and made them strengths, not weaknesses. But they’re too busy being superficial with other people to notice a self-sufficient adult like me. Its a burden of having parents with their heads in the clouds, but with my feet firmly planted on the ground, I don’t mind.

Author’s comments on post 388: Just writing. I’m pleased with the narrator’s tone, overall, but I’m not sure how I’m pleased with the subject matter. Unfortunately, I can imagine a lot of people are like her parents, but I’ll remain optimistic since they’re no one I know. Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this, don’t think this is how I see you (because I don’t. At all). It’s just a story.

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.

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.

To Look for America (5)

        He loved his bike more than many things and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He considered it a reliable friend that always seemed to know just what to do to cheer him up. John slipped on his helmet and all at once felt invincible and incredibly bad ass. He straddled the seat and slid his hands over the handlebars before gripping them tight. There was something about mounting a motorcycle that reminded him of a race and he always savored the anticipation before starting the engine. Once it roared, he waited just a little bit longer before speeding down the driveway and onto the gravel road.
        The beginning few minutes of his ride he still felt powerful, like he was famous, talented, and somebody else. But he quickly became 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 stopped out of necessity after pulling into the driveway at Bree’s house. All at once he was plain old Johnny Walker once the motor shut off. He awkwardly walked towards the front door and rang the bell. He waited as he heard the side door open and then for Bree to reach the front door. She smiled.
        “I’m going, Mom,” she yelled back into the house. “I’ll be back in time for dinner!”
        “Have fun and get your work done!” her mother responded just barely before the door was loudly shut. Bree walked down the steps of the front porch and made her way to the driveway. John nervously followed her. Finally she looked up and paused ever so slightly but continued walking.
        “My mom has the car,” he felt compelled to say.
        “That’s all right,” she said almost too cheerfully. “I’ve never ridden on one of these before.”
        “I brought an extra helmet,” he said awkwardly handing it to her. “And I’m a very safe driver.”
        Bree flashed a small half-smile. “I didn’t think you weren’t.”

Author’s comments on post 376: I took a little bit here and there from the original Johnny Walker post. Mostly, I think I did a pretty good job of keeping his character off the bike as this awkward teenager. I’m pleased with how this turned out

The Wanderers (11)

        “What?”
        A rather robust woman came into the office from a brown door located to Dorian’s right. She was dressed in a business suit with flat shoes though she seemed the antithesis of a sophisticated business woman. She looked at Dorian quizzically and then recognition lit up her face. Dorian’s stomach tightened, but she remained paused with one hand on her hip and the other holding open the door and stared for a few moments as if trying to convince herself who she was seeing was not who she thought he was.
        “New here, huh?” she finally said slowly. Then she continued her silence while her secretary bounced between the two of them, bewildered. “Well,” she continued, “just for the night you can stay in my office. But don’t touch anything or I’ll call the cops.”
        “Yes, ma’am.”
        “I get in early so you’ll have plenty of time to get dressed in company work clothes and introduced to my warehouse manager. I think you’ll like him.”
        “Thank you so much.”
        “Don’t mention it. You can pay me back later by answering my questions. And don’t think I’m as nice as I’m being now. I expect work.”
        “Absolutely.”
        She smiled. “Excellent start. I’ll see you in the morning.”
        She stood aside and let Dorian pass her into the large labyrinth of offices. “My name’s on the door if you go down the hall turn left and then right. It should be open considering the lock has been broken for months.”
        Dorian thanked her again and found the office in very little time. Her space was no better than Exec’s, except that her desk was long enough to act as a small shelter. He crawled under the space and sighed. Though this was the second time he was sleeping in an office on the floor, he considered his escape successful thus far. He was just about fall asleep when his stomach grumbled and he vowed that first thing in the morning he was going to get breakfast. One way or another.

Author’s comments on post 375: More of "The Wanderers" at a later date? Maybe, but I make not promises. This is where I stop for now and start working on character design. I hope my drawing skills are up for the task.

To Look for America (4)

        The phone rang in the Walker household and John breathed an exasperated sigh as his mother ran to answer it. He waited and listened while she talked for a few moments and then hung up, pausing to look at her hands before coming into the living room.
        “That was another call about your grandmother,” she said. “Your aunt says she’s not doing so well. Will you be ok while I run into town to see her at the hospital?”
        “Yeah, Mom.”
        “All right, sweetie. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” She walked over to him and kissed him on the head. Embarrassed, he moved away, but she was already past him and grabbing her coat from a hook on the wall beside the door.
        The door shut with a slight echoing boom and at once, John was aware how silent the house was. He shrugged it off and continued working trying not to notice the constant high buzz of electricity and growing boredom. The phone rang again and he stood up slowly to answer it.
        “Hello?”
        “Johnny? This is Bree.”
        “Oh, hi. What’s up?”
        “I was just wondering if I could talk to you about our trip. Is this a good time?”
        “Um, sure.”
        “I told my mom you’re coming to pick me up so we could do homework at your house. We can then go to Ol’ Man’s wishing well and talk there.”
        “Actually, my mom’s out of the house, so you can just come here. I’ll be right over.”
        He hung up the phone before remembering that the family car was with his mother en route towards the hospital. He slapped his forehead and reached for the phone but stopped and without second thought, gathered his keys and extra helmet, locked the house door and walked towards his motorcycle.

Author’s note on post 374: Continuation of the story. Nothing much more to say. I had debated a lot about Johnny’s father and the jury is still out about his presence in the story.

The Wanderers (10)

        He found the entrance to the warehouse with only a little searching; the front of the building faced a small side street that seemed more like an alley. Upon opening the door, he found himself in a thrown together lobby, which looked more like a small office with the desk facing the outside door. The woman behind the desk had her back to him as she filed away manila envelopes into the cabinets behind her. Dorian cleared her throat and she turned around.
        “Hello, what can I do for you?” she said cheerfully.
        “I was given this resume this morning to work—”
        “Let me see it,” she said extending her hand. She glanced at it before sitting down and typing information into her computer. “No experience? Well, this will just have to do. Your resume went through and was approved, so Ms. Nelson must know what she’s doing.” She turned to Dorian and smiled. “You’re all done, then. See you tomorrow.”
        “Is there any possibility you could point me towards a place to stay?”
        “You don’t have one?”
        “No, I’m…moving from another dome.”
        “Paper work not going through in time?”
        “Unfortunately.”
        “Oh, well, that’s all right.” The woman smiled. “You could just drive down to the residential district and there are a couple very charming little hotels…”
        “I don’t have a car; I took the bus here.”
        The woman paused. “Well, I’m not sure what to tell you. Although if you run, you might be able to make it.”
        “Milly, are you finished yet? I’ve got to close up,” a woman yelled from further inside the building.
        “Oh, Ms. Nelson! The new worker is here and he needs a place to stay.”

Author’s comments on post 373: Penultimate instilation of "The Wanderers"

To Look For America (3)

        “Good morning, Johnny,” Bree said, smiling.
        “’Morning, Bree,” he answered. “You look cheerful this morning.”
        “Do I? Must be the light,” she said, looking up the at the expansive pre-dawn darkness.
        “Or lack of it,” John said, finally cracking a smile.
        “Hey, listen. I wanted to ask you something.”
        “Ok.”
        “So I got a letter a couple days ago about the Miss America contest out east. I was wondering if you could drive me.”
        “Wait, where is this?”
        “New York,” she said quieter.
        “That’s really far away. Why can’t your parents take you?”
        “They’re not letting me go. But before you lecture me, I just really want the chance to do something different. I don’t want to disobey them, but I don’t think this is really fair. It’s the first opportunity I’ve ever gotten to leave town and do something different.”
        John remained silent. He sighed and tried to look her square in the eyes to decline, but she was focused more on her feet and he could tell in the growing light of dawn that she was crying. Taken aback, he lost his firm resolve.
        “Don’t cry. It’s not that big of a deal.”
        “I don’t know about you,” Bree answered, “but I don’t want to stay here and be a farmer my whole life.”
        That struck a chord and John answered angrily, “Some of us don’t have a choice.”
        Bree swallowed back her tears. “Damn it, I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”
        The two of them could hear a car coming from farther up the road towards them. Bree quickly brushed away her tears, sniffed a couple times, and adopted an air that suggested nothing was wrong. John watched with admiration as she compose herself quickly and smiled broadly as her good friend got out of the car and gave Bree a hug.
        “Hey, Bree,” he said drawing her from the conversation she was trying to keep light. “I’ll drive you. Just tell me when.”

Author’s comments on post 372: Introduction of a very important character. You met him before, and he seems to like his motorcycle. Apparently he has a car, as well. More of this on Sunday! Read the rest of the story here.

The Wanderers (9)

        Now that he had time and a direction, he felt at liberty to wander in finding an area to examine the maps. After the initial entrance way where the security guards sat monitoring the metal detectors, there was a set of stairs that led to a large cavernous lobby. In the middle of this area was a fountain and the two side walls were filled with elevators. Around the fountain were benches, but Dorian made his way past all of these to the glass back wall where a door led to a cafeteria.
        The cafeteria had faux marble tables and wire chairs and a few had umbrellas to block out the sun streaming through the sun roof. Dorian sat down and opened up the map. All at once the table was decorated with a myraid of colors and lines that seemingly didn’t make any sense. It took a good while for him to decode it; people would pass him and glance his way, trying not to stare.
        He located the warehouse district, but it was the trouble of memorizing how to get there that took a while. Once he thought he had memorized a route, he left the building, trying not to make contact with the guards, and felt safe enough to make his way back down the main street to the outskirts of town.
        It was sunset when he found his way to the edge of the district, but he could clearly see the skeleton of a space craft a little ways away from the street he was following. Fatigued, but more worried about the approaching curfew, he practically ran towards the spaceship and thanked some higher being that not only was the warehouse right next to the frame, but a couple cars were still located in the parking lot.

Author’s comments on post 371: More of the Wanderers and an important announcement. I finally figured what might be the problem with this story: the medium. Yes, I love writing and the beginning comes out pretty well as it is. But later scenes, I have a vision for that might be better suited to a graphic novella than a short story. So I’ll make a deal. I’m going to continue writing this story until I can reach a good stopping point. Once I feel that it is reasonably concluded, I will stop and continue planning it as a graphic novel. "But wait," you might say, "what about House of Animalia?" That is still in planning stages, while the Wanderers I have planned out generally. The House of Animalia can wait a little longer. I know I have tendency to start projects and not finish them, but I feel this would be a lot richer with pictures. Thank you for your patience and in due time, I will accomplish all of my goals :).

To Look for America (2)

        That night she couldn’t sleep. She held on to the letter under her pillow as she tried to block out her parent’s arguing from the kitchen. Bree knew it was about her; if they ever fought about anything it had to do with her. She rolled over to face the wall. They had argued about her almost regularly for the past few days ever since Bree had gotten the letter in the mail. She wanted to go; she wanted to be something; something besides a farmer, stay-at-home mom, or waitress. She wanted more than anything the opportunity to be unique.
        She heard her father storm passed her door. The house was silent for a while and then she heard her mother’s footsteps as she made her way to their bedroom. Bree heard her bedroom door open and she pretended to be asleep. Her mother made a small sigh and then closed to the door again and continued to her bedroom. A cold tear gently cascaded across Bree’s nose bridge. Trying not to cry, she shut her eyes tight and eventually went to sleep.

        The next morning went as predicted. Her mother woke her up slightly late so she had no time to do her hair or makeup before school. The conservative jeans, tee shirt, and running shoes were placed on the chair at the end of the bed for her to wear. She had just enough time to shower, eat, and get dressed before she was running out the door to catch the school bus that picked up the students a mile down the road.
        Even though she had woken up late, she arrived at the bus stop on time and stood with her hands in her pockets for someone to join her in waiting for the bus. She didn’t have to wait long; soon she was joined by another individual, looking just as disgruntled at the school morning as she. Luckily, it was precisely the person she was hoping to see. And even more luck still, it seemed like they were going to be alone for a while.

Author’s comments on post 370: I really like the story so far, if I do say so myself. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait and see who joins her at the bus stop. I’m just evil like that. "The Wanderers" tomorrow.