Lucid Waking

Archive for the ‘End of Childhood’ Category

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.

The Wanderers (8)

        Swiftly exiting, he made his way down the hall back to Visitor Services and this time when he tried the door, it opened. The office inside was very similar to the Employment office, except slightly more homey. The walls were painted blue instead of white and the waiting area was smaller. To his left, from the doorway, there was a long secretary’s desk and next to that a hall that lead to several other offices. The secretary’s desk had two people, a woman was answering calls and the other, a man, was copying paperwork. As it was early in the morning, the small waiting room was empty and Dorian felt at liberty to go straight to the desk.
        “How can I help you?” the man asked, smiling.
        “I’d like a map of the city, please.”
        “Our maps are mounted on the wall right here. Take your time going through them to pick out the area you need.”
        He was well trained, Dorian thought, if he didn’t ask what I was doing so early in the morning looking for a map. Perhaps, that wasn’t such a rare occurrence, he mused but if asked, he decided to stick by the story that his airplane flight arrived late. Though maybe, that wasn’t such a good idea because he wasn’t even sure there were airplanes anymore since the dome was put up.
        He flipped absentmindedly through the maps. If he looked like he knew he was doing, no one would suspect that he really didn’t. His hand stopped on an overall map of the city. “Terra Dome 3602” the title said, but when he tried unfolding it to its vast size, he had trouble keeping it open. He quickly folded it up to avoid attention and was about to leave when another caught his eye: “Sub-dome 224: Terra Dome 3602 Warehouse Quarters.” He grabbed it, smiled at the secretaries (the woman was now off the phone) and left, taking the elevator down to the lobby.

Author’s comments on post 369: More of The Wanderers. Comments are welcome.

To Look for America

This is a continuation of Bree MacGuinness, but I have included the first post along with the continuation because I have made a few small changes to the first post. Enjoy!

        Bree MacGuinness made her way down her gravel driveway in high heels with a pile of books on her head just in time to catch her father’s truck parking in front of their house. The books went crashing to the ground as she ran to greet him. He looked tired but he gave her a wide smile, 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 kept smiling.
        “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 form letter from the Miss America contest 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.
Her father was already sitting in the dining room with his head in his hands. He ran his large hands over his weary face before placing them in his lap. With the waning light, the creases in his face looked deeper and he looked older. His gray eyes were dull when he caught her gaze, even though he smiled.
        “How was school? Did you learn anything?”
        “Good. And I didn’t learn anything worth repeating. I have a history test tomorrow, though.”
        “About what?”
        “The industrial revolution.”
        Her mother walked in with dishes full of steaming hot food. Bree could tell her mother still carried her waitress instinct and skill that she had had when she was still working. Her mother remained young, and the only thing giving away her age were the very slight crow’s feet next to her eyes. She sat down on the opposite end of the table from her husband and smiled.
        “Well, dig in,” she said. “I made this special.”
        Bree chuckled and waited for her father to take his portion. But there was something wrong with the family dynamic this evening. Her father’s cares didn’t seem to have been left at the door and her mother seemed a little more stiff. She watched her parents carefully as she placed food on her plate. Afraid to ask what was wrong, she kept quiet and reserved as her mother nervously recounted her day.
        When her mother had finished and the tension had gotten too heavy, Bree found her courage and asked:
        “What’s wrong?”
        “What do you mean, love?” her mother asked.
        “There seems to be a huge elephant in the room and I feel really uncomfortable with something so big left unsaid.”
        Her mother and father exchanged a glance. He opened his mouth to say something but her mother was quicker to reply:
        “Nothing to worry about, dear. How was your day?”

Author’s comments on post 368: It’s probably foolish of me to start another story, but my mind keeps coming up blank when I think of intermediary posts and I have to have these or else I will get bored. So, we’ll see how far this goes. I have a hunch of what direction it will take, but you will be as surprised as I.

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!

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.