Lucid Waking

Archive for the ‘Realistic Fiction’ Category

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.

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.

Runaway

        All she had were the clothes she was wearing and two dogs. Yet, she was happy. She left her fiancé’s mansion before dawn and had set out with his two greyhounds down the road that ran a few miles from the back of his property. The blizzard was actually a blessing; the wind hid her tracks and obscured her figure escaping via the side of the road.
        Although feeling free was a cliché, that was how she felt. There was a small fear driving her, but by noon she had realized he wasn’t going to follow her. She was hungry, but glad for some sort of primal motivation apart from the concentrated, benign lifestyle that she had been through. It was refreshing to live off of the actual land.
        Though her first night was yet to come, she felt good, cold, and satisfyingly achy. The dogs would help keep her warm and hopefully find some sort of food. She headed off the road and made her way to thicker fields. Nature as her protector, she didn’t mind the numb feeling in her feet and hands. She knew she wasn’t going to die and she continued. Where: she didn’t know.

Author’s comments on post 355: I wanted to write about something other than relationships, so you get this. Another tomorrow.

First Date

        He strangely enjoyed watching her put on her makeup and she didn’t mind him watching her fix her reflection from the bed where he could get an equally good view of the mirror.
        “What’s on your mind?” she asked as she applied mascara to her already long and lush lashes.
        “I can’t help thinking this guy isn’t good enough for you.”
        “Sam, he’s a sweetheart and very chivalrous. I thought that was all you wanted for me.”
        “Dani, you deserve someone with more than politeness and charm. There’s not a flaw in his person and that bothers me.”
        She smiled and winked at him. “Since when did you become my brother?”
        He shook his head, but smiled back. “I just don’t want this guy to hurt you.”
        “Sometimes that’s what we have to go through. I appreciate the concern, but everyone gets hurt sometimes.”
        “All right, you win.”
        “Damn straight,” she said before putting on her favorite shade of lipstick. She sighed and stood up, adjusting her clothes over her full frame. She looked good anyway, but the nervous fidgeting was just part of the routine.
        “How do I look?” she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on her profile in the mirror.
        “Fine.”
        “Just fine?”
        “You look lovely,” he said getting up. “I’d better go before your date gets the wrong idea.”
        She grabbed his arm before he left the room and gave him a hug. “I’ll tell you how it goes when I see you tomorrow.”
        “You’d better,” he said. “I expect all the dirty details.”
        She almost laughed, but instead maintained a wide smile. He could tell that she was focusing more on impressing her guest than on him. That was the way it was supposed to be. And even though he wasn’t sure about the gentleman she was dating, he thought the man was one lucky fellow. Nervous, he descended the stairs and after wishing her luck, got it his car and drove home.

Author’s comments on post 351: Hi all! Yes, I’m back to the land of the not-so-overworked-and-underpaid. I went on a trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico so my absense was due to preparations and vacation. But I’m back and determined to continue doing ten minutes. I really like this one, though, so I suppose the break was actually beneficial. I hope this makes up for me missing Valentine’s Day.

One Year More

        The sun reached between the large houses lining the street and cast their faces in shadow. Elizabeth watched it rise and lighten the sky with every passing minute. Finally, a figure exited out of the house in front of her and ran across the street to where she was waiting. Once the figure was closer, Elizabeth confirmed that it was her friend, Anna, impeccably dressed with sopping wet hair.
        “I’m sorry,” the newcomer said breathlessly, “it’s hard to wake up at a particular time without using an alarm clock.”
        “Let’s go,” was the reply Elizabeth gave and then led Anna down the perpendicular street to where her car was parked.
        “I don’t like all this secrecy,” Anna said once inside the vehicle. “I think we should just let people know.”
        “You know as well as I do that your parents will flip when you tell them you’re gay.”
        “Or maybe I think they will because I’m afraid they will and they won’t. This is getting harder and harder to keep from them and if my mom wakes up early and I’m not there, I’m screwed.”
        “We’ll be fast. I just want to show you something.”
        “Provided we don’t get a speeding ticket first.”
        Finally, they reached the beach where Elizabeth first met Anna. The colors of the sunrise were greatly faded and just barely in the sky, but the reflection of the morning sun on the gentle waves was beautiful enough to make up for it.
        “Happy anniversary,” Elizabeth said.
        “You, too,” Anna said, smiling, “Now take me back home before my parents wake up.”

Author’s comments on post 350: Something very different from me today. I thought I’d venture out of my box for once. Hopefully something tomorrow.

Disillusioned Monologue

        Justice no longer has a blindfold and even scale. Her sword is blood stained and her eyes can see and the scale she holds are even just to maintain the illusion that she’s fair, although she’s anything but. I know it’s a very angry, but poetic interpretation of our beloved symbol, but I have had a lot of time to work out my opinion on the subject. I used to be a lawyer, now I work a nine-to-five in a generic office. I haven’t had the urge to go back, not since that trial.
        I was already very vested in the case. My sister was on trial for something she didn’t commit; fingerprint evidence was non existent and every clue was placed so precisely that it was obviously placed to frame her. A less corporeal feeling that my sweet, altruistic, endearing little sister could not possibly have killed three people was perhaps clouding my judgment, but I considered that evidence even though it was almost impossible to use in court (though if Atticus could do it in To Kill a Mocking Bird then I could as well). Yet, the jury could not be swayed and she was sentenced to lethal injection.
Months after her death the killings started again; it was deemed work of a serial killer and the hunt started again. They might have found the criminal, but you never know these days. I received an official apology in the mail, but it’s just an empty gesture to replace something they can never give back.
        I knew the judicial system was flawed when I entered law school, yet I could never figure out how corrupt and judgmental it was until that point. I couldn’t keep working for it because every man and woman I saw was innocent and wrongly accused even when the facts lined up. Logic no longer drove my arguments and most importantly, I had no desire to continue practicing law.
        What can you do when dreams are shattered? I hold my pride and stay away from the subject. It’s not that I prefer anarchy or to have no system at all for such things, but I feel that in the scheme of the future, Justice is just a pretty face among a row of partners who destroy her.

Author’s comments on post 349: I don’t remember where this came from; I have a vague impression that this might have stemmed from a conversation about Dexter, but I’m not certain. Regardless, here it is.

The Boy

        “Who is she?” the little boy asked Daniel pointing to a framed photograph on the wall.
        Daniel turned from the canvas he was painting and followed the boy’s finger before quickly answering. “No one. She’s nobody.”
        Daniel knew that wouldn’t keep the boy’s curiosity for long, but for the moment the boy was surprisingly quiet. A moment passed before he said:
        “Does she have something to do with the lady who left me here?”
        “I don’t know,” Daniel said. “And I mean it. Stop pestering me with questions of that social worker who brought you here.”
        There was another pause and then the boy said:
        “You’re lying. That lady isn’t nobody. Who is she?”
        Daniel sighed. “My late wife.”
        “Late?”
        “She died.”
        “Oh.” Silence and then, “she was very pretty. What was her name?”
        “Margaret.”
        “How’d she die?”
        “In a plane accident. She was a pilot in the war and her plane was shot down.”
        The boy didn’t answer. Daniel continued painting in silence carefully outlining the figure in front of him with a thin line of light. He didn’t want to be thinking about Margaret, but now his mind would go nowhere else. She was such a strong individual it put him to shame, but yet, she was tender when she wanted to be and it was when she wasn’t thinking about work that he loved her the most. When she died, he felt more empty than anything until the funeral and occasionally it would hit him how fragile life was and how much he missed her. The days always passed more slowly when such moods took over.
        Then there was the matter of the boy. A woman had knocked on his door several months ago and introduced herself as a social worker and claimed that this boy was his nephew, now orphaned with no other kin. But Daniel didn’t have siblings and he found it unlikely that Margaret’s entire family would be gone that he had to take care of the child. It was a peculiar situation and after a quick DNA test, he surmised that he was in no way related to the boy by blood. Yet, he didn’t want to turn the child out on the street, so he thought the boy could stay regardless of the unusual clarity of questioning the boy seemed to have for his age of seven and the even more unusual understanding he seemed to have of situations that Daniel even considered out of his grasp.
        The stool the boy was sitting on creaked as he fidgeted. Daniel knew that was his cue to clean up his paints. He glanced at the little figure that waited patiently for him to finish. Once cleaned up, he lead the boy upstairs and fed him lunch. Daniel sat down across from him and watched quietly contemplating.

Author’s comments on post 348: I’ve been very busy these last few days and been doing my best to write every day. This doesn’t mean I necessarily get a chance to edit what I’ve written and publish it within a timely manner. Bare with me and trust that I am writing and I will post more than three posts this month.

Back-up Plan

        She checked her watch. If dancing and the necessity of quick costume changes had taught her anything, it was changing clothes fast. She was particularly pleased with the thirty seconds it took her to change into an almost entirely new person.
        She walked out the stage door and then took her time to saunter to her car. After doing an entire show, her feet hurt to walk in heels, but the image had to stand before her comfort. Once she was in the safety of her car, she pulled out a scrap of paper from the glove compartment and memorized the address. Then, she rolled it up into a ball and flicked it to the floor of the passenger’s side before turning up the radio and pulling into traffic.
        She loved Chicago traffic; it was much more natural than New York’s. She arrived at her destination in no time (fifteen minutes ahead of schedule) and remained in the car applying a more natural amount of make-up until a man in a dark suit walked past her car and through the gate of the apartment building in front of her. She got out and walked up to him.
        “Mr. Tillens?” she said sweetly.
        He turned around quickly. “Yes?”
        “Hi, I’m Elizabeth Kennedy,” she lied, extending her hand, “we spoke on the phone?”
        “Oh yes,” he answered nervously. “I guess you can just follow me.”
        “I’m sorry I didn’t buzz your apartment but I arrived early.”
        “That’s all right.”
        He led her up a few flights of stairs, into his hallway and then to the kitchen where they both sat down across from each other.
        “Well, Mr. Tillens—”
        “Mark is fine.”
        “Mark, I called following up a business proposition you received. You see,” she said pulling out a gun from her purse. “your blackmailer was getting impatient with the rate at which you paid your bills and I’m afraid that you had your last warning.”
        She shot the gun and with the silencer managed to make just enough noise to imitate something falling to the floor. She went through the cupboards until she found the pots and pans and moved them around noisily as if someone was pulling them out to cook. Then she found her way to the door and let herself out to where her car was waiting on the street.
        It wasn’t glamorous work, but it paid the bills and it would certainly still support her when she was washed out from dancing. It always helped to have an insurance plan.

Author’s comments on post 347: I have such a busy week that I wrote this late last night and just got time to publish it now. I’m hoping to get in ten minutes before I go to sleep tonight and publish that tomorrow. A bientot!

Have You Seen…?

        “Hey look,” she said walking into the dining room with the carton of milk, “I didn’t think they put ‘missing persons’ on these things any more.” She shoved the carton in front of his face forcing him to look up from the paper work he was doing to read the container.
        He glanced at a very fuzzy picture of a young girl and next to it her name (Pauline Winters) how old she was when she was lost (16) and when she was last seen (December 16, 2005). He pushed the milk carton back her way and said angrily:
        “I thought she died.”
        “I thought so too,” she answered. “Apparently someone managed to identify the body. DNA testing and all that they have now-a-days.”
        “You told me you were careful.”
        “Josh…I was careful. Besides, it’s been four years, how much digging to you think the police will do?”
        “But what if they find out?”
        After she put the milk back in the fridge, she walked up behind him and started massaging his shoulders. “They won’t find out.” She leaned down and kissed him on the neck, but he didn’t respond.
        “Don’t be such a worry-wort,” she said and plopped down on the couch to watch television.
        “Pauline,” he said, exasperated.
        “What? You think I’ll just let some random person get a DNA sample from me? Besides they have to ask first.”
        “And if they do? What’s your excuse going to be to deny them?”
        She shrugged. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Wasn’t my quick thinking the reason why I was asked to join the team?”
        He involuntarily smiled and shook his head. “Don’t get too cocky, kid.”
        She laughed. “All right, oh wise and wonderful mentor. I’ll be careful.”

Author’s Comments on post 345: Sorry about not having a post yesterday. I was very busy and stressed and my ten minutes didn’t produce anything I wanted to show. But I’m making up for it now. Enjoy!