Prompt: “I woke up when?”
The dream took a strange turn in the earliest hours of the morning. While he could not pin down the exact beginning of the dream, the first thing that Justin remembered was being at work. Stacks of paper appeared on his desk whenever he turned his eyes away. When he tried to sign his name on the line where it was required, either the pen would twist out of his hand, or the paper would slide itself from under his hand. When he tried to check his email, the mouse or keyboard would dance away from his grip, or else the monitor would turn around so he couldn’t see what he was reading or typing.
It was a very frustrating dream, but it was one that Justin had often enough, in one form or another. Though in his dream it was bright midday the wall clock showed it was an hour or two past morning. The clock never read the exact time and it was never the same twice, but some part of Justin’s dreaming unconscious knew it was early. That’s when the dream leapt into something else altogether.
It happened with that abrupt vagueness that all dream-transitions take. One moment he was trying to pour coffee into his mug in the break room while the stream of brown liquid flowed upward away from his cup like a magic beanstalk growing into the clouds, the next moment he was at home in his bed.
Everything had a peculiar quality, a blurriness around the edges that sometimes spread into a double of whatever he was trying to focus on like the twinned vision of a drunk. At least I’m not dreaming about work anymore, Justin thought. But it was a preliminary thought, as if he was still not quite sure that he favored this new dream to the familiar, yet frustrating, old one. He swung his legs out of bed, feeling as if the floor was too far away from him.
“You’re up.”
It was an odd little voice, coming from the floor next to the bed. Justin looked down and found that the speaker matched the voice: wizened, ancient, and small. It was a man, or maybe a goblin. Something small and wrinkled, stick thin except for a large round head and comically large ears and nose. Justin still felt strange though and didn’t laugh. Besides, his subconscious had never presented him with anything so odd before, and he did not know what to make of it.
He shrugged and yawned. He quirked an eyebrow; he’d never felt tired in a dream before. “Yes, I’m up. What are you?”
The little man-creature turned his head this way and that, looking over his shoulders so fast that his floppy ears and pointed nose bobbed. It reminded Justin of the nervous mannerisms of a park squirrel.
“You could not say the name of my people, but it means something like ‘Those who fell between the cracks.’ But we haven’t the time for this, you have been noticed and we must leave here now,” the tiny man said.
“Why? What’s your name? Noticed by who?” Justin mumbled his questions in no particular order. He would much rather have been dreaming about Melissa from Shipping.
The tiny elf, or goblin, or whatever his mind was trying to show him, grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. Standing, the little man came only to his knees. “We must leave because Dark Powers seek you, and we,” here he made a noise that sounded something like an underwater bird call, “do not wish to see the Dark Powers return.” He gazed intently at Justin and he was surprised to see that the thing was near tears with fright. “Things are wakening…
“As to your other two questions, I should not answer. Names have great power and I cannot trust you with mine yet, and no wise-thinking being would dare to utter the name of the other.”
Justin had actually forgotten his other two questions, so he merely shrugged.
It was probably the sausages he’d eaten last night. Whatever the link between indigestion and strange dreams, it was strong. He stepped into slippers and belted his robe around his waist while the little man continued his squirrel imitation and shifted from foot to foot.
“We must leave now!” Justin’s strange dream-guide implored. He shrugged again; it seemed the only proper reaction to such weirdness.
Justin thought that he should maybe eat before going out, perhaps just a round of toast since his little companion seemed in such a hurry, then chuckled at the newness of being hungry in a dream.
“This way,” the little man said. “They look for you in the above-world, so I will lead you to between. They will not think to look for you closer to their powers, they will expect you to run away.” He tugged on the hem of Justin’s robe as he talked, leading him to the front door.
His own house began to take on new dimensions, only half perceived as Justin was led out of the door. All of the colors seemed just a shade off of what they should be, like he was walking in a poor copy of his own world.
“Can you not walk faster with those long legs? It took me long enough to wake you from that odd dream of yours.”
Justin smiled bemusedly. “Compared to this dream the work part is normal.”
“This is no dream, though I wish it were,” his guide responded.
Justin stopped on his front lawn, staring as the creature continued to try to pull him along by the hem of his robe. “No, I’m asleep.”
The little man turned and swiftly pinched Justin’s calf, grinning ruefully as he hopped onto one foot, cradling his smarting leg in his hands. “The Dark Powers are awake and so are you. I woke you from that dream as you were pouring that muddy liquid into the air.”
Justin stared. “I woke when?”
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Silly
Her long-sleeve shirt clung to her like a second skin on that unusually warm November day. I found Susanna barefoot and bent over in the Adirondack chair in her mom’s backyard, with her face a few inches above the grass.
But that pleasant sight was swept out of my mind by the arrival of a gigantic meteor! The fiery ball crashed into the earth with tremendous force, throwing a shockwave like a hot wind in our faces.
In the distance we could see something climbing out of the flaming crater – a giant lizard! Susanna clung to me, too frightened even to scream, and we thought that we were doomed.
To our great joy, our saviors appeared. Gigantic woolen socks descended the miles from space. Not panty hose, always running at the first sign of trouble, or gym socks who break into a sweat when faced with any hard work, but good woolen socks.
We watched as the lizard and the socks battled, and finally, the lizard tore the socks to pieces and ate them. It devoured every last acre of wool greedily, but that was its doom. Choking on the thick wool, the lizard died.
But those woolen socks were great. I know. I wore a pair of them that night on the blind baggage of the overland, and that overland went west.
But that pleasant sight was swept out of my mind by the arrival of a gigantic meteor! The fiery ball crashed into the earth with tremendous force, throwing a shockwave like a hot wind in our faces.
In the distance we could see something climbing out of the flaming crater – a giant lizard! Susanna clung to me, too frightened even to scream, and we thought that we were doomed.
To our great joy, our saviors appeared. Gigantic woolen socks descended the miles from space. Not panty hose, always running at the first sign of trouble, or gym socks who break into a sweat when faced with any hard work, but good woolen socks.
We watched as the lizard and the socks battled, and finally, the lizard tore the socks to pieces and ate them. It devoured every last acre of wool greedily, but that was its doom. Choking on the thick wool, the lizard died.
But those woolen socks were great. I know. I wore a pair of them that night on the blind baggage of the overland, and that overland went west.
Cortex Dump
Prompt: A case of mistaken identity.
The explosion was jarring, throwing Agent Darnig Kelton to the street. It was a close call. This was without a doubt the most dangerous assignment that the Bureau of Peace Enforcement had ever given Kelton, and the terrorist Skaro the most dangerous threat to tranquility in the Confederacy of Sentient Beings.
Kelton cursed, borrowing heavily from a Vastin street dialect when his vocabulary of Galactic Standard epithets ran out. He knew that Skaro had been armed, but he had counted on him being unwilling to detonate his bomb with so few innocent sentients near by.
The BPE Agent had nearly gotten close enough to bring into play the tools of his trade and end the terrorist’s spree of violence. But that had also been close enough for the bomb to nearly kill him. Kelton had almost triggered the implant laced through his cerebral cortex that would download his consciousness into a blank clone. Though he hadn’t cortex-dumped, he was still glad that the Bureau’s top agents were provided with copies of their own bodies for such use. It was a dangerous job.
Kelton ran an internal systems check as he pulled himself to his feet. Nano-computers imbedded throughout his nervous system reported in, cataloguing the damage to his body from the blast, and the status of his specialized implants. He tuned out the damage report except for one flashing red indicator. His clone implant was malfunctioning. Good thing he hadn’t needed to cortex-dump after all.
He looked around the scene of the carnage regretfully. If he only he hadn’t rushed in. There were several charred corpses, but the zeta radiation of the pulse bomb would make even genetic identity confirmation time-consuming. Kelton didn’t think that Skaro was among the bodies though. He had slipped away…for now.
Kelton fumbled through the charred rags of his clothes, but was unable to find his personal satcom so he settled for calling in an erasure crew from a public terminal. He waited until his ident code was accepted, then looked around for something more dignified than blackened shreds of cloth to wear back into the Bureau headquarters.
Kelton purchased a synth-slick jacket and a cheap nylon singlet from a slightly charred vendroid on the street, leaving the unrecognizable remains of his burned clothes for the erasure crew.
Kelton’s ident code opened the hatch-seal on his personal floater and started the engine. He activated the auto-return and the navigation computer began the trip back to the Bureau of Peace Enforcement main office, while Kelton reclined in the cockpit. He ached badly, his body responding as slowly as if it were a new clone, but he was grateful. As close as he was to the blast, he had feared death or crippling. That the zeta radiation had merely reduced his uniform to ash and burned his skin was a miracle. He toggled a green switch and let the floater’s built-in surgery suite tend his wounds.
The floater piloted itself to the parking hangar while Kelton mounted the five steps to the main doors of the BPE. He looked over his shoulder as the mirrored doors of the Bureau slid open at his approach. People were staring at him, but Kelton shrugged. Most likely they were surprised to see someone dressed in attire purchased from a vendroid walking into the seat of the most powerful agency in the Confederacy.
Kelton ignored the murmured conversations around him as he stalked across the security lobby towards the bank of lifts. His aural implants detected the elevated stress patterns in the voices around him and he scowled. Yes, he’d lost Skaro again! He hated gossip.
As he neared the security station in front of the lifts, a sudden shuffle of movement brought Kelton out of his brooding. Security officers were bolting from their stations, taking offensive positions in front of the lift station.
Kelton turned as the claxon blared, his eyes sweeping the lobby for the threat security had detected.
“Skaro! Stop where you are!” one of the security squad bellowed, his voice filtered through his loudspeaker implant. Kelton cursed, Skaro would never have been so stupid to follow him right into the heart of the Bureau of Peace Enforcement. He tried to trigger his chargers, but his body still felt oddly unresponsive after the blast and his implants did not respond.
Discarding Vastin swearing as too mild, Kelton spat out the worst Kurg insult he could pronounce without mandibles and began to back toward the security line.
“Don’t take another step, Skaro!” The amplified command rang in ears already battered by an explosion and Kelton felt the familiar-dangerous tingle of a targeting field playing over him. He turned and saw that that weapon implants were glowing bright blue on the security force’s shoulders.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Kelton demanded. As an agent of the BPE, he was not used to being threatened.
“We have a kill order! Fire!”
Fear was overshadowed by confusion. Who did they think he was? As the glow of the chargers flared, Kelton looked into the lead trooper’s mirrored eyes. In the shiny silver orbs, he saw the wrong face. Skaro looked back out at him.
The cortex-dump! Had he triggered the implant after all? There’d been a malfunction… the clone-disorientation he’d felt… Kelton’s last thought was one of bitter regret. I’ve mistaken myself for me.
The explosion was jarring, throwing Agent Darnig Kelton to the street. It was a close call. This was without a doubt the most dangerous assignment that the Bureau of Peace Enforcement had ever given Kelton, and the terrorist Skaro the most dangerous threat to tranquility in the Confederacy of Sentient Beings.
Kelton cursed, borrowing heavily from a Vastin street dialect when his vocabulary of Galactic Standard epithets ran out. He knew that Skaro had been armed, but he had counted on him being unwilling to detonate his bomb with so few innocent sentients near by.
The BPE Agent had nearly gotten close enough to bring into play the tools of his trade and end the terrorist’s spree of violence. But that had also been close enough for the bomb to nearly kill him. Kelton had almost triggered the implant laced through his cerebral cortex that would download his consciousness into a blank clone. Though he hadn’t cortex-dumped, he was still glad that the Bureau’s top agents were provided with copies of their own bodies for such use. It was a dangerous job.
Kelton ran an internal systems check as he pulled himself to his feet. Nano-computers imbedded throughout his nervous system reported in, cataloguing the damage to his body from the blast, and the status of his specialized implants. He tuned out the damage report except for one flashing red indicator. His clone implant was malfunctioning. Good thing he hadn’t needed to cortex-dump after all.
He looked around the scene of the carnage regretfully. If he only he hadn’t rushed in. There were several charred corpses, but the zeta radiation of the pulse bomb would make even genetic identity confirmation time-consuming. Kelton didn’t think that Skaro was among the bodies though. He had slipped away…for now.
Kelton fumbled through the charred rags of his clothes, but was unable to find his personal satcom so he settled for calling in an erasure crew from a public terminal. He waited until his ident code was accepted, then looked around for something more dignified than blackened shreds of cloth to wear back into the Bureau headquarters.
Kelton purchased a synth-slick jacket and a cheap nylon singlet from a slightly charred vendroid on the street, leaving the unrecognizable remains of his burned clothes for the erasure crew.
Kelton’s ident code opened the hatch-seal on his personal floater and started the engine. He activated the auto-return and the navigation computer began the trip back to the Bureau of Peace Enforcement main office, while Kelton reclined in the cockpit. He ached badly, his body responding as slowly as if it were a new clone, but he was grateful. As close as he was to the blast, he had feared death or crippling. That the zeta radiation had merely reduced his uniform to ash and burned his skin was a miracle. He toggled a green switch and let the floater’s built-in surgery suite tend his wounds.
The floater piloted itself to the parking hangar while Kelton mounted the five steps to the main doors of the BPE. He looked over his shoulder as the mirrored doors of the Bureau slid open at his approach. People were staring at him, but Kelton shrugged. Most likely they were surprised to see someone dressed in attire purchased from a vendroid walking into the seat of the most powerful agency in the Confederacy.
Kelton ignored the murmured conversations around him as he stalked across the security lobby towards the bank of lifts. His aural implants detected the elevated stress patterns in the voices around him and he scowled. Yes, he’d lost Skaro again! He hated gossip.
As he neared the security station in front of the lifts, a sudden shuffle of movement brought Kelton out of his brooding. Security officers were bolting from their stations, taking offensive positions in front of the lift station.
Kelton turned as the claxon blared, his eyes sweeping the lobby for the threat security had detected.
“Skaro! Stop where you are!” one of the security squad bellowed, his voice filtered through his loudspeaker implant. Kelton cursed, Skaro would never have been so stupid to follow him right into the heart of the Bureau of Peace Enforcement. He tried to trigger his chargers, but his body still felt oddly unresponsive after the blast and his implants did not respond.
Discarding Vastin swearing as too mild, Kelton spat out the worst Kurg insult he could pronounce without mandibles and began to back toward the security line.
“Don’t take another step, Skaro!” The amplified command rang in ears already battered by an explosion and Kelton felt the familiar-dangerous tingle of a targeting field playing over him. He turned and saw that that weapon implants were glowing bright blue on the security force’s shoulders.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Kelton demanded. As an agent of the BPE, he was not used to being threatened.
“We have a kill order! Fire!”
Fear was overshadowed by confusion. Who did they think he was? As the glow of the chargers flared, Kelton looked into the lead trooper’s mirrored eyes. In the shiny silver orbs, he saw the wrong face. Skaro looked back out at him.
The cortex-dump! Had he triggered the implant after all? There’d been a malfunction… the clone-disorientation he’d felt… Kelton’s last thought was one of bitter regret. I’ve mistaken myself for me.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
The Three Brothers
Prompt: A fable
Once there were three spiders that lived in a tree. Of all the hundreds of their siblings, only these three brothers we left.
Together, they spun a beautiful web. It was very strong, so that even the largest flies would not break strands when they were caught. It was very wide as well, stretching between the two largest branches in the whole tree. And it was also very beautiful. The web was silvery in the light in the afternoon, beaded with dew like diamonds in the morning and evening, and at night it was totally invisible.
The three spiders were very happy.
The three spiders were crouched in the center of their web, pleased that they had not been eaten by their mother and proud of the web that they had built. As one they felt a tremor in their web. Something was caught and thrashing around attempting to escape.
“Our first catch!” Said one of the brothers happily.
“Which one of us shall eat it?” Said the second brother.
The third brother looked at the other spiders. He pointed one of his long legs at his youngest brother. “You are the smallest of us. You should eat the fly.”
The other two spiders agreed. The third brother was the largest of them all. The first brother thanked him profusely and scuttled along the web towards the vibrations. In time they quieted and the spider returned, well-fed and happy.
Before long, the spiders felt another insect land in the web. Its struggles shook the web mightily. “It must be a very large fly!” exclaimed the youngest.
“Or maybe even a bee!” said the second brother. “Which one of us shall eat it?”
Again, the third brother looked at his last siblings. “I am still the largest spider in the web.” He pointed his leg at his middle brother. “You should eat this catch; you are very small.”
“You are right! Thank you, brother!” The second brother clamored over the web to eat the juicy meal. The younger brother remained with his eldest sibling, beaming at him. He was very proud of his older brother who was very generous and kind.
When the middle brother returned to the center of the web, the oldest was cleaning his mandibles. Wound in the center was an eight-legged husk.
“What happened to our brother?” The second spider asked.
“I could not eat him when he was so small. It would hardly be worth it.” The largest spider said. “Tell me, brother, was the catch very juicy? You look much bigger..."
Once there were three spiders that lived in a tree. Of all the hundreds of their siblings, only these three brothers we left.
Together, they spun a beautiful web. It was very strong, so that even the largest flies would not break strands when they were caught. It was very wide as well, stretching between the two largest branches in the whole tree. And it was also very beautiful. The web was silvery in the light in the afternoon, beaded with dew like diamonds in the morning and evening, and at night it was totally invisible.
The three spiders were very happy.
The three spiders were crouched in the center of their web, pleased that they had not been eaten by their mother and proud of the web that they had built. As one they felt a tremor in their web. Something was caught and thrashing around attempting to escape.
“Our first catch!” Said one of the brothers happily.
“Which one of us shall eat it?” Said the second brother.
The third brother looked at the other spiders. He pointed one of his long legs at his youngest brother. “You are the smallest of us. You should eat the fly.”
The other two spiders agreed. The third brother was the largest of them all. The first brother thanked him profusely and scuttled along the web towards the vibrations. In time they quieted and the spider returned, well-fed and happy.
Before long, the spiders felt another insect land in the web. Its struggles shook the web mightily. “It must be a very large fly!” exclaimed the youngest.
“Or maybe even a bee!” said the second brother. “Which one of us shall eat it?”
Again, the third brother looked at his last siblings. “I am still the largest spider in the web.” He pointed his leg at his middle brother. “You should eat this catch; you are very small.”
“You are right! Thank you, brother!” The second brother clamored over the web to eat the juicy meal. The younger brother remained with his eldest sibling, beaming at him. He was very proud of his older brother who was very generous and kind.
When the middle brother returned to the center of the web, the oldest was cleaning his mandibles. Wound in the center was an eight-legged husk.
“What happened to our brother?” The second spider asked.
“I could not eat him when he was so small. It would hardly be worth it.” The largest spider said. “Tell me, brother, was the catch very juicy? You look much bigger..."
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