Thread: 02/26/2010 - Dream

Hello, Dear Writers, and welcome to your next LM. Your challenge for this round is:

Dream
In 500 words or less (not including the title and preferably without the tired old Dallas-type cliché 'I woke up and it was all just a dream'), give us your best dream story.
Prompt courtesy of Like a Fox

Submissions may only be posted in this thread or in the thread provided in the Writers’ Workshop (you must provide a link to your submission in this thread if you opt to use the Writers’ Workshop). Everyone is welcome to participate. Note: Judges are welcome to participate but their entries cannot receive a score.

Submissions will be accepted until midnight my time, March 12th (2 weeks)
Judging period: March 13th - March 17th
Results will be posted on or before March 18th (my time)

Good luck, everyone!

Your judges for this round are:
Alan
Eggo
Moderan
me

Been ages since I've done one of these. Apologies for miserableness.




Lifetimes

I dream.

I dream of a temple, tall and intimidating. It is built in tiers, nine massive square layers of stone making up a jagged-edged pyramid. A flight of stairs scaling one side is spotted with old stains as well as fresh red flecks, and the altar at the top betrays their origin.

I dream of wearing long black robes and a beaten bronze mask. I hold a golden knife that has a slit on each side of the blade to let the blood flow, and I raise it high over my head. When I look down my vision is obscured by the mask's imperfect eyeholes, but well can I see the terror before me - the dark-haired virginal girl wears white robes that contrast my black, and a fearful face that contrasts my calm. She begs. I am silent.

As my knife descends in slow motion, the dream fades away.

I wake up.

I blink sleepily and roll over, coming face-to-face with the tan brunette girl I've been seeing for the past three months. She is young, pure, sweet. She is perfect in every conceivable way.

I smile. I reach over her, and as my right hand brushes the hair back from her forehead and wakes her, my left slides around the hilt of a knife. Her eyes open slowly and when she sees me her lips begin to curve, but in the next instant her eyes are wide and her lips are parted in a silent scream.

It was always meant to be so.

Obsession (375 words)

Turn around.

Turn around, for God's sake. It wouldn't hurt you to do just one little turn of the head, would it?

Quit sitting there like you're some sort of hot shot. Everyone knows you've got an ego the size of Mount Rushmore, you're not impressing anyone. Well... except me.

What is it about you? I don't get it and I never will. Sometimes, I catch myself dreaming of you and I'm powerless to stop it. Waking, sleeping, it doesn't matter. You're always in my mind. Your eyes appear the most. Those big eyes of ice, gorgeous and terrifying at the same time. I always wanted a mysterious man. Now I've got one stalking my imagination without him even realizing it.

In the name of all that's sacred, turn around and look at me! Just one glance! Is it because I have to look away every time you try to maintain eye contact? You barely know me, you can't blame me. The look in your eyes is always too intense for me to look more than two seconds. So icy it burns. I'm sure if I knew you better, I might be able to upgrade to five seconds. I promise I’ll look at your eyes for a little longer this time.

Of course, in my dreams, I never look away. I let myself be consumed by those eyes. And every other part of you, for that matter. I tried like hell to pretend I didn't want you. I tried to convince myself that you were inferior on every level. I lost and I’m paying the consequence. Gotta love obsession.

Maybe it’s because I wish I could be like you. You always seem so detached from what’s around you. Nothing ever bothers you, but if it does, you never let it show. I hate being so emotional. I want to be free. I thought I was, but I’m not. Maybe, if I got to know you, you could teach me how to be.

Enough of that. This is ridiculous. I don’t need you and I never did.

Please. Just one glance and then I can be on my merry way. Just one -

Shit. The bell’s ringing, gotta go. Oh well. I can try again tomorrow.

Oops! Changed my mind.

Link to Workshop

Here's mine:

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1339345

"Something About the Daisies" -- 500 words -- In Workshop:

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1339836

Judging this round, so just for fun.

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1340015

Daydreaming.

My fingers slide perfectly into hers and we run.

We run as though we’re being chased – but we’re not. We’re just running. No reason, no purpose – nothing but each other. I can hear her whispering, her voice smooth and subtle. She’s promising that she’ll never turn back unless I want too - and I don’t want too. I tighten my grip and smile as wide as her.

This is perfect.

Perfect because I’m daydreaming. Perfect because sitting here, listening to the people beside me squabble about the size of our Maths teacher’s breasts, is nothing compared to the scene I’m playing in my head.

“Jason?” I hear one of them say, shrugging me in the side. I look up from my folded arms and take notice.

“They’re pretty good, but not as good as Ms. Austins,” I say, letting a cheeky smile play along my lips. They laugh and I turn back to the darkness of my arms.

Perfect because that’s who I really am. Perfect because when I’m smiling, it’s genuine and not for the sake of surviving school by constantly analysing body parts. Perfect, but a daydream.

***

I slouch in my seat, the earphones drowning the words that leave their mouths. I know they’re saying something about how one of them got their dick wet last night, or how they think so-and-so’s girlfriend looks like a bird with hands. I know these things, and to admit such words have left my mouth both sicken and hurt’s me.

“Why don’t you all just shut the fuck up?” I say, pulling the earphones from my ears and ignoring the pain, “Why don’t you all just grow the fuck up? It’s pathetic. The lot of you are pathetic.”

Their voices fall into silence. They all drop their heads and bite their bottom lips. I look down at them. Pathetic.

But I don’t really do any of that. I’m still sitting there, earphones in, refusing to listen to any more bullshit - but doing nothing to stop it. It’s only when the bus comes to a halt I even move.

***

I step off the bus, amidst the group, and turn to part ways with them. They call me, and I wish I could ignore them – but I can’t.

“Going to enjoying the scenery ey?” One of them asks, his voice up and down like a fucking yo-yo.

“Yeah,” I reply, briefly smiling.

“You riding that yet?” He winks, catching the attention of the others. I shake my head.

“Not yet mate, not yet,” and through disgust, I wink back. I can taste the repugnance on my tongue as I leave.

***

I look up and she’s waiting for me on the bench. I sit down beside her and slip my fingers through hers. Finally, I think, matching her beautiful smile.

Finally.

But the bench is empty. There is no hand to hold or smile to match.

I just walk on; weighed down by dreams and haunted by lies.

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1340273

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1340541

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1340661

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1340665

Nicotine Dreams
By Kathleen Main


All the ‘Quit’ books and patch packs and know-it-alls who already did it tell you your dreams are going to be gnarly when you stop smoking.

“Yeah, yeah.” You say. You figure that’s the least of your concerns. Primarily you worry about weight gain. That is – replacing cigarettes with food - eating loads of chocolate - becoming a sad, fat, crying loony who should’ve just kept sucking down the cancer-sticks.

Then, you stop smoking for nearly a whole day.

It gets to seven in the evening and it feels like the longest hardest day of your whole damn life and you think you deserve a reward for being so good, so you give in and have one cigarette. It’s the first day; surely you’re not expected to be perfect? One is way better than twenty five after all, which is how many you had yesterday and every other day for the last six years.

After a week, (and only one more cigarette), you feel you’ve really achieved something. You’re proud of yourself. You step on the scales and you’ve gained five kilos.

Wait… What?!

That’s right, five kilos. Only water-weight, the internet tells you. Your ankles have become cankles and your wrist bones have disappeared. Add to this you’re itchy all over because your circulation is correcting itself and you have growing pains. Growing pains, in your mid twenties! The ‘Quit’ book never told you this shit. After a week of one type of deprivation, you decide on another, much harsher.

No more chocolate for you.

That night you have the strangest dream. It’s basically just a remake of Willy Wonka starring you, because your imagination sucks. But it’s wonderful until, in the dream, you realise you swore off chocolate. You sit slumped in the corner and begin to cry, explaining through tears that you can’t, you simply can’t eat chocolate!

You wake up annoyed at yourself. What a waste, a whole night of guilt in the one place you really could have gorged on sweet candy and it would’ve made absolutely no difference to your cankles.

The next night the hot black guy from Oz and Lost wants to have sex with you. You don’t have a condom so you tell him, no thanks. You wake up annoyed again. REALLY?! You said no to hot dream sex for fear of dream AIDS?

The dreams are getting to you, so you give up. You can no longer deny yourself the things you want. Like smoke and sex dreams. You buy a pack of cigarettes and loads of chocolate. You transform into a choc-covered chimney within seconds of leaving the supermarket.

***

In the morning you wake up to your alarm to go to work. You go out to your balcony to have a cigarette and try to remember what you were dreaming about. You really want chocolate and you keep thinking about that Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje guy. Hmm. Maybe something about quitting smoking?

Nah. That’s crazy talk.

**Time's up. This thread is now closed**