Monkey_Man

[disc:404459ddfd]PG-13 for graphic violence[/disc:404459ddfd]

A few days ago, I had an interesting dream.

In the beginning of the dream, I was on what appeared to be an island. The island was well forested and was certainly not bland – mountains, hills and general fluctuations in the terrain were scattered all around the small, maybe two square mile piece of land. The island was surrounded by dark, almost black water that I remember to be very cold, and it didn’t seem to move at all.
I was sitting in a flat area with a group of other students who I now know I had never met before. Oddly enough, my Theater teacher, Mr. Fitz, was standing in front of us. Behind him was a large opening to a room that looked like a combination between an unorganized garage or basement and a warehouse that was undergoing renovation. Though I could not see any of the strange room, save the part I could see through the opening, I noticed that the whole room seemed to be made of a cardboard-type material. There was a pile of cardboard in the corner that led to a low second level which really had nothing on it, except for a few office chairs. The whole room, in fact, was filled with office and school furniture, ranging from a large, heavily padded office chair to a small desk.
The dream, being only a dream, seemed to progress in pieces (though I did not notice the cuts between these scattered events), and, even though it appeared that Mr. Fitz had said nothing and I had been sitting there with the rest of my class the whole time, somehow I knew that I was here for a questionable reason, but oddly, not a reason that disturbed or scared me.
Somehow I knew I was here, with the rest of my fellow peers, to injure and kill my classmates. After whatever had happened that caused me to know this, the class reacted to the news the same way I had… they didn’t.
My friends, having a decent amount of intelligence and a more-than-decent amount of civilization, just sat, silently pondering what their next action would be. Oddly enough, I or any of the others hadn’t asked Mr. Fitz why we were supposed to kill each other… maybe we had already known.
The next “scene” that I recall contains my classmates and I running into the cardboard building and climbing a cardboard staircase that led to the seemingly unsupported second story, and then the scene cut again.
At last, I made my first kill. I knew that I had to either kill or be killed, and I much preferred the former. A friend and I were sitting next to each other, talking about things that didn’t matter. He was a short boy wearing a black shirt with an unrecognizable white and red logo plastered on the front, and mud-brown cargo pants. The large, buttoned pockets looked empty and I wondered if he had brought any weapons. I know that somehow I had known to bring a small pocketknife, which I had pulled out and examined earlier in the dream. The pocket knife was a rusted silver color, and the side of the knife near the top was a button that, when pressed, opened the knife and spun the blade out of it’s protected case.
We were sitting side by side. I leaned his way and turned my body towards him, examining and making a comment about his shirt. Knowing this was a perfect chance to launch my first strike, I slowly slid my hand down my right pocket and clutched the pocket knife. I slid it out and, holding it behind my back as to not let the boy see what I was hiding, I pressed the button and the knife flew out. With one swing, I swung the pocket knife towards him and it cut into his neck. He screamed as blood squirted out of his neck, and I dug the blade deeper and cut over farther into his neck. The blood flow increased as I slit the jugular vein and a pint of fluid splattered onto my face and slid down my cheek before dripping off of my chin and falling to the ground. Finally, I increased the speed and force I used on the knife and cut straight through his neck. The blade of the pocket knife was long, so this sudden action had effectively and quickly decapitated him. His head toppled over and landed on the ground, his face frozen in a silent scream. I smiled and closed the knife before returning it to my pocket and I stood up and walked away.
That was the end of my dream.

Kitten Courna

I hope this is what you mean in your request, Monkey Man.

I dunno what exactly you want with this. Perhaps to make it into a story? Somehow make it make sense? It's very "Lord of the Flies". But, if it was as vivid as it seems, it's definitely worth looking into.
There's a lot in the dream itself that could be symbolic, and (contrary to popular belief), analyzing your own dreams is often a worthwhile and easy process.

What do you want us to do with this, anyway? An interesting dream, for sure, but I'm a little lost.

-Kitten

__________________
Cadmus: Poor child, like a white swan warding its weak old father, why do you clasp those white arms about my neck?
Euripides; 'The Bacchae'

Caria

I like your idea. I like the events but in the first half you are telling me the story. I do not feel immersed in the story. It is not unfolding before my eyes, which is what I want.

This part

"Knowing this was a perfect chance to launch my first strike, I slowly slid my hand down my right pocket and clutched the pocket knife. I slid it out and, holding it behind my back as to not let the boy see what I was hiding, I pressed the button and the knife flew out. With one swing, I swung the pocket knife towards him and it cut into his neck. He screamed as blood squirted out of his neck, and I dug the blade deeper and cut over farther into his neck. The blood flow increased as I slit the jugular vein and a pint of fluid splattered onto my face and slid down my cheek before dripping off of my chin and falling to the ground. Finally, I increased the speed and force I used on the knife and cut straight through his neck. The blade of the pocket knife was long, so this sudden action had effectively and quickly decapitated him. His head toppled over and landed on the ground, his face frozen in a silent scream. I smiled and closed the knife before returning it to my pocket and I stood up and walked away. "

I felt as if it was unfolding before me. I felt pulled into the story, wondering what was going to happen next.

I think depicting a dream your character has can be very hard to do.
Maybe,

Have the story start in the middle of the dream and do not tell your readers it is a dream until he wakes up (lets say) soaked in sweat.
Let me know if you continue this I would like to continue reading!!

-sorry i just re read the post and realized this was actually a dream you had and not a story you wrote! (hence it being in the short story section) My fault!
But if it was a story you were going to write please see above!!

Monkey_Man

It was originally a dream, but I took it and, from the small bit of memory I had from it, re-elaborated it into a short story.

And about the immersion thing, I know what you mean and I'll try that. I think the main reason of that was because I was just describing the setting, and evne though it was through my character's eyes, it... wasn't.

The reason i posted this here and asked for critique as if it was a story because I added a whole bunch of stuff in. For instance, I never saw the water, nor did I actually attack the boy in the dream (though I was talking to him and I got to the point where I was grabbing my pocketknife).

Caria

Cool! I felt silly after thinking it was just a dream!
I hope I helped!!

Monkey_Man

It did. A lot.

Kitten Courna

I see. Well Caria had lots of good advice.

I tend towards the extreme when dealing with dreams, but I'd say you needed much more elaboration. Motivation is sometimes nice, if you feel like making it up. A lot of time when you say you're not sure of things, or don't know why something's happened, you are simply slowing down the story, even if it's true. you could easily replace those with an alteration of tone or mood to suggest mystery or surrealness.

It's a good idea to have the bones of the dream in order in your mind, then just take it from one scene to the next in your story. Describe things exactly as you remember them, but then allow yourself to add on extra details, even if you feel it adds too much of the fantastic. It seemed that was lacking some in this story, that scenery can be illumination that helps with immersing your readers in the story.

More than anything, I would suggest more detail, more scenery, more time between actions, perhaps even filler events or an inner monologue that asks questions about the 'where' and 'why' of the events in the dream. don't settle with 'I don't know', take it as far as you can. As a story, this was lacking a lot of those essential descriptive and tonal qualities that make stories enjoyable. It was a good retelling of a dream, however. Then again, so was "Kubla Khan" by Cooleridge *grin*.

Your 'immersion' issue might be helped if you worked on conveying that 'detached' feeling your character in the dream had by using tone more.

-Kitten

__________________
Cadmus: Poor child, like a white swan warding its weak old father, why do you clasp those white arms about my neck?
Euripides; 'The Bacchae'