I’ve been having trouble getting to sleep at night which, in turn, has been making it harder for me to wake up in the mornings. Some of it has been due to the noise and lights seeping through my thin walls and poorly installed windows, part of it has been recent events, but the main cause of my constant tiredness has been my dreams. Now, I write about my dreams alot- how they disturb me, move me, and I am a firm believer that dreams can be a form of self-realization for life that your conscious mind may overlook. That has been the primary focus whenever I write about my dreams but that’s not what I want to do with these ones. Last night I composed something that is about the closest I’m going to come to trying to interpret these dreams.
I’m having dreams
about arcades
and group projects
dreams of
new friends
and old friends
people who are not
and will never be
dreams to peculiar
to write down
because they are
nothing but pure fluff
no purpose
no meaning
and its these dreams
that disturb me the most.
Recently I’ve been reading alot of Harry Harrison, John Wyndham, C.S. Lewis, and Aldous Huxley which has got me wanting to write another sci-fi short story (which I’ve been wanting to do for a while but just couldn’t come up with an idea for). So here’s the first part of my next short story that I’ll hopefully finish (I don’t really have the best track record when it comes to finishing stories). Please, tell me what you think and where you think the story is going. I have most of it outlined in my head but I’m missing key elements in conflict that I could use some ideas for.
And then I was there. No ZAP, Poof, cloud of smoke, or blinding white light. Nothing. It didn’t work. I’m still sitting in the chair in my makeshift lab in the basement of my house. “Dammit.” I quickly undid the leather straps attaching my ankles to the chair I was sitting in and removed the metallic braces from my wrists, careful not to pull loose any of the wires connecting them to metal box on a end table to the left of me. I stood up and looked around, wires and cables everywhere. Wires plugged into circuit boards plugged into wired plugged into miscellaneous metal boxes enclosed in glass plugged into more wires. There was little point in cleaning up and making things look nice, there was a good chance that the room would’ve imploded, exploded, or dissolved but that didn’t matter to me. I would’ve been the man to perfect instantaneous matter transference. Teleportation. I opened the door to my would be closet turned laboratory to the same old dusty basement that I spend most of my days and nights brooding over calculation, countless years of research notes, and … waitaminute. This isn’t my basement. Its too clean. My tables piled with books, my desk isn’t cluttered, and my walls, they’re gone. Where they should be there’s just empty space expanding for several yards until it hits a pinkish gray wall. All around me and the ground I stand on, the most non-descript pink walls and above . . . light. Bright white light. Directly in front of me carved in the odd colored walls is an equally odd colored door with a flashing red light above its top right frame. There’s something definitely wrong. Despite my slight disorientation and lack of knowledge concerning my whereabouts. A flashing red light is usually a bad thing. As I take a step forward the door opens and a young woman walks through and stops immediately upon seeing me. “Oh my,” she says. Something seems odd about her that I can’t quite place and my mind’s only rationale takes notice of her height. Now I’m not a tall man, but I am by no means short either. An average 5′6″ but this woman stood at least four inches taller than me. Something was definitely wrong.
Posted in Dreams, Poetry, Short Story
Tags: Dreams, friendship, science fiction, teleportation