"What color are your dreams?"
"Excuse me?" I replied, thinking I must have heard incorrectly.
But again he asked, "What color are your dreams? It is important. I must know." All the while staring at me, maybe past me. I couldn't tell.
"I'm not sure I understand." I said, confused.
"It's simple, what color are they?
"Are they white? Or possibly, blue?
"Some people have purple dreams and some green.
"I once met a child whose dreams were red..."
His intense eyes felt as if they were not just focused on me, but were burning through. Something like molten steel traced a thin rivulet from the base of my neck down my back, and the color ran out from my vision leaving the world a film-grained grey.
"My dreams?" I whispered.
"My dreams are darker, than black."
Visual and Auditory sensory input Online.
Very Short Stories, as in:
Cuando despertó, el dinosaurio todavía estaba allí?
"I am sorry to say Miss Vite, but your son...."
I thought to myself, what happened to me? Everything was black, it was like someone had turned off the lights. I felt my little sisters presence in the room, but where am it? I opened my eyes, everything was black. I turned my head and looked around but i could only feel my mother hugging me with tears rolling down her cheeks...
"You're awake" she said while crying.
"What happened"? i asked her.
"You were in a potato truck accident and a potato hit your forehead" she said with a solemn voice.
"I remember, but why is everything black, did someone turn the lights off"? i asked with a worried tone.
"Well you see, when the potato hit your forehead, your eyes took a bit of damage" i knew where this was going....
"Im blind aren't I..."
Right now, obeying my limits as a human being.
I can't set this earth of fire, because it's already been burned. All I can do is sit upon the embers in it's glow. The world according to Chevelle. And post Boston, I'm happy to sit and watch the embers... Burned out, burned up. Whatever fuel, already swallowed by the fires. Mine already consumed by the winds, by the flames.
Visual and Auditory sensory input Online.
Outside a small coffee shop nestled between two imposing tenant houses stood a fairly tall man in a trench coat and fedora. When I took a glimpse of this odd fellow, he looked back at me with hard brown eyes- the kind of eyes you only see when a bureau member is sniffing out a gangster or knocking around for the entrance to a speakeasy. It's something we see about every day in one place or another- all these ex- Pinkertons trying to cover their tracks by hunting gangsters instead of gunning down laborers. I can't imagine why this guy is snooping around though. No mobsters come here except Don Chito for his daily cup of joe, but the bureau liked Chito. Everybody did really, but I got the feeling that the guy outside was here for me. He stepped inside, and draped his coat and hat on the rusty old hanger. underneath was a slim pinstripe suit- more for business than freelance law enforcement. He ordered a drink whose name I couldn't pronounce, and shuffled over to my table. He took a seat, and before I could say a word, he b said, "So, I hear you're a hunter."
"Of sorts. What's it to you?"
He shot at me with those hard eyes, retorting "Well that's not the best way to start with an interview. How about we just cut to the chase then?" He reached into his blazer, bringing about that sort of instinctive recoil you get when you know a deal's gone sour. "Settle down hotshot. That's in my other pocket." What the man pulled out instead was hastily taken photo of some wood-dwelling creature- just its silhouette really. From what I could make out, it was a long, snake-like thing with a widening taper towards the top and an oddly shaped, feather crested head.
Head tilted, I asked "what's this little beasty?"
With a faint twinkle in his hard eyes, the man said "That, my boy, is a chickenpede. Bet you never seen one of those before."
"Don't think I want to either. Not without the green up front that is."
"I know how you ugly killers operate. We'll wire the money to your bank account after I tell you what to do. See, this nasty little bug's got its claws on something very important to us. It's a key you see, and without it... Well let's just say a number of big players won't be too happy with us. We'll take you down to the bog where we last saw the thing, and you get the key. Deal with the chickenpede any way you like as long as we get the key."
"A free ride to a nasty forest to put a new ugly down? It must be close to Christmas."
The man got up, and spouted "That's just what I like to hear my boy! A couple of agents 'll be at your place first thing in the morning."
"Can't wait", and with that, the man suited up for the rain and headed back out- this time he was greeted by a Bently eight liter. He sped off through the flooded cobblestone, and I headed upstairs to my apartment. Monster hunting's not the best job, but it'll keep my coffee shop afloat until the country's back on her feet.
The Leopard Seal emerges
^Haha, we both set our stories at coffee shops XD
Wrote this for my creative writing class in 2011
Thursday afternoon. April. The local coffee shop.
“Photographs. What do you think of photographs?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do they represent to you? When you see a photograph, what do you think?”
“Photographs represent the image reproduced on them,” I said, scraping the paint off the table, “if you have a photograph of a family, then that photograph represents that family.”
He did not answer. Instead, he started scratching his head and pulling at his hair. He used quick wrist movements to separate individual strands before pulling them out. I’d imagine it takes a certain set of skills to yank hair from its roots.
“Your coffee’s getting cold,” I said.
Several minutes of silence continued, as he pulled and inspected several strands of hair. When he was satisfied he stopped and looked my way. He had unusually bright, green eyes and surreal shoulder-length white hair. Against his already pale skin, his hair seemed to melt right in.
“Photographs are much more than that,” he said, as if the previous seven minutes had not occurred.
He pushed himself up and over the table, getting so close I could hear his heart beating.
In a whisper, he said, “Photographs, by their very nature, are captured moments in time. Time is always moving forward, but photographs allow you to seal away a few seconds of time in the form of an image. When you look at a picture, it’s not just a picture; it’s a few seconds of time- frozen.”
I nodded occasionally.
“Do you agree with me? Is it not true that a moment in the past cannot be re-visited again?”
“That’s true,” I said, “I agree.”
He smiled in relief and, content, crawled off the table and back into his seat. I think it was about time, since his antics had drawn in quite a few spectators. I didn’t really mind them, though.
“You can never be a child again,” he said, “because time is always moving forward. If it were not for the pictures your parents took, how would you know what you looked like then? Time, frozen.”
“That’s true, but they could also just tell me what I looked like. It wouln’t be exact, but it would suffice.”
He did not look my way.
“Hey, what do you think if someone took a lot of pictures? Then that person would have captured many seconds, if not minutes or hours, of time.”
“Yes, but,” I said, “what good would that do them? All they’d have is a bunch of pictures, in the end. Even if photographs truly do seal away a few seconds of time, there’s no way to access that actively. You cannot simply release those seconds and use them to revisit past events, nor could you trade them in for a few seconds of life when you die.”
He did not answer.
Occasionally, though, he’d move his head in short bursts of thought. I assumed he was carefully weighing his options and searching for an appropriate response. But I could just be over-thinking things again. Perhaps he drifted into another daydream that encompasses his odd, eccentric reality.
BANG BANG BANG
kogo-chan's visit to kuru and rin's house.
kuru: rin! ko-chan is here!
*step step step step*
kogo: (wide grin) HI RIN-CHAAAAAAAN
rin: er...um... hi.
kuru: calm down, cam down. rin, whats for dinner?
rin: salmon steak.
kuru and kogo: SALMON STEAK? SUGOI NE!
kuru: (serious face) nice!
rin: come in.
kogo: oh! so nice, it's roomy too!
kuru: kogo, i know you want to see our rooms... rin, is that okay?
rin: er... um... okay...
kuru: follow me!
my room first!
kogo: ... it's so... so ... wow! so where do you keep the dirty stuff?
kuru: (points to the box next to the computer) there.
kogo: *gasp* ... you are a lolicon "3
kogo: wow, so many games, hey, whats a visual novel?
kuru: a dating sim, a lot get turned into anime.
kogo: so... how do you play? "]
kuru: well, your goal is to trigger flags with female protagonists. then you form relationships with them, and other stuff...
kogo: *!!!* ... "3 other stuff right? say these girls on this box here look surprisingly young, and it says here the protagonist is a girl, anything i should know... ku-ru-na-kun?
kuru: not mine, rin-chan's
kogo: "3 rin-chaaan <3
kogo: explain, yes?
rin: well... you play as a girl who... "likes her little sisters" nd its similar to ru-kun's games, except it's all girls.
kogo: *gasp* ... *shiver* *shiver* you mean... she, she... she... SHE HAS SEX WITH HER SISTERS?
kogo: *!!!* NO, IM DONE, I CAN'T IMAGINE THAT, NOT AT ALL. YOU LIKE THIS? HOW, HOW COULD YOU LIKE THIS, THIS... THIS INCEST NIGHTMARE?
rin: IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!!! ... it isnt.
think about it, the relationship between female siblings, how they support each other, and console each other during hard times.
the love they have for each other is beautiful! if you can't except that, i don't ever want you here AGAIN!!!
kogo: *gasps* [tears, hugs rin]
kogo: im sorry rin-chan, i didn't know you cared so much... i just wasn't ready for... for all of this!
rin: im sorry too! i didn't mean to shout at you... i ... i just didn't like what you said... it may be incest to you, but to me, it's beautiful.
kuru: *SNIIIIFFF* damn *sniff* that... that was too much. okay, group hug, c'mon.
Slates dead eyes stared at the man shaking in front of him. He didn't care that he'd just tried to kill him with the dagger hanging loosely by his side. He hardly cared about anything so why would that change now. This was a commonplace event for an assassin.
"You're just a kid." The man said his eyes quivering. His conscious was wreaking havoc with his emotions. I can't kill a kid.
Slate suddenly lurched forward and brought his fist crashing towards his face. Glaven barely had time to bring his hand up to block the blow and it left him stumbling back a step before the next blow caught him in the stomach and he lurched forward only to meet Slates knee slamming into his face.
There was a crash as Glaven stumbled into a cabinet, knocking glasses onto the floor, while clutching his bloodstained face. He looked at the boy standing before him and realized that even though he was barely out of his teens that he was prepared to kill him and if he wanted to survive he would have to go in with the intent to kill.
Slate noticed the change in the mans eyes and he pulled his hood back up and gave a dead grin that couldn't be seen among the shadows. The man standing before him had obviously been assigned to kill him but that was, honestly, just bad luck for him.
"I won't die." Slate said his eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light.
Glaven looked at him surprised by the words. He didn't expect conversation in this scenario. "I'm sorry I have no choice." He said and lurched forward the dagger zeroing in on his exposed side.
Glaven didn't see Slates hand move but he felt it hit his wrist and send the blade slashing by wide. There wasn't a second in-between the fist that slammed into his face. He felt his nose break and that numbed out the flurry of blows that crushed his nerve centers.
Blood dripped down his face as he stared at the boy wiping the crimson liquid from his knuckles. He shook in fear as he realized something crucial. I'm beyond outclassed. . The dagger dropped to the ground and he felt his body give out and collapsed on the floor. His vision was blurry but he heard the footsteps as the boy stepped up to him.
"I said I wouldn't die." Slate said stepping over him and walking out the door.
Dreams are your imaginations full potential.
You open your eyes.
Around you the world is black.
Inky black, suffocating black. Bad black.
You cannot move, you cannot see. You are thoroughly trapped, unable to escape the situation in any way. Your hands are bound.
“Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words strike tones that mean more than broken bones, tehe,” A shill voice, quivering with excitement giggles childishly somewhere off in the distance, hidden under the suffocating blanket of darkness. You start at the noise, feeling nauseated. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You glance around fervently in the dark but you see nothing.
The queer laughter continues.
You can feel your heart beating in your throat.
“A riddle, yes, a riddle for you. To come out of the darkness and into the light, you must answer a single question. A single question, and then you may see the truth of the world, the world in which you live. Will you play? Will you answer? Which is it, hum?” The shrill voice asked in its quavering voice. It was closer now.
Your heart is beating faster now.
“Of course, there are consequences for an answer answered wrong. Oh yes – sad but yes. Answer right, and you will know all of everything, everything and all. You will obtain the world’s greatest riches, and all that blah de blah blah, but most of all – wait for it –“ the quavering voice continued in a sing song voice, “You will get leave this darkness. Yipee! Yay for you! Nay for me… but let’s let way lead on to way.
Choose poorly and…” the voice trailed off, seemingly sad and lonely, “Well, that doesn’t matter. You are already in the dark so why not wager? What do you have to lose, tehe? You have everything to gain…”
You still can’t see. You yearn for the light of day. So you agree.
The shrill voice giggled. It was right beside you.
Baduhmp. Baduhmp. Baduhmp.
“In the darkness, there are three – three of me, three of we. Each of us is different, but each of us is the same. One of us is a demon, one of us is a liar, and one of us is a good man. Which is which? Which will lead you out of the darkness and into the light? Which wears the face of death? That is the riddle I ask and the question you must answer. Choose the one that you believe will lead you safely forward. Choose which one of us is the good man.”
You are bewildered. Must the question be so simple? Truly, need you only judge the character of the people sharing the darkness with you?
“Do you have a name, so I might distinguish you from the others?” You ask.
You feel the voice’s breath upon your neck. It giggled again.
“You may call me… Demon. Yes, Demon, that is my name. That is what the others call me. I know no other name.”
You smirk inwardly. Were these people so daft as to reveal the answer to their own riddle through their names? In your mind, you picture Demon – ugly, disfigured and hunched over laughing in its shrill quavering voice. The image suits the voice. Demon must be the demon.
Another voice splits through the darkness. It was female, beautiful and motherly. The voice calms you slightly.
“Demon, why do you ask such questions of people?”
“I only wish to assist, for I tell no lies. I offer only chances, not deception,” Demon mused in his quavering voice. You decided you did not like Demon’s voice, and resolved not to trust him. He cannot be the good man. A good man would not be frightening.
You turn towards the kind, female voice, hopeful.
“What are you called, Ma’am?” You ask.
The female voice chuckles, flattered by being referred to as Ma’am.
“I am called Good Man by the others,” She replied.
You are confused by her answer. A woman claiming to be a good man? She cannot be the good man, for she is a woman. That isn’t to say she isn’t good – she just cannot be a good man so it cannot be her. And she cannot be the demon, because Demon is the demon. So she must be the liar.
You nod to yourself in the darkness, sure of your answer.
You try and twist your hands out of their bindings, but you cannot.
Suddenly, the pressure from your bonds fades away, and your hands come free. You turn, pleasantly surprised.
You come face to face with a man. He is illuminated in the darkness, smiling kindly at you. In his hands he holds a knife, the same knife he had cut your bindings with. The man had a kind, well-proportioned face. You are relieved to see another human face.
The beautiful man held out his hand towards you.
The man was not strange nor frightening, so he could not be the demon. He had said nothing, so he could not lie, so he could not be the liar. So, that only left one answer.
“Demon, he is the good man.”
You make your decision, and reach for his hand.
Baduhmp. Baduhmp. Baduhmp.
Behind you, Demon sighs sadly.
Baduhmp. Baduhmp. Baduhmp.
Your heart is hammering faster than it ever had before.
The good man’s smile turned into smirk. He withdraws his hand just as you step towards him, Your foot plunges downward into nothingness.
“You chose poorly…”
You open your mouth to scream, but the darkness suffocates you, stifles you. You fall into the bottomless pit of despair.
Demon continues, choking back disappointment, his voice still quavering, “You humans are all the same. Sight blinds you, sight confuses you. You judge by prejudice, by stereotype, by label. So you all are doomed to live in darkness, with the company you have chosen.
For do you not know that Death wears the face of man?”