Things to Run Away From Really Fast

Non-lucidSemi-LucidLucid

I concocted a plan to confront LG, utilizing the golden bullets he left me. This is the plan:

Originally Posted by Sam's Paper Journal

Note: this is not a dream.

I'm standing by the Bar in McAnally's, the pub in Dresdenverse Chicago. The building is established neutral ground, and the place is specifically designed to break up magical energies. Its design is broken up into odd nooks and crannies perfect for a dream walk.

I order two beer from Mac and take them, handing Mac a twenty with my right hand as I hold the other two in my left. I thank him and make my way to a nearby table. I set down the beers.

I reach into the right pocket of my jeans, where I put the golden bullets LG had threatened me with. I place them on the table in front of me and look up at the ceiling while sipping on my beer. It tastes like I imagine butterbeer would: rich and sweet. Inexplicable.

"You really expect me to drink this?"

I open my eyes to find the Lunar God eying me skeptically. I relax and take another sip.

"I would have ordered a bottle of Pinot Gris again, but I'm really not in the mood for champagne."

The Lunar God leans forward over the table. "Sam." He says, "No games. What do you want?"

I'm wary of him. "I want to know who you are."

He leans back in his chair, satisfied. I watch the smirk form on his face and settle in for a round of bargaining. I don't forget that those little golden bullets on the table have been used to try to claim my life.

This is the result:

I'm with the Joker in an armoured truck in a scene eerily reminiscent of Fight Club. Now, what could that mean?


You're just a freak, like me!

I'm following two characters and a potential horror movie from a third person point of view. At one point, I accidentally possess one of the characters and take some time off from the plot to... dye my hair. So yeah.

Same location. I'm waiting for my karate class to start. I check my watch, and it's 6:90PM. I guess I'm late. No, wait, this is a dream sign. I look around, confused, because this doesn't really feel like a dream. I pay more attention to my surroundings, and realize that it actually is a dream. I stop to savour the amazing feeling of being lucid.

"I'm dreaming," I say, and I start to repeat it to myself as I move around the dream-world. I'm not feeling very well, so I go to grab something from the fridge (in a place I've never been). I'm craving rasberries. When I open the fridge door, I find clear Yop yogurt containers filled with frozen rasberries. I eat a few.

I'm moving toward the exit when Ben stops me and wants me to listen to a song. It's rap music. I'm not interested, and there was something I wanted to do tonight, so I'm busy. A brief wrestling match with my brother ensues, but I shake him off and run to the exit. A steel staircase leads to a latched window.

I will the window to be open. I crawl out and latch it behind me.

I remember that I wanted to go to McAnally's to meet with the Lunar God character. I stretch a hand out in front of me and will the dream to dissolve. I close my eyes briefly, but when I open them, the green grass and concrete and sun are still there. Energy continues to swirl around me. I close my eyes again, and push through the dream-fabric.

When I open my eyes again, I can't see anything. Everything is dark, though coloured energy swirls through the space to break up the monotony. There seems to be a slight tear in the dream, so I move toward it (zooming closer, not walking). I drop to my knees and feel for the wooden door that I'm sure should be there. I imagine the texture, feel for iron handles of the closed door. I visualize the grain of the wood that should be there, the glass that is set into it.

"Open the door," says Mac, rolling his eyes. "We keep them open while we're open."

I stand up and dust myself off, looking at the four pointed star mounted on the door, just above my eye level. Did I create that?


The dream star was more ornate.

I shake off the strange feeling and move to the bar beside the door. This isn't anything like I'd imagined the place to be. The wood is darker, glossier, and everything is more streamlined than I'd expected.

"Two beer." I say to Mac. I dig through my pockets for the twenty that should be there, but I only find a bunch of change in my right pocket, where the bullets should be. Loonies, toonies, quarters. I apologize for paying in change, and I give him the $20 pile of change, minus the six loonies I need for LG. I consider that since we're in Chicago, I should have given him American money. I let my hand hover over the pile of change, and will it into American bills. The money flickers and I see paper. I'm not sure if it worked.

Mac waves me off, and I grab the beer and my loonies, setting them both down on a round wooden table near the bar.

"Aw, you don't need to do that," says a voice, "You already paid for drinks."

"These aren't coins," I say, turning to look at what I think is the Lunar God. He's younger than any incarnation I've seen before. He grins in understanding and takes a seat.

I take a sip of the beer. It tastes like Pilsner.

There's a third person at the table, whom I never acknowledge. Her (?) presence seems shadowy, dark, barely there. I think it's Elaine.

A girl comes up to LG and asks if it's okay if she leaves with someone.

"Yes." says one of us, before LG can comment. We kind of need to talk to him.

Unfortunately, LG's very presence seems to destabilize all dreams, and I can't remember a damn thing after that. Including whether I still have the bullets.

Failed Interrogations. Scare Factor: 3. Reaction: I need a new plan.[/QUOTE]

I'm standing in one of the cabins at a bible camp I used to attend. There are two girls in the room, and the first asks if I'll be staying here. I'm a bit confused, so I say that's possible, as I move my stuff across the room to an empty bed. This is an empty bed, right?

"What year is it?" I ask.

Without even blinking, the first girl replies, "1995". I do some quick calculations and realize that I'm pretty sure I didn't go to bible camp until '96 or '97. Briefly, my dream-self is my present-me, though no one other than me notices. I concentrate on shrinking myself to a point where I'll fit the story.

The first girl wants to make me feel better, so she hands me a 1995 issue of Climbing, still in plastic. I'm pretty excited, so I thank her and take the package, tearing it open. I ask if I can use the poster insert for the week, to hang on the wall. (Note: my real bedroom walls are plastered with climbing posters, art, postcards, and maps.) I notice that I've ripped the cover up the spine a bit, so I look for some tape to fix it.

Girl #1 asks me not to tell on her for using the word "hell".

I look around my suitcase and find a spiral bound notebook small enough to fit in the pocket of my cargo pants. The front pages are already filled with dream journal entries prefixed by the "~" I use in my written journal. I grab a pen, too. Might as well start on the kid genius routine to get a few writings published early.

Girl #2 is reading a book when the counsellor walks in, a girl with black curly hair who, huh, would actually be younger than me in real life. Weird. She praises the little girl with long blonde hair, who just looks more and more annoyed as she's praised and showered with gold stars and cabin points.

Hey, I remember that. In grade three. With the book on volcanoes. Hm.

Girl #1 immediately scoops up a book and pretends she was reading the whole time. The cabin counsellor looks at me expectantly.

"Eh heh, no." I say flatly, "I just finished reading The Great Gatsby; I'm going outside."

I wander away, looking for something to do. None of my contingency plans for time travel to bible camp go farther than "try not to get exorcised".

I sit on a swing and recognize a few relatives from an inlawish side of the family that doesn't actually exist yet. As I probably haven't met them, I resolve to swing on swings. And ask people what they would do if they got to relive their respective childhoods. Other than die of boredom.

Whatever it was that I decided to do, it got me in trouble, all right. There's a boy from the swing set crying in the kitchen we've been left in, repeatedly saying, "I'm going to hell!" I try to reassure him by saying that there's no such thing as hell; it's just a story. I stop short of saying "There's also no God, Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus," because that would just be mean. Oddly, the boy doesn't seem to have calmed down at all. So I ignore him.

From what they tell me, I'm half-sure they're going to get me to do their accounting for them. It turns out that the Mad Hatter intervened and I get to serve my time in the kitchen developing new flavours of candy. Mad Hatter, Willy Wonka, either way, I get to hang out with Johnny Depp.

Lucid moments while I'm waking up, or they wake me up. Dream scenes fade, swirling away into a brown-black nothing, while I hold on to the feeling of whatever I'm touching at the moment.

Bible Camp. Scare Factor: 2, oddly enough.