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Things to Run Away From Really Fast #7: Allegiant Little Kids
I'm browsing the forums here, thinking about dreams. Then there's something about the library here. Which reminds me, I need to return an overdue book.

I walk into a bar, where, apparently, Lindsay is bartending. I order a drink, and end up sitting down with her and a few friends while they eat supper. We talk about the Charlie Brown Christmas special, and discuss parts of it that probably didn't exist in real life. You know that one girl, who really didn't want to go to the Brown's house for Christmas Dinner but would rather have gone to New York for a Broadway show? Yeah? Why couldn't she have done that? That would have been cool.

There's four or five of us, and we start walking. Shift. We're in a playground. I look around, trying to place it.

"Aw, man." I say, "We're in Ixburg! Quick, someone think of somewhere nicer."

A couple people glance back at me, bemused. I give up and strike up a conversation with one of the girls, who has red-brown hair, a ponytail, and glasses. I try to ask her name, but she says it so fast I can't understand it. I ask again and try to repeat it back to her. One of the other girls laughs and tells her to stop teasing me.

We're still standing outside the school at this oint, and a teacher comes out to yell at hus. "Ixburg sucks!" I shout, assuming there's a game going on right now.

Little kids come out and throw rocks at us. We take shelter in a non-existant frame of a shed just outside school grounds.

"So," I say to Lindsay, "Next time, you pick the setting."

Allegiant Little Kids. Scare Factor: 1 for banality.

Bare feet touch to the cold linoleum one after the other, as I creep up the back stairs to the second floor. Everything is white and open and contained, but the dark creeps along with me, and the world is cast in a cold, blue pallor.

The door opens before me, my feet touch scratchy carpet as I step into the bedroom. My nightgown whispers faintly in an absent breeze as I twist, taking in the contents of the room. It seems almost normal, a bed to the left of the door, foot facing me. There are stuffed animals everywhere, strewn across the room like they've been played with. They haven't been.

There's a window above the bed, and I can see the balconies a floor above the lobby.

I hear water running.

A half-open door lets light stream into the rest of the room, and I open it, squinting against the harsh yellow of the light, of the tiles, of the linoleum.

The tap is running cold water into the bathtub, and I can see my brother there, hands curled around his knees -

There have been rumours, faked suicides and murder

- the first thing I do is turn his wrists over to look for injuries. I sigh in relief when I see that he's fine, and I move to turn off the water.

I freeze. I can feel something, in the walls.

"Boom." I whisper. The boy looks up at me for the first time. I pull him up from the tub, grab a towel from above the toilet, wrap it around his shoulders.

"Go to bed." I say. "Stay there."

He walks toward his bed without another look back.

I press one hand to the ceramic tile in the shower (shh, calm), use the other hand to turn off the water and remove the drain from the tub, drenching my sleeves as I do. Tick, tick, tick but it won't hurt him if he stays in bed, and I need to make my escape.

I leave the room, taking stairs directly from the bathroom to the basement, to my own room, trekking barefoot over thin blue carpet to a room that resembles an office. I see my bed, empty, though the covers are strewn about.

"Hey," says a voice from behind me. I turn around, look up, hope that he won't notice the fact that my clothes are drenched from the water. He doesn't. "We were wondering where you've been all night."

I smile, and the guard moves on to continue his rounds, completely unconcerned about the little girl who was committed here long before he ever got the job.

After all, I never did mention who the murderer was.

Well meaning though I might have been.

Mental Institutions With Lax Security. Scare Factor: 2/10 for worrying over the girl's brother. I was never concerned for my own safety.

I wonder when that bomb is set to explode?

March 13, 2010

Um, spoilers for Supernatural 5x08.

I think I can state at this point that I am having a bad day. My brother, Sam, has a tendency to randomly disappear and come home possessed, but usually these trips don't involve extra-dimensional portals. Goddamnit.

Also, I can't find my jacket.

"So, you're absolutely sure we'll be able to get back."

"For the last time, boy," Bobby says, glaring at me for asking the same question several times, "This plan is foolproof."

"Right. Foolproof." I look from the frayed rope looped around my waist, tied to a wooden post on Bobby's porch, to the bright and swirly portal leading to God knows where. "Bobby, I don't doubt your excellent research capabilities, but is this really going to work?"

"Do you want to find Sam or not?"

This pretty much ends all discussion on the matter, and I find myself stepping through the ominous swirly lights...

...and into a bar.

The first thing I notice is that guy from the fan convention drinking at the bar. The second thing I notice: he's wearing my jacket. One bar fight later -

(and I have to figure out how to steal a jacket off of someone who's wearing it. In the chaos, I figure it'll be easy enough just to will it into my hands rather than work on the physical mechanics of how you would get a jacket off of someone in a fight)

- I have my jacket back. Oddly, it seems a little big for me.

Sam's on the other side of the room, talking to someone who I don't actually pay any attention to. I march over there, "Excuse us," and drag Sam a few feet away.

"Okay, we have got to get out of here."

Sam just looks amused.

We continue walking over to where the portal is - I can see it, swirly pink and blue lights and all - and I walk through it. Ow. I walk straight into the wall behind it.

"Oh," says Sam, looking thoughtful, "Looks like you can't get me through this way."

I'm out of time; if I don't leave now I'll be trapped in this dimension as well. Away from the apocalypse and all, but still.

A flicker. Sam's face seems overlaid by something. Another face, one that I recognize.

I rush at him, stopped after a couple of feet, held fast to the portal.

"Where's Sam?" I growl.

The fake Sam just smiles and walks away, waving.

"Gabriel!" I shout after him, "GABRIEL!" Everything fades out, and suddenly I'm standing back on Bobby's porch.

"So, how did that go?" asks Bobby.

He gets no response.

"Oh well, we'll try again later."

I stand dumbly on the porch as he walks away for a few moments, before -

That's not Bobby.

Son of a bitch. Where the hell is a wooden stake angel-killing knife archangel's sword when you need one?

Bad Fanfiction. Scare Factor: 2/10. Fun for the writer, torture for the reader. And the Trickster's not too bad... as long as he's not killing you several dozen times over.

March 12, 2010

Damian is a semi-immortal thief from the "real world". While evading his current batch of pursuers, he is granted a wish from the devil, who introduces herself as Sam. After sending Damian home, for a price, She proceeds to wreak havoc at the christening of the princess, by giving her the gift of infinite will. This backfires spectacularly, when Sam (the devil) is drawn into the plight of a teenaged runaway several years later.

I think it could make a very interesting series of short stories.

Also, I was three separate characters during the course of this dream. I've been Damian, Sam, and The Reader of the story at various points, while reading emotions off of everyone else present. It was all very third person omniscient. Also, not the first time I've been the devil.

Can you tell that I'm not religious at all? Protip: Satan is the good guy.

The Narrator. Scare Factor: 2. Omniscience is so much fun.

March 2010

I'm one person in a large group of people who have collectively decided to go swimming. When we appear at the swimming hole [that never really existed] outside of my hometown, most people stand around, looking suspiciously at the water. A guy who I remember being a grade younger than I was [whose name I saw in a journal entry yesterday] jumps straight in to the south side of the pool.

I'm wearing a red lifeguard t-shirt, and one other lifeguard and myself are inspecting the north side of the pool. Some days you can swim in it, other days it's really just a puddle of stinking mud. Like today. I lose my balance when the edge of the crowd jostles me. A few titters, and I exchange words with one of the bystanders.

Obviously, I'll be swimming in the clean side of the pool then, if only to clean off.

The clean side has Jay using the natural rock formations on the other side as diving boards and such. I don't pay mutch attention to him. Rolling my eyes at the group that collectively won't even get in the pool, I jump into the clean water and eye the rock formations on the other side. From where I was standing, there was no way to walk across like Jay did, so I need to do some rock climbing to get to the impromptu diving board.

I'm in my element when I get to the other side and pull myself out of the water. It's been a while since I got to do this [because it's very flat and boring where I'm living now]. There are plenty of easy handholds in the rock, and I work my way to the left, where I'll be able to climb up to the ledge.

High School Classmates Near Water. Scare Factor: 7 because I hated high school 2 for normality, with a point for the fun of rock climbing and annoyance of public humiliation.

March 2010

The underwater station might as well be in the vacuum of space. Our oxygen generators are broken, environmental systems are failing, and lights are flickering their hearts out. At least nothing's sprung a leak. Yet.

Lassiter and I are running at a full sprint down the narrow hallway, but our progress comes to a grinding halt when we reach a fork in the tunnel. Left or right? A flash of an image: I recall the unofficial layout of the station from a map I may or may not have wrangled from a drunk first mate.

"I'm sensing left!" I shout over the ambient noise of the dying station.

"How would you know that?"

"Really, Lassie, after all this time, don't ya trust me?"

A beat.

"If you're leading us the wrong way, Spencer, I will kill you myself."

When we get to the escape pods - because of course we're going the right way, don't insult me - there's a woman near us, kneeling over an unconscious woman with long, curly blonde hair. I don't recognize either of them, but I get the feeling that the unconscious woman might die if we don't get her out of here soon.

The woman - the conscious one, we'll call her Joy - spots us and points at me, "You, in the t-shirt, I need some help here. Help me lift her into the escape pod."

I hurry over to their side, and pull the unconscious blonde's left arm over my shoulders. Joy takes the right side and three - two - one - lift! Lassiter hovers over Joy's shoulder (not literally, I feel compelled to point out) in case we need help. More help.

The "escape pods" are basically miniature submarines scattered throughout the station, designed for a one-way trip to the surface. They're also very small.

Sparks are shooting everywhere, but I'm focused on the escape pod. "Hang on a minute," I say to Joy.

The door to the pod is open, possibly jammed that way. And there's something wrong with the controls. The autopilot, maybe?

"There's no way we're going to make it to the surface in that." I say.

"Are there any escape pods left?" asks Lassiter.

Flash. Two escape pods to the northwest, through a section that would be venting poison gas into the hallway right about now. That's the quickest route. I shake my head. "We can't make it."

Joy looks at me, considering. "Not with the two of us, you mean," she nods at her friend.

Lassiter and I, and Joy, even, could make it to the remaining shuttles. There's no way we could make it while dragging an unconscious woman with us. And we're not leaving her behind; we're the heroes in this story!

"We're going to have to make it work."

Somehow, we do.

When we surface in the pod, and climb out, we're not greeted by sunlight, but what looks like a conference room with a pool. Several men in suits are staring at us expectantly. From my position, balanced on top of the pod, I hone in on the man who's in charge of this whole fiasco. He's smiling. I sigh.

"I have to go down there again, don't I?"

This time, it has sprung a leak.

Doomed Research Stations. Scare Factor: 3.

February, 2010

It's been a long night. I'm standing in a creepy, unfinished basement and a group of college student survivalists have been spouting horror movie cliches at every opportunity.

"You can't touch the jelly sandwich," the de-facto leader explains. "It keeps all the other food good. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," I say cheerily. I'm stealing from Spongebob Squarepants' logic. "Makes sense."

"No," he says, with a long-suffering sigh, "It really, really doesn't." He wanders away, morosely, muttering about crazy people. I briefly consider being a character that this guy is dreaming.

I go looking for food. I sit in the kitchen with my mom, even if she is upset about the potted plant sitting in the corner that looks like a tiger lily and is apparently called a "papyrus". At this point, I begin to tell her about the metaphors and symbolism in our current environment.

"The jellybean sandwich in the storage room is, apparently, there to keep all the other food from going bad, and the 'papyrus' is there because... you have really bad taste in fonts in real life."

"In real life?"

"Well, obviously this is a dream."

"You think so?"

"If it's not, tell me where these objects," I gesture at the flower, "Are located in your real house. Everything keeps shifting here."

The woman sitting across the table from me looks down, fighting to keep a grin off her face. She starts to laugh, and then to cackle madly. Shift. I'm standing near the door and she faces me from a few feet away. Her empty eye sockets are stuffed with bandages.

"Let me guess," I say, "You're my Other Mother."

She doesn't reply, but steps toward me. I wind back my left hand for a punch, but I'm moving so slowly.

The woman is moving in real time, and she takes another step, relaxed and confident. The punch doesn't connect. As she reaches for my throat, I desperately dig my fingers into her eye-sockets. There are teeth.

Everything is going black, facial features are twisting, and the only thing I can distinguish anymore is pain.

Shift.

I'm sitting on a deck, petting a stray cat that's wandered into the yard. Can I wake up now?

Shift.

"That rice is leftover from last night. And it's in front," Oma says helpfully, as I rummage through her fridge. I blink.

"Really?" I say, holding the plastic container. "You want me to eat this? Specifically?" I poke at the overabundance of soy sauce with a spoon. "I'm still dreaming, aren't I?"

March 9, 2010

My name is Lucifer, and I'm busy.

"But you have to stay here! You're the Lord of Hell!" says the ex-cherub, who seems to have been recast as my secretary.

"I don't, actually. I've left this job once, and I'll leave again once I have this place reorganized." I'm standing up at a desk, looking at blueprints.

I turn toward the ominous wooden door at the other end of the (hellish) office-space. The door leads to a dimension where damned souls are trapped. As they make their way to the door, they inch closer to the end of their torment. At which point, welcome to bureaucratic hell.

He continues to pester me, "But God wants you to-"

"Okay, look," I interrupt, "I don't care what God wants. In the actual comic book, Lucifer didn't care what God wanted. Every version of the devil, ever, actively resisted doing anything that God wanted him to do. So what makes you think that I care?"

I realize that I've broken out of character at this point, but the demon seems to actively resist the idea that this is a dream and I'm not really Lucifer. I decide to be amused instead of summoning up a gale of fire with which to burn him alive. Because, as the devil, I could totally do that.

Instead, I throw my hands up in the air, metaphorically, and walk through the now-open doorway to the realm of the damned. The door swings shut behind me, cutting off the shrill ranting of my unfortunate secretary.

I take the form of a woman with short, blonde hair as I take the first steps into the realm usually thought of as Hell. This area is closest to the exit, and as such, is actually fairly pleasant in comparison to the rest of hell. This, of course, means that it's a boring approximation of a cave that slopes slowly downward. The cave curves away in the distance, and I know that it's an infinite spiral to the bottom.

The soul nearest the door looks like a boy in his young teens, although he probably lived to be older than that. The boy is building a fence up the sloping ground, not noticing as it collapses into inexistance behind him. He is intensely focused on the task, trapped, as all the damned are, in a nightmare of his own creation. I approach, and as I do, I hear deep, threatening barking. The boy reacts in a panic, looking about wildly for the source of the noise, not seeing me.

Part of the fence has been shaped into a basket-like form, with half-rotten plywood as the bottom. A rottweiler puppy comes into existence as I look at the space, and it barks at the boy. When the boy sees it, he starts to back away from the puppy, and away from the door.

I'm standing directly beside the puppy, so I pick it up. The dog starts barking and the noise in the boy's nightmare lessens. I look at him, and he sees me for the first time. Finally, his eyes land on the door behind me...

End.

Bureaucratic Hell. Scare Factor: 3.

Spring 2008

I'm in my grandmother's old office. Shift. It's dark, and I'm surrounded by beautiful, frightening living statues made of shadow... twisted, slender, lethal. I want to remember them when I wake up, because they're mine.

The office space gives way, and I'm in the basement of my old house. I'm waking up, still surrounded by the last traces of my shadow-creatures. I'm trying to remember them, listing their traits aloud. Onyx. Jet. Shadow. Cat-like, bat-like, tribal, sharp, angular. They wouldn't have been out of place on a tattoo, if they weren't so real, so dynamic.

I hear a scream.

From upstairs. My mother? Why am I in the basement? Everything is hazy and dream, and my reactions are sluggish. I stumble through the basement and away from my dream-room. I reach the base of the stairs, which, oddly, are not located where they should be. The only light is coming from upstairs. I look up. There is a man standing there.

He's old, unremarkable. I wouldn't recognize his features if I saw him now. He's small, but not in any particular way. Not overly short, not overly skinny.

There was a scream from upstairs, but now, it's all about me. Because the man is stepping down stairs toward me, and I'm just standing there. There's no screaming - it's so quiet - and I couldn't move if I wanted to. And I want to move.

I'm rooted to the spot, affixed by an unbreakable bond to the dreamscape. I can't flex my muscles or flail, because it's not about my feet. I am stuck, immobile, immovable.

And the old man is walking down the stairs, unremarkably. Not sinister or threatening, but I need to get away. Because something horrible is about to happen.

And he reaches the base of the stairs and I haven't moved because I can't, although this is my last chance to rush him, to push past him onto the bare wooden steps.

He's standing in front of me, and of all my will, the only thing I can do is push two words past my lips, "No, please" and it's barely more than a whisper, because nothing's moving, and I haven't thought about drawing breath.

And the old man looks at me, his expression unremarkably pleasant. He places his hand on my forearm -

End.

First Appearances. Scare Factor: 9.

I'm not sure what it was about the dream that freaked me out so much. But I couldn't be alone in my apartment once I woke up. Not in the dark. It was something like five in the morning, and the Tim Hortons beside the building was open. I threw on clothes and nearly flew down the stairs. I ordered a hot chocolate, and a bagel, and sat with my back to a wall where I could see every exit, I and waited for the sun to come up.

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

13.06.2010

Humans for Vampires, Apparently (Non-lucid)

Fragments...

Spike (from Buffy the Vampire Slayer) got stabbed in the stomach. I was crying and helping him along. We got to my sister's house, I banged on the door. When we went inside, there was Edward (from Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter) with a weapon concealed as some household item (like an umbrella). He's crouched down and looking antsy. He's not happy with me barging in.

Earlier...I walked up to Spike, and when he turned around I saw that he was all pale(r than normal) and looked sick. I joked to him that 'he was still attractive though'. He started burning/blistering in the sunlight, though it wasn't that bright and we were under the shadow of a roof thing. Maybe that's when I saw he had a stab wound?

'Oops, I Did it Again' by Britney Spears was playing in McDonalds at some point. What's the McDonald dreams???

We (me and ?) were chasing after a woman who'd apparently caused this. Think we saw her at an airport. She was a mix of anime and real life and it was curious who she seemed out of place, and reminds me of Lum from Lum Invader (pictured above, only taller, older and deep green, shiny hair).

She/the enemy was sorry and sowed up Spike's wound in apology.

Notes: I don't actually find Spike attractive, so that remark was interesting. I haven't heard that song in forever either. And this is my second McDonalds dream...is it because of APH or is my subconscious is just craving Mickey D's? XP

A stoner decided to get back at the school. He decided to strap guns onto the feet of every drug dealer in school. He put a gun on my foot. I was deeply offended. Everyone was in panic because all of the drug dealers had guns! I was able to get the gun off of my foot, and hide with my peers. Our 3rd hour class was hiding in the surrounding bathrooms. I joined them, and noticed that T was there. I asked him what he was doing in the girls bathroom. I heard gunfire from the halls, and one of the girls clung to him. Ugh.

We eventually made it back to our classroom and our chemistry teacher decided to put on a movie about the chemistry of fires. I looked at his TV and noticed his TV was on fire too!

"Your TV is on fire!" I shout.

He looks at me for a second and says, "Oh no, it's always like that."

I was walking around the neighborhood with my mother and my sister. In my hands I was holding our pet dove. She was being very quiet, gently cooing. When we got about halfway around, a bus dropped off a small kid. The sun was setting fast, so I started running home (dove disappeared). It was getting really creepy, so I did a reality check and found that I had 5-6 fingers (it was hard to tell in the darkness), but I didn't want to acknowledge that I could be dreaming because if I acknowledged that I was dreaming then I also acknowledged that there were things in the dark that could get me!

I was working for the government to produce deadly pathogens. The pathogens were in vials with different colored liquid. Somewhere along the line, I was also a subject for an experiment in creating a robot test tube baby. They took genes from me and genes from another subject and put them together. A robot baby was formed. For the first 5 or so years of his life he was extremely socially awkward. I worried about him. We left the government agency to live in the back of a theater. We would go to many plays, and I found that my robot baby was always extremely disruptive.

For some reason, I had to leave him for about 10 or so years. I came back to visit him after this time because I was leaving the country. He was still living in the theater. I walked up a set of stairs (and saw a dead dog along the way) and found my grown up robot test tube baby. He had matured and was wearing a suit. He was an actor in the theater.

"Oh, mother!" He says cheerfully. "I love you!" He says and wraps his arms around me. The girls standing around get jealous.

"Oh don't worry girls, it's only motherly love!" He says to them.

I was walking to a different campus of our school, where I was apparently taking a baking class. The baking class was taught by my economics teacher in a stable with horses. Our goal was to use baking to create swing sets for kids made out of biscuits. The teacher asked if I had a permission slip for her, and I said no...She explained to me that we needed permission slips to go across the street for a lesson in baking.

-We put our book project on Youtube after we refined it.

-I had a couple of friends over and while they were in the bathroom (together...) I played Für Elise on the piano. It didn't sound right.

-I was doing a report about the Akashic (sp?) Records for school.

-I was in a spaceship and I found the zero gravity to be very amusing. I was doing backflips off the walls. People around me were getting annoyed with my joy.