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    Short Stories with Tragic Endings

    2011-03-13 | nonlucid

    by , 03-14-2011 at 02:14 PM (451 Views)
    I am in a sort of culdesac neighborhood. I am walking down the street and I see a house with three
    posts in their yard. I go over to them and for some reason decide to take them out of the ground and
    move them. I move each one over a few feet to a patch of mulch. I then walk away fearing that I will
    be seen. I walk up the street a bit then back. I glance over at the house and I notice three people
    sitting on the front porch. Had they been there all along? It is a father and two sons. I see them get
    up and decide it would be best to get out of the culdesac. The father goes across the street to a white
    house and then tells the sons to go after me. I run down the road and, as if there is some sort of
    game screen change, I am in an alleyway of a large town. The streets are thin and surrounded by
    ten foot brick walls on either side. The sun casts a golden light on the whole town. I run through a
    labyrinth of 6-foot side-streets joined by a 15-foot road. It is very complex and confusing but somehow
    I know exactly where to go. I come out onto an intersection of two major roads. I forget about the boys
    chasing me and remember I have to go to class. I see a friend from college and she asks me what time
    it is. I reach in my pocket but my phone is not there. I can feel it under a few layers of clothing though.
    I realize that I'm wearing two pairs of shorts and I reach into the pocket of the shorts underneath and
    pull out my phone. She says "What would you do if you had lost it?". I say that I would have to look for
    it. "How long would that take? 12 minutes?". I say "More like 21". I flip it open and find it is dead. I look
    at the top and it still has the date and time and such in faded gradient and glitchy white text. I put my
    phone away and just say its dead. The next thing I know I am in the room where the "class" is. It is like
    one of those little pre-school rooms. I am in one corner of the room talking to another friend from
    college when the teacher calls us over to the table. I sit down, my back to the wall closest to the door.
    I realize I do not have my bookbag. I hope the teacher doesn't ask for homework. I am sitting next to
    another student who doesn't have his either. The teacher turns our attention to the center of the table.
    There is a cup of what looks like some sort of salsa. It doesn't have much sauce though. Mostly solid
    ingredients. It is somewhat pink in color and looks slightly watery. A girl at the far right end of the table
    gets excited. She knows what it is and loves it. She says a name for it over and over again but I forget
    what it is. It is in some other language and I think it began with an 'M'. Anyway we take out pieces of
    bread and dip it in the "salsa". The girl keeps going on about how sweet it tastes. It doesn't taste like
    anything to me. It is really quite bland. The teacher then tells a story about some tragic event and the
    girl tells a similar story from her own experience.
    I think there was another part to this dream after the
    "class" but I don't remember.

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