Sweven

Well Gardens
They grow gardens in egress window wells, peas, daisies, sunflowers. Snap the occasional sunflower stem to free up room for the others. "We need vegetables," I tell the residents of this flowery place. They make more windows, wells, little garden plots in which to grow some food.

Concerning Cryptids
He runs a podcast, Concerning Cryptids, live from his garage. A child, deputy and I are invited to tell of the time a dragon soared the sky. Our host is nowhere to be seen. Bored, we snoop and find an alter, piles of batteries, dismantled machines. Battery acid spills across my hand. Rinse in a bowl of water on the alter. Impatiently we wait hosts arrival.

Burrs & Thorns
A sister and I hike through a forest then through a field. Climb down a hill bristling with burrs. Invasive seed pods now adorn our clothes like shining patterns of beadwork. Too much time is spent ripping out burrs. Notice then that my feet are barren. Pull out the sticks and the deeply hooked thorns. Continue on. Our grandmother's lies tucked in the trees another half a day ahead.

Fragment: On a too full train I continuously switch cars, looking for one not as stuffy

HGI (WBTB) Two triangles merge together to form a circle with a sphere inside

Finally!!! Didn't accomplish much task-wise but am grateful for the lucidity.

A tiny restaurant looks larger by way of mirrored walls. Waiting for some friend, check my reflection. I am not myself. 'Maybe dreaming?'. Press fingers through mirror. "Dreaming!"

Stand. Leap through the looking glass into a monstrous, dark cavern. A beast that may be the bastard child of Godzilla and a Balrog, glares, growls, attacks. Retreat backward through the mirror.

Trembling fingers reality check. Dreaming. Clasp hands. Calm. Collect wits and lucidity. Dreaming. Must face the beast. Leap through the mirror, come what may. But there is no cavern, only a courtroom. Victims crowd the jury box. Smug grin greets from the witness stand.

"Oh for fucksake. Did I molest you too?" the witness asks, mildly irritated.

"I don't even know you," I confess... then add, "You will always tell the truth." Inquire about his crimes. He admits guilt, to his own astonishment. I leap, a foolish and over dramatic fling. He and I are face to face. Twist and tear his head from body. It is like tearing cardboard.

"You killed me! You killed me!" echoes his wet, gurgling scream.

Standing ovation from the jury.

Stare the head straight in the eyes. "Stay alive," I command. Toss the trash to the floor.

Now rises panic. Need to escape. No mirrors seen. Calm. Be calm. Think. See my hands stained with sketchy tattoos. Strange. Interesting. Yes. Still dreaming. Find a way out. A door! Rip it open expecting the bastard beast. Instead, a Star Wars like city glitters far below. Exhilaration surges. Leap. Ferocious freefall. Land on a daylit outdoor stage.

"You're going to sing for us!" squeals a someone from behind.

Turn. Two of the jurors are there. They followed? Shake off surprise. "I don't sing anymore." Pace and struggle to remember dream goals. Dream goals. Dream goals. Feel morning creeping nearer.

"This is someone else's dream," Lady stalker states.

"How do you know?" I ask, startled from the silent struggle.

"The smell," Male stalker says, as if its common knowledge.

"Don't you ever smell where you are?" Lady asks.

"No." I feel weird about this conversation.

"Smell now," Lady commands.

Inhale deeply. Smell nothing. Wonder about sensations. Search for a swallow of this dream. Stalkers follow chattering about the importance of smell. Lose lucidity while wading through the concert swell.


Team Robot - Spring Competition 2025