paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- alchera project 18 Fiction/Option No. One: For my fiction lovers, ah, I love you. This month I would like you to write a short story (there is no word count requirement, because I rock) in which your main character(s) is stuck inside of a dream. This character is aware of his dream state (i.e., he knows he is dreaming). In this dream your character is being confronted by something from his life in reality and the only way he can overcome it is through this dream in which he is "stuck." However, the battle he is trying to win cannot be between himself and someone he knows. It must be a battle with himself. Internal conflicts, we shall say. *************************** Building Blocks Or was this some story out of which I worked to build? I began to realize as I piled rocks that I created a monumental dream. I remembered that this was not about me and my abilities, but a challenge to use the rocks the city dumped in my yard before the city returned with the next batch. I convinced myself that if I did not turn the chaotic heap into ordered structures before the next truck full arrived that the city would send two trucks, then four trucks, then sixteen trucks. The rocks would mount up higher than my house, higher than the walls and patios and statues I built. In effect, the rocks would smother me. I could hear my girlfriend telling me I needed to get up or I would miss work. I mumbled that I didn�t have meetings that I needed to keep building. I mumbled anything to get her to stop distracting me, to let me keep building. I had lost my perspective on everything outside of rocks. The cold earthiness of the limestone, its sharp edges, the fragile ways it cracked and crumbled towards the bottom of the pile. Why couldn�t I stay here and work on my building? After turning the back into a solid rock-stacked patio with a curved 14-foot wall and two pergolas, I noticed that the pile of rocks had dwindled into a few shards and crumbs I pushed into the walls. And I did not hear another truck winding its way through city streets, towards me. No familiar sounds of clanging rocks from the weight of the load bouncing over poorly paved surfaces. I was going to lay down limestone sidewalks with the next batch since the neighbors had praised my limestone driveway. I began to think about all of this sediment, the time it took for the earth to press itself into these rocks, the time it took to dig them up and pry them loose of their homes. The time I spent cursing the city stuck in patterns set forth so long ago. How complicated and useless my life felt right then. True, I had one this battle but now everything was limestone, everything risked toppling, crumbling, decay, faster than I would ever notice my soil decay or the limestone in a river bed decay. I longed for a sod house, a harsh wind, and the patience to plant myself in the sun. I was soaked with the sweat. The late morning sun streamed in through the window and the air conditioning had set back so that the house was heating up. It was time to wake up, shower, sip coffee and think about how to have a regular day. No need to master the insurmountable, to astound my coworkers with my efficiency and ability to work like a machine. Today was a day to say �how are you� and stick around for the answer. 5:08 p.m. - 2003-06-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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