Thursday, May 10, 2012
Blogger Malfunction
I'm following, like, four blogs in the whole of the Blogger universe. And yet, it doesn't seem to want to tell me whenever my friends update their blogs. What in the hell? Anyone know how to fix this crud?
Monday, May 7, 2012
Dreaming
I had a strange dream last night.
I was at home, waiting for something, when I suddenly realized, with a paralyzing urgency, that Steven hadn't come back from wherever he was supposed to have gone. I was so scared and couldn't help but think of the dreams -- yes, while in a dream. Inception jokes aside -- that I've been having of him disappearing. My heart pounded in my chest, and I began to feel sick, as I rocked quietly. I chewed a thumb nail to keep myself stable.
Someone knocked on the door. In that weird, transcendent way that a dream likes to change familiar spaces, my room became the equivalent of a living space in a small apartment. I made my way from the bed-turned-sofa and answered it. Beyond the door, there was a sprawling parking lot with long white buildings breaking up the black tar. Flanking the door were two bushes which housed vibrant red flowers, their petals wide at the base, yet pointed at their ends, creating a shape like a fat teardrop. The sky seemed low and oppressive, yet strangely bright.
As my eyes adjusted to the light and the strange surroundings, it registered to me that no one stood there to take responsibility for the knocks. I frowned and felt around in my pockets for the key to my apartment. It was a piece of tarnished silver, bent and seemingly unusable. Nonetheless, it slid easily into the brass setting of the lock, setting off a distinctive click of tumblers. Behind me, an old, blue-grey Jeep pulled into the parking lot.
"Shan!"
Brittany and Alex, my close friends, slipped out of the car, waving me over. With a brief thought on Steven's whereabouts, I joined them. We talked, smiled, driving to a local craft supply store. There, we went through a bundle of feathers, an extensive collection of fabrics, sticks and twigs, fresh flowers -- where I saw more of those red buds --, all sorts of paints... I think we bought something, but I can't recall.
Halfway through our trip, I began to realize that the girls were acting... uncomfortably. They would be short with me if I didn't quite understand something, and even rough, if I weren't moving quickly enough as I browsed. They were small instances, but so completely uncharacteristic that it worried me. We went back to the car, which had changed from a Jeep, to a small, white Sedan. Yet, on our way out of the complex, I could swear I saw the Jeep, still sitting there. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment, either, that no one else was around, or had been around, since the beginning of my dream.
We drove and drove, my worry for Steven growing, along with a mild trepidation for my own situation. Occasionally, the girls would break, mid-conversation, and simply stare at me. How they spoke, their mannerisms, they were all normal. Except in those moments. Something, ever so fleeting, would change in them. Their teeth would seem sharper, too big for their mouths, or their eyes would slant and narrow, glinting an eerie yellow. I felt, very strongly, that I needed to get away from them, so I waited. We drove further away from my apartment, and deeper into a thick of forest. Though the road was well-managed, the buildings on each side seemed more and more dilapidated with time.
On our right, we approached a restaurant on high stilts, as if the builders had anticipated a flood. I got the sense that it was a very southern, for lack of a better word, place -- bayous, swamps, and the like. I insisted that we stop so I could use the restroom. The people there seemed weary of our approach, but welcomed us with smiles as we pulled over. I made my way for the restroom, praying it would be a single stall, not catered to large groups, so they couldn't go in with me. I was lucky, but they waited just outside, and there were no windows for an alternate escape route.
I came out feeling defeated, and realizing too late that I hadn't even thought to cover my intentions by flushing the toilet, or running the water. They seemed unhappy, reassuring me that we wouldn't be on the road much longer. I began to sweat, my options running out. Something told me that if I ran, they would catch me. If I asked them to stay so we could eat something, they would say no, most likely...
I bolted into the restaurant -- and crashed into one of the customers. He stopped me, frowning deeply, and held me in place by the upper parts of my arms. They walked in behind me slowly and I cursed to myself. I apologized, bowing my head and trying desperately to think of a way out. A woman grasped my shoulder, asking me what was wrong. Ignoring the lump in my chest, I looked back at who I had thought were my friends. No grisly images flickered over their faces, no sharp teeth, or strange eyes. They looked worried, if anything, an maybe even a little sad.
I felt crazy, suddenly doubting everything that I had felt. The ones approaching me only wanted to help me. They wanted to take me to our destination, so we could do our rituals, or what-have-you, and move on. Then they would take me home, Steven would be there, I would feel very foolish, and fix our dinner.
I screamed.
Then, the world shifted, and we -- the girls, the elder woman, the man, and I -- were all in a cement garage. The other customers seemed to have clustered just outside. My cheeks were streaked with dried tears and my throat hurt. The elder woman was asking me who 'they' were and 'what' could have affected them, referencing a book in her hands. I answered to the best of my ability, flipping the crinkly pages back and forth, regarding the images with scrutiny.
I paused on an image of a woman whose eyes were shrunken, her hands stretched inhumanly, her hair ragged and matted. Now, of course, dreams have a tendency to get wiggy. This is where mine nearly went off the rails. I spoke with the woman, my fear now a numbness. We realized that my friend, Alex, had been possessed by the spirit of an angry wolf and she was close to completely succumbing to its presence inside of her, becoming a... werewolf, I guess would be the best word for it. We continued our research and found that Brittany had been possessed by a spirit as well -- a woman who was mourning a wasted life, who had struggled with her identity and attached herself to my friend in hopes of living again.
I looked at my friends, who seemed broken, resting on the floor of the garage in a far-off corner. Something seemed to hold them at bay. Their eyes were sunken and dark, as if they hadn't slept, and they shook, as though a cold had sunk deep into their bones. I looked the elder woman over in turn. On her wrist and along her collarbone were tattoos of a familiar red flower.
I asked if anyone in the group was a priest. No one. I frowned and asked for water. When I received the half-full jug, I hugged it to my chest and began to speak. To whisper. To pray. I gave the elder woman orders, and she listened to me as if she genuinely understood what I was trying to accomplish. I felt connected to her. The girls began to groan and growl, standing from their positions on the floor. They swayed where they stood, leering toward me. Someone seized Alex and tied her down to a wooden chair.
The elder woman helped me over, and following me, began to stroke down her left arm, as I did her right. I looked Alex in the eyes and, with all of the determination I could muster, spoke to the wolf. I told it to leave, told it to rest, told it that it didn't belong with her. It seemed to only make her angry. She flailed and scratched at me, jerking in her seat. Behind it, Brittany seemed to have gotten loose and simply hovered over the display. Her figure seemed wispy and frail.
She told me to shut up, her image blurring, muttering and whispering an exposition of her woes. From within her, a second frame seemed to emerge. A woman I'd never seen before -- the spirit -- broke free of her briefly and wailed at me. I moved on to Alex's legs, stroking down from her hip to her knees an making tossing motions behind me as I did, repeating over and over my mantra. Brittany grasped the back of the chair, shouting that it wasn't fair. Someone restrained her. Those watching seemed to quake with fear, otherwise frozen.
I felt this overwhelming sense of failure as my attempts seemed to have no effect on Alex.
Then I woke.
Steven was asleep beside me and my throat was painfully dry. I was completely aware of my surroundings -- the papers on the floor, the sun coming through the unadorned window. I got up, took a shower and couldn't help but feel like there was something on the other side of the curtain the entire time. Then I came back here. I browsed the internet with little mind to what I was doing. And I remembered my dream, pulling details from the mist of my quickly fading sleep-state.
I don't know why, but I felt it was significant enough to write out.
Anyone interested in dream interpretation? I'd love to hear what you think that all means, haha
I used to have dreams, and still do some of the time, that seemed... to know something? Almost like they were telling me future events? I must sound crazy, but it's true. I live through a scenario and realize that I've dreamnt of it already, in utter detail, or I'll know what someone is going to say because I've already heard it once before.
Maybe my brain is just a little addled from everything that's been happening. Working on stories, music, art...
I have commissions open right now~. Just 5 U.S. dollars for a colored head-to-hips bust of a character you want. Payments to be made via paypal, etc, etc. If you want to know more, you can note me on deviantArt or email me here.
Sighhhh. Yeah.
Whelp. Seeya next time, guys.
I was at home, waiting for something, when I suddenly realized, with a paralyzing urgency, that Steven hadn't come back from wherever he was supposed to have gone. I was so scared and couldn't help but think of the dreams -- yes, while in a dream. Inception jokes aside -- that I've been having of him disappearing. My heart pounded in my chest, and I began to feel sick, as I rocked quietly. I chewed a thumb nail to keep myself stable.
Someone knocked on the door. In that weird, transcendent way that a dream likes to change familiar spaces, my room became the equivalent of a living space in a small apartment. I made my way from the bed-turned-sofa and answered it. Beyond the door, there was a sprawling parking lot with long white buildings breaking up the black tar. Flanking the door were two bushes which housed vibrant red flowers, their petals wide at the base, yet pointed at their ends, creating a shape like a fat teardrop. The sky seemed low and oppressive, yet strangely bright.
As my eyes adjusted to the light and the strange surroundings, it registered to me that no one stood there to take responsibility for the knocks. I frowned and felt around in my pockets for the key to my apartment. It was a piece of tarnished silver, bent and seemingly unusable. Nonetheless, it slid easily into the brass setting of the lock, setting off a distinctive click of tumblers. Behind me, an old, blue-grey Jeep pulled into the parking lot.
"Shan!"
Brittany and Alex, my close friends, slipped out of the car, waving me over. With a brief thought on Steven's whereabouts, I joined them. We talked, smiled, driving to a local craft supply store. There, we went through a bundle of feathers, an extensive collection of fabrics, sticks and twigs, fresh flowers -- where I saw more of those red buds --, all sorts of paints... I think we bought something, but I can't recall.
Halfway through our trip, I began to realize that the girls were acting... uncomfortably. They would be short with me if I didn't quite understand something, and even rough, if I weren't moving quickly enough as I browsed. They were small instances, but so completely uncharacteristic that it worried me. We went back to the car, which had changed from a Jeep, to a small, white Sedan. Yet, on our way out of the complex, I could swear I saw the Jeep, still sitting there. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment, either, that no one else was around, or had been around, since the beginning of my dream.
We drove and drove, my worry for Steven growing, along with a mild trepidation for my own situation. Occasionally, the girls would break, mid-conversation, and simply stare at me. How they spoke, their mannerisms, they were all normal. Except in those moments. Something, ever so fleeting, would change in them. Their teeth would seem sharper, too big for their mouths, or their eyes would slant and narrow, glinting an eerie yellow. I felt, very strongly, that I needed to get away from them, so I waited. We drove further away from my apartment, and deeper into a thick of forest. Though the road was well-managed, the buildings on each side seemed more and more dilapidated with time.
On our right, we approached a restaurant on high stilts, as if the builders had anticipated a flood. I got the sense that it was a very southern, for lack of a better word, place -- bayous, swamps, and the like. I insisted that we stop so I could use the restroom. The people there seemed weary of our approach, but welcomed us with smiles as we pulled over. I made my way for the restroom, praying it would be a single stall, not catered to large groups, so they couldn't go in with me. I was lucky, but they waited just outside, and there were no windows for an alternate escape route.
I came out feeling defeated, and realizing too late that I hadn't even thought to cover my intentions by flushing the toilet, or running the water. They seemed unhappy, reassuring me that we wouldn't be on the road much longer. I began to sweat, my options running out. Something told me that if I ran, they would catch me. If I asked them to stay so we could eat something, they would say no, most likely...
I bolted into the restaurant -- and crashed into one of the customers. He stopped me, frowning deeply, and held me in place by the upper parts of my arms. They walked in behind me slowly and I cursed to myself. I apologized, bowing my head and trying desperately to think of a way out. A woman grasped my shoulder, asking me what was wrong. Ignoring the lump in my chest, I looked back at who I had thought were my friends. No grisly images flickered over their faces, no sharp teeth, or strange eyes. They looked worried, if anything, an maybe even a little sad.
I felt crazy, suddenly doubting everything that I had felt. The ones approaching me only wanted to help me. They wanted to take me to our destination, so we could do our rituals, or what-have-you, and move on. Then they would take me home, Steven would be there, I would feel very foolish, and fix our dinner.
I screamed.
Then, the world shifted, and we -- the girls, the elder woman, the man, and I -- were all in a cement garage. The other customers seemed to have clustered just outside. My cheeks were streaked with dried tears and my throat hurt. The elder woman was asking me who 'they' were and 'what' could have affected them, referencing a book in her hands. I answered to the best of my ability, flipping the crinkly pages back and forth, regarding the images with scrutiny.
I paused on an image of a woman whose eyes were shrunken, her hands stretched inhumanly, her hair ragged and matted. Now, of course, dreams have a tendency to get wiggy. This is where mine nearly went off the rails. I spoke with the woman, my fear now a numbness. We realized that my friend, Alex, had been possessed by the spirit of an angry wolf and she was close to completely succumbing to its presence inside of her, becoming a... werewolf, I guess would be the best word for it. We continued our research and found that Brittany had been possessed by a spirit as well -- a woman who was mourning a wasted life, who had struggled with her identity and attached herself to my friend in hopes of living again.
I looked at my friends, who seemed broken, resting on the floor of the garage in a far-off corner. Something seemed to hold them at bay. Their eyes were sunken and dark, as if they hadn't slept, and they shook, as though a cold had sunk deep into their bones. I looked the elder woman over in turn. On her wrist and along her collarbone were tattoos of a familiar red flower.
I asked if anyone in the group was a priest. No one. I frowned and asked for water. When I received the half-full jug, I hugged it to my chest and began to speak. To whisper. To pray. I gave the elder woman orders, and she listened to me as if she genuinely understood what I was trying to accomplish. I felt connected to her. The girls began to groan and growl, standing from their positions on the floor. They swayed where they stood, leering toward me. Someone seized Alex and tied her down to a wooden chair.
The elder woman helped me over, and following me, began to stroke down her left arm, as I did her right. I looked Alex in the eyes and, with all of the determination I could muster, spoke to the wolf. I told it to leave, told it to rest, told it that it didn't belong with her. It seemed to only make her angry. She flailed and scratched at me, jerking in her seat. Behind it, Brittany seemed to have gotten loose and simply hovered over the display. Her figure seemed wispy and frail.
She told me to shut up, her image blurring, muttering and whispering an exposition of her woes. From within her, a second frame seemed to emerge. A woman I'd never seen before -- the spirit -- broke free of her briefly and wailed at me. I moved on to Alex's legs, stroking down from her hip to her knees an making tossing motions behind me as I did, repeating over and over my mantra. Brittany grasped the back of the chair, shouting that it wasn't fair. Someone restrained her. Those watching seemed to quake with fear, otherwise frozen.
I felt this overwhelming sense of failure as my attempts seemed to have no effect on Alex.
Then I woke.
Steven was asleep beside me and my throat was painfully dry. I was completely aware of my surroundings -- the papers on the floor, the sun coming through the unadorned window. I got up, took a shower and couldn't help but feel like there was something on the other side of the curtain the entire time. Then I came back here. I browsed the internet with little mind to what I was doing. And I remembered my dream, pulling details from the mist of my quickly fading sleep-state.
I don't know why, but I felt it was significant enough to write out.
Anyone interested in dream interpretation? I'd love to hear what you think that all means, haha
I used to have dreams, and still do some of the time, that seemed... to know something? Almost like they were telling me future events? I must sound crazy, but it's true. I live through a scenario and realize that I've dreamnt of it already, in utter detail, or I'll know what someone is going to say because I've already heard it once before.
Maybe my brain is just a little addled from everything that's been happening. Working on stories, music, art...
I have commissions open right now~. Just 5 U.S. dollars for a colored head-to-hips bust of a character you want. Payments to be made via paypal, etc, etc. If you want to know more, you can note me on deviantArt or email me here.
Sighhhh. Yeah.
Whelp. Seeya next time, guys.
Humbly,
Shannon Grey
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