I was running, running through a city of stone and ice and they were behind me and I couldn’t get away and I dodged into a building and slammed the door behind me.
“Excuse me,” said a creaky voice from the other end of the room.
Panting, I listened to the monsters dribble by outside. “Yeah?”
“Are you 21? Because this is a bar.”
I looked at him with desperate eyes. “Look, whoever you are, I’ve got a 10-story-tall glob of smelly stuff chasing me around the streets. I don’t care about drinking.”
He looked suspiciously at me, and the white walls dimmed to a foreboding red. “Hmm.”
Something was distilling into being in the center of the room; I peered at it. Limbs appeared, thin and gray and numbering in the 30s. “It’s the stick monster!”
The door bust open behind me and I was overwhelmed in a sticky mass of goo. Just before everything faded to black, I heard the man behind the bar yelling. “Hey, hey, hey! Stop right there!”
I blinked and looked up at him; his snarling face was only inches from mine and I could feel the spittle as he shouted. “You’re doing it again, idiot!”
“Doing what?”
His voice filled my ears, his face filled my vision, his breath cascaded over me. “You’re opening with a dream!”
Gasping, I sat up in my bed—at home, alone, and safe. All a dream. It was all a dream.
--_*Rachel*_
4 comments:
Good one.
Ah, to know not to dream, even at an under-age. Go, Rachel!
Opening with a dream... Novel idea ;)
You made me laugh.
This was like watching The Blob — only without Steve McQueen...
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