In the meantime, there's no law saying I can't exercise my creative writing muscle here on my blog occasionally, and it occurs I haven't done a writing prompt for a couple of weeks at least, so...here goes. Today's writing prompt is DREAMS. Take any situation you'd like and write it as if it was a dream you've had. *Gulp.* I only picked this because lately, I've been dreaming a lot, and having some really bizarre ones. Regrettably, dreams are ephemeral and fleeting, I'm going to make this up as I go along.
So, Kay, this one's for you.
She tossed and turned, unaware that her dream-time chasing cats destroyed the bed, pulling sheets off the corners and untucking the top sheet. One pillow hit the floor as Kayla fell deeper into the dream.
With nowhere to run or hide, all she could do was brazen out the situation. Kayla had to face the Big Ugly whether she wanted to or not. Her heart pounded, her breath caught in shallow hitches in her throat. The ringing in her ears was only rivaled by the sound of her blood whooshing through her head. It was now or never. Fight or die. Do or die. Stand tall or die.
Man, too much dying in those options. How bad could the Big Ugly be? Kayla struggled against her captors. Two enforcer types, one on each side of her, dragging her forward, despite the futile resistance she offered.
"Knock it off, lady," one of the enforcers growled. "We don't wanna hurt you."
Kayla mumbled something unintelligible and she managed to free one hand. She promptly knocked over her plastic water glass that sat on her bedside table, and the noise it caused in reality translated into her dream.
BANG!
"Who's making all that noise?" someone demanded, somewhat irritated, but, oh my, what a marvelous voice. Deep, melodious, rich. "Did you get Kayla? Is she here?"
"Got her, Boss," the enforcer who still held onto her said. The other one had dissipated into the mist when she'd flung her arm, like he'd never existed in the first place.
"Bring her all the way inside."
Kayla twisted and shouted, resisting as best she could, but the dream enforcer was stronger than she was. In the distance, she heard a cat meowing at her, and in the dream, her chest felt heavy with dread as she was pulled forward inch, by painful inch. The cat sat on Kayla's chest, staring at her through those yellow-brown eyes that reflected the light from the bedside table. The cat lifted a paw and swatted Kayla's chin.
"Come now, Spoofy," the man in the shadows chided, "there's no need for violence. Come on in, Kayla. We have a surprise for you."
As if on cue, a spotlight switched on, illuminating a large table. On that large table, the biggest apple pie Kayla had ever seen, with the crumb top filled with the yummy goodness of brown sugar and oats, all toasty.
She salivated. Her stomach growled. Fists clenched around invisible forks. Spoofy the enforcer let her go as musical laughter, which sounded suspiciously like George Takei's laughter, filled the room.
"Eat your fill. I made it just for you."
Kayla dove into the pie like she would a swimming pool.
The dream faded with the dawn. Kayla rolled onto her side and opened one eye. Kitty stared back at her, perplexed and annoyed as only a cat can manage. "Mrrrreow," the cat growl-purred.
"Oh, Kitty. How come you always spill the water at night? Silly kitty."
I think the first duty of all art, including fiction of any kind, is to entertain. That is to say, to hold interest. No matter how worthy the message of something, if it's dull, you're just not communicating. ~Poul Anderson
The virtue of books is to be readable. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
I write for the same reason I breathe - because if I didn't, I would die. ~Isaac Asimov
