Wordzzle 63 - Covered in flowers

This is my contribution to this week's Wordzzle. Wordzzle is a game in which each week word lists, used to create stories, are given on the blog Views from Raven's Nest. Participating users post their stories on their own blogs.

This is the seventh time I've played the game.


Ten Word Challenge:

Green goddess,
shampoo,
filibuster,
please and thank you,
Operation Marigold,
throw pillows,
up the creek without a paddle,
spandex,
ubiquitous,
wedding ring

Flowers were ubiquitous now, ever since Mother Nature, the Green Goddess, had instituted Operation Marigold. And it wasn't just marigolds either. Flowers of all kinds were everywhere. It was almost like the land had gotten a shampoo, washing away the traces of man's destruction.

People had tried to talk to her, to convince to back down, or to just do a little. She listened to them, as in groups or singly, they came before her and presented their cases. It was more often than not the same case, like a filibuster that went on and on. Even as they talked, though, flowers grew up around them, covering their feet, and flowering vines twined around their legs, and flowering trees grew up beside them.

They finally had to retreat, going back to their cities, which became increasingly isolated as the flowers and plants covered the roads and airports. They grew up to the buildings, and up the doors and walls. Some people tried to cut their way out, hacking at the plants with knives and axes and machetes, but they might as well have just thrown pillows at them, for they grew right back. They even tried burning them, but they were too green to burn, and any damage was quickly healed. Some did succeed, though, in catching their own homes or buildings on fire. No one could respond to such fires. No fire truck could make its way through the clogged streets. Sometimes the people were able to extinguish the fires themselves, and sometimes not, and the buildings burned until they could burn no more, and flowering plants grew across their ashes.

The government leaders got together, as best they could, and discussed what to do about the situation, and whether anything could in fact be done about it. The general consensus seemed to be that mankind was up the creek without a paddle, and what little remained of it after the coming mass starvation was going to be in the forest eating roots and berries.

Finally, one of them said, "We've got to convert her to our side. There's no other way. If she doesn't get on our side we'll perish."

"But how do we do that? Person after person has already tried talking to her."

"We're going to have to do this the old fashioned way," the first man said. "The way it was done in Europe in the old days, to cement relations between countries that otherwise might not really like each other. We have to send someone to marry her."

And so they did. A man was chosen who was tall and muscular and handsome, and who could talk in a very convincing way. He was given stretchy colorful spandex clothes to wear, so that he looked something like a comic book superhero. He was trained endlessly in what to say and do, and many, many possible approaches to winning her over were worked out, in case the first few didn't work. Finally, he was given a wedding ring for her, and sent to meet her.

"So, yet another one comes," she said. "I thought you had all given up."

"No," he said. "We have not given up, although things do look pretty hopeless for us right now.

"If the situation is hopeless, why not accept your fate, and return to the forest and to nature?"

"In a way, I am returning to nature, for I have come to you."

"But after you speak and fail, and all the others have failed, you will return to your city and try to keep nature away as much as possible, to try to put off as much as you can the encroaching end."

"Perhaps, but I do not intend to fail."

"Speak, then, with your pleas and proposals, but do not speak too long, lest you be unable to find your way back through the wilderness that is growing up around you."

"First, many people have come before I have to ask you to stop this."

"Yes, it's always please, please, please, and never please and thank you."

The man paused. In all the training, this was something that had never come up. "You want us to say thank you?"

"Why not? I am restoring the earth, wiping away the damage caused by man."

"You're also wiping away man in the process."

"Not everyone will die, but quite a few will. Most of them, in fact. Other species go through such cycles, though, of boom and bust. It's all a part of nature."

"If we say thank you, will you stop and let us live?"

"Thank you would be nice to hear, but it's too late now to stop. It's been too late for a long time. To stop now would allow your species to overrun everything again, and no matter how much you personally would assure me of this or that, you would have no control over it."

"What if we became part of nature again, to such an extent that you would not have to reduce our numbers, at least not quite so drastically."

"Whatever of you is left will become part of nature. There will be no other way to survive."

"Yes, but not as many really have to die to accomplish it. Most of us, maybe almost all of us, can survive."

"How might this be?"

"You could make giant trees, bigger than redwoods, with natural spaces inside that could be used for rooms. You could do similar things with other plants, in places where the ground is too rocky or too soft or too watery to support the giant trees. You could also make new fruits of all kinds that would supply every nutrient that we need, and that grew all year round, and streams that always flowed with clear fresh water so we would always have some to drink and to bathe in. Plants also would supply us with fibers that could easily be extracted and woven into cloth, and plants on which a durable, long-lasting paper grew, and plants that could supply us with pens and writing implements, so that we could retain our history and something of our knowledge. All this and more could be done."

"Yes, it could. But why would I do it? Why would I make a special case out of you, when all the other animals have to make do for themselves?"

"Because we are kin, or will be." The man got to his knees and produced the ring. "I'd like to ask you to marry me."

She looked at the ring, and at him.

"I am sincere," the man said.

"I know you are sincere. Such things cannot be hidden from me. All the empty talk from all the others failed, though, no matter how sincere and desperate the pleadings.

"I am sincere, and I do not talk empty talk. Married to me, you would have a stake in how well your extended family was doing. You would not want them to perish or suffer hardships. It would be only natural for them to hold a special place in your heart, and for you to supply them with everything that they need, and to watch over them so that they came to no harm, and to make sure that they followed the right path, the path of harmony with nature."

She considered. "All this is true, but only if I should marry you. Why would I marry you?"

"To have a companion."

"I have many companions. The animals come to me and eat from my hand."

"It is not the same. They are not on your level. We are not on your level, either, but we are much closer, at least intellectually, than they are."

"Perhaps, but they are closer in spirit. And though they cannot speak as you do, their thoughts are clearly heard."

"They still cannot talk to you on a level that we can, and you still cannot talk to them as you can to us, and to me."

"What if talk is not enough?"

"We may not be in love right now, but that is often the case with arranged marriages. Love can and frequently does come later. We can grow into it. We can have children, too, that combine our best qualities. You have the power to ensure that this is so. Through these children, all of mankind could eventually be enhanced."

"Another master race, then, replacing man?"

"No, it would be a case of man becoming a master race."

"What of a time after you, though, a time when you are gone? There will come such a time. Even if I make you wise and healthy and long-lived, near-immortal even, there will come a time when either I tire of you, or you tire of me and you find yourself with someone else. You will do it knowing all that you would be giving up, because you will be unable to stop yourself. You will not be able to hide it from me either. I will know when it happens, and I will know when you are thinking of it happening."

"In such a case, should it ever occur, or should we find that for whatever reason we can no longer be married, you can always choose another from the ranks of men, using whatever means you think is most appropriate."

And so she accepted the ring, and the marriage, and everything else, and it all came to pass as he described, and mankind lived with nature in a world of peace and plenty, in endless springtime, and their marriage lasted for centuries, uncounted centuries, for no one kept track of such things anymore.


Mini Challenge:

Skittles,
lamb chops,
stingray,
chagrin,
clever devil

The stingray was a clever devil, and ate the lamb chops and Skittles without chagrin.


Mega challenge:

Green goddess,
shampoo,
filibuster,
please and thank you,
Operation Marigold,
throw pillows,
up the creek without a paddle,
spandex,
ubiquitous,
wedding ring

Skittles,
lamb chops,
stingray,
chagrin,
clever devil

Operation Skittles had failed, as well as Operation Marigold. Some senators had filibustered against the last one. They knew little about it, but no one did, it was too secret. They just didn't want the name of a flower for a military operation. In fact, the name did have something to do with the actual endeavor, though no one would have guessed it. The name for the previous operation didn't, but how could it be a secret, if the secret was revealed in the name? What name would be best, for an operation that invaded Hell?

Some people had suggested that a more forceful name be used for the next attempt, that the low-key and perplexing names given to the previous attempts had worked against them, and been part of the cause of their failures. Others argued that a forceful and dynamic name, and in particular a bloodthirsty one, as some people championed, also worked against them because they sounded like something the Devil might support.

In the end, the next, and everyone hoped the final, operation was named Shampoo. Operation Shampoo had to be a success, they said, mostly because they preferred not to think of what would happen should they fail. Each attempt, each opening of the portal, each invasion into Hell, strengthened the portal. Each time, it became a little bigger and a little stronger. If they failed this time, they were really up the creek without a paddle, because the portal might not close well enough to keep the demons out, perhaps not really close at all. The Devil and all his demons might be able to come and go as they pleased, and it might please them to make a lot of trouble while they were here, and to take a lot of people back with them when they left.

The first operation had failed resoundingly. It wasn't that a bunch of clever devils were being sent to fight them. Many such things existed, for they could be a very devious and calculating lot, but the ones sent to fight them, at least so far, were just brutes. It took a while, too, for it to dawn on the humans that the demons liked pain, even their own, and their screams when they were shot, knifed, blown up, and mangled were at least partly of delight. For brutes though they were, they were fully aware that such activities degraded men, and the demons couldn't get enough of it. The men were overwhelmed by demons hoping to be maimed and killed, and ready to endlessly torture if they weren't. Most of the men never got away, and were still trapped there, undergoing torments that no one wanted to think about.

In the following attempt, Operation Marigold, they didn't even throw pillows at the demons, instead bringing armloads and truckloads of flowers, hoping to destroy them by kindness and generosity. The demons flinched and drew back, but eventually managed to terrify someone enough to break him, and he ran and then others ran, and there was a stampede, with some being crushed underfoot, while the demons laughed and chased them, grabbing any who were too slow.

It was now deemed too dangerous for actual people to attack. The demons would always win somehow, because people were too weak and too easily provoked into doing something wrong. Now, in Operation Shampoo, machines would be sent. Robots, large and small, would be sent everywhere, looking into the most hidden places, and drone airplanes would fly through the skies, looking from above. The men would be found, and when they were, would be rescued with armor-covered robots carrying weapons. It was thought that destruction caused by robots would not really count as destruction by men, even though the robots were the creation of men and were sent there by men and told to hurt and kill by men. Not everyone agreed with this analysis, but there seemed to be no better alternative.

Afterward, after they had all been saved, or as many as possible were saved, then massive armored vehicles would enter, ten of them, robot controlled and spraying poison gas in all directions. The robot vehicles would separate from each other, going as far as they could in all directions. When they had reached as far apart as they could safely go, or, since the ability to maintain communications was uncertain, if a predetermined amount of time had passed, they would all blow up. The hope was that they would all do so at the same time, but, in the end, they would take what they could get. They would never know what happened for sure, because the portal would be closed long before the bombs blew up. It would never be reopened, and anything that survived the bombs and the radiation and the poison gas would be trapped there forever. Anything that survived all that they really didn't want to have to deal with anyway.

If for some reason they were unable to fully close the portal, and some of the explosion or gas made it back through it, they were ready to accept that. Tall embankments of dirt and rock would be put around the portal before anything was sent in, though a clear path had to be left for the robot vehicles. After the ones with the poison gas and bombs went in, the opening for the path would be quickly closed. If part of the blast did come through, it would hit the walls of dirt and rock and be directed mostly skyward. There might still be a bit of a problem with radiation and fallout, but hopefully not too much.

The machine operating the portal would be destroyed, though, if any of the blast came through. Without the machine they would be unable to even try to close the portal, but they were going to bury the portal in concrete anyway. Even if they had managed to close it before the explosion, and nothing came back through it, they could no longer trust that it would remain closed. They knew that in the end concrete would not be enough to keep the demons out, but they hoped that it would seal it long enough that the opening would close on its own.

Things were almost ready now. The generals sat around the table, talking over things, trying to think of anything they might have forgotten, when suddenly a woman appeared, a faint glow about her. The generals stared at her, transfixed. "Who are you?" one of them finally managed to say.

She looked at them, not saying anything. They looked back, though it was hard to really focus on her, and her form, though seemingly solid, seemed to be constantly shifting, like an image seen through ripples of water. One of the generals looked away and began to squirm in his seat.

Finally she spoke. "I am the Green Goddess. One of your names for me is Mother Nature, but I have many other names. You have no idea what you are doing, or what you have done. Do you think that by destroying a small portion of a place you can get rid of all of them? Would blowing up one city here get rid of people in distant cities? It is the same way there. Those that are left, and that would be almost all of them, will want to get you all the more, and the portal, already strong enough that you can barely keep it closed, would absorb the energy of the blast and become an opening wide enough for armies to cross, armies marching side-by side and not in narrow lines like you do now. You do not have the ability to close a portal of that size. It might close naturally over time, gradually shrinking over thousands of years, perhaps tens of thousands of years, provided no attempt is made to keep it open. Such an attempt will be made though, because they would not wish to see it closed. And so it will never be closed, and they will come through, endless numbers of them, and your world will become their world, to do with as they wish. They will not kill all of you, not even most of you, because they want you here to feel the pain they will inflict."

There was a long period of silence. Sometimes one or more of the generals would look at each other, but no one seemed willing to speak. Finally, one of them said, "I don't believe you. What's to stop me from killing you right now?" and drew out a pistol and pointed it at her.

The other generals drew back in their seats from him, and one of them said, "Now, let's not be hasty--"

"Shut up! We don't really know who she is, or if what she is saying is true. Aren't real gods supposed to wear togas, or if she wants to be modern, at least a tight spandex costume like the superheroes in the movies? As far as I can tell, she's not wearing anything. In any case, I've never managed to add killing a god to my list of achievements, and this might just be the time. Now, if she is a god, we'll see how a god dies."

The goddess looked at him. "You cannot harm me, and you might find that your weapon will malfunction if you even make the attempt."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that, and we'll see what happens when a real bullet goes through you." He began to press the trigger, but then paused, staring at the gun. Orange-red rust crept over it, blossoming out, giving it a soft look. Part of the barrel fell away in pieces on the table. Bullets rolled away, leaving lumps and flakes behind them, until they were too small and lumpy to roll anymore. Suddenly his fingers closed together, a cloud of rust particles coming up and then settling down over them. He stared at his closed hand, wide-eyed, then looked at her, a sickly smile of chagrin on his face.

"What I did, they can do. All of your weapons, including your bombs and poison gas, could be destroyed by them, at least by the stronger ones among them, as I did with the gun. They have not done so, because they don't want it to be that easy. They love the terror and the killing and the destruction. And they want the bombs to go off."

"They want them to go off?" one of the generals croaked.

"Yes, they have been planning on it for centuries, for thousands of years actually. They knew the time was coming when once again men would make such things. And they knew that once again men would fiddle with the portals, thinking themselves in control, when they never are. The beings are very patient and can wait a long time, longer even than the life of civilizations."

"No!" said the general who had tried to shoot her. "You're just trying to rob us of our glory! We almost had them with the flowers! We'll think of something."

"You do not even know what you are fighting. You have no idea what the enemy actually is. You picture them as things from your Christian theology, devils and demons, beings from Hell. In reality, such concepts are fairly recent ones, and these beings date from far older times, long before Christianity. People in older times had far better ideas of what these beings actually are, though the accuracy even then varied with the rise and fall of civilizations.

"The entities you are referring to as devils and demons are actually beings from a parallel universe, one with slightly different physical laws. Their universe is as big as ours, though they only inhabit a small part of it, as you do with your universe. You say that you almost had them with the flowers, but they were scared of them not because they were afraid of peace and love, but because they were afraid that the flowers were carried by emisaries of me."

The generals looked at each other again. "You have had dealings with them in the past?" one of them finally said.

"I have a long, complicated history of interactions with them."

"What are we to do, then? Is there no hope?"

"Here, take this," she said, taking a ring off one of her fingers and holding it out. It had a gold band in the shape of a snake with its tail in its mouth. On the snake's back was what apeared to be a gold stingray with its wings and tail curled up, holding a round glowing gem with strange green and blue patterns, almost like seas and continents.

"You're giving us your wedding ring?" one of them asked.

"It is not a wedding ring. Beings such as I do sometimes wed, but we have our own customs and traditions about such things. One man, alone, must take this in there. He must hold it out in front of him. He will not be harmed while he has it. He must ask to see their leader. The language spoken there will not correspond to any of the languages currently spoken here, but it will not matter. They will know what is in his thoughts. Similarly, they will be able to make themselves clear when they speak, though their language is not his. When the leader comes, the man is to tell him that the descision has been made, that the portal will be closed and that neither side will enter the other side. Tell him also that all the men that have been captured are to be returned with no further harm done to them, and that the remains of any who have been killed are also to be returned, as much of the remains as are left. The man is to stay there until all of this is carried out. You must say this as I have said it to you. Do not leave anything out, and do not change anything or add anything to it."

"No! It's a trick!" shouted the one who had tried to kill her. "She's had dealings with them! She admits it. The man we send will be torn apart and eaten by them. He will be just more lamb chops to them!" The generals turned back to her, questioning looks on their faces.

"He will not be harmed, not as long as he has the ring. They know the ring, and they know who gave it to him. They will not even try to scare him. They will treat him with the utmost respect, being terrified of doing anything wrong. They know that if any of them does something in the faintest way negative toward him, that being will be immediately consumed by the others. They do this because they know that they themselves will consumed by their superiors if they do not. They do not fear anything you can do to them, but they fear what they can do to each other, for they can operate at the level of the soul. The leader himself will treat the man with respect, because he knows and respects the meaning of the ring, and because he knows that he will deal with me if he does not."

"If you're so big and strong, why don't you do to me what you did to my gun? Why don't you just kill me right here, right now?"

"Your gun I destroyed as a demonstration and as an example, and to show that you have no power over me. There was also a chance that you could have hurt someone with it, perhaps even yourself. You could not have hurt me. It is not necessary to do more against you. The example that needed to be made has already been made, and you personally will not be able to alter the course of events. You do not matter."

For a moment the general stared at her, and then his head slumped dejectedly and he looked much older. He turned and shuffled out slowly, still muttering. "You'll see! There's no dealing with such creatures! No 'please and thank you' talks with things like them! You have to destroy them before they destroy you! We're like lamb chops to them! Nothing more than lamb chops, I tell you..."

And so Operation Shampoo was abandoned, and a new operation, called Lamb Chops, was begun. A volunteer was trained carefully for the mission, and finally given the ring and sent in. The beings, ubiquitous at first, ran from him as soon as they saw him, before he could say anything. Not able to meet any close up, he called out after them that he wanted to meet their leader. When the leader came, he was so terrifying in appearance that the man couldn't look at him, and had to talk to him with his face pointed to the side. The leader treated him with courtesy and respect, though, and agreed with everything he said.

All the men that had been captured were returned. Most of them were in pretty bad shape, but no further harm was done to them after the request was made. It did not have to even be relayed. Those involved simply knew, and stopped doing what they had been doing. All the dead were also returned. Sometimes there wasn't much left, sometimes only some teeth and scraps of bone, but there was always something. When everything was done, the man returned through the portal.

At that instant, a woman's hand came out of the air and seemed to grip the fabric of reality tightly, pulling it closed. There was a moment of disorientation, and then things felt normal again. The man looked and saw that the machine that held the portal open was gone, in its place a mound of dust. Then he felt a hand on his wrist, and looked down at it. There was the woman's hand again, fading out in mid forearm, still with no body attached. It felt strange to have such a thing touch you. A woman's voice said, "You will not be harmed as long as you hold the ring, but they do not forget, and even with the portal closed, their powers can have some reach here. Come with me." And the hand pulled him through something, into somewhere else, and he was gone.

Operation Lamb Chops was declared a success, though not to many people, since few knew of its existence. All the soldiers brought back, and all the ones that had been in the previous operations, were told that there had been a chemical accident, and the fantastic things they had seen were just hallucinations from the chemicals, and the injuries that some had received were attributed to them running about madly and getting hit by cars, etc. The dead were treated differently, and were assigned whatever reasons for death that were most convenient and convincing.

All the records, on paper or in computers, of how to build the machine to open the portal mysteriously vanished. The scientists involved couldn't remember what they had done, and came to doubt that they had actually done it. The military, though, being what it is, decided to make another machine and open another portal. Surely there were better universes to visit. So far they only knew of that one, though, the one that had seemed to be Hell. They would probably have to go there first, just briefly of course, to see if the machine actually worked. After that they could try for the other universes.

However, anyone who was assigned to work on building the machine either couldn't make any progress, or mysteriously disappeared. One worker swore he saw a hand reach out of the air and take one. Nobody believed him, but after a while no one wanted to be associated with such a project, and the project was abandoned, at least for now.

Somewhere out there, though, an unimaginable distance, and yet closer than we would like to think, something patiently watched and waited, willing to wait for centuries if necessary, even for centuries of centuries, for the right moment to come to pass. It did not name its projects, not Skittles nor Marigold nor anything else, for everyone knew what everyone else was doing, and there was never any confusion. But also, in that place, in the end there was really only one project, and everything else they did was only a part of it.

Forgotten dragons

It was 1961, and I was in the second semester of the second grade, with three months, maybe a little more, left of the school year. We were going to move again, going from the second house in Las Cruces, New Mexico to Phoenix, Arizona.

Before we moved, I had been playing in my mind with dragons, with a whole complicated storyline involving even generations of them. It had been going on for weeks or months, but was particularly intense the last week or so we were there.

Then, just before we moved, when the rooms were mostly bare, I suddenly forgot almost all of it. I still had a lot of pictures of dragons I had made, but almost everything about them was a blank. I was very saddened and disappointed by the forgetting, feeling somehow betrayed by it.

The bark dinosaur

Back in grade school, a long time ago, I made a small dinosaur out of bark. I was in Scottsdale, Arizona and probably in either the fourth or sixth grade. I know it was not the fifth, because my fifth-grade class was bused, because of overcrowding, to a school in Tempe. In my class, at this particular time, whichever time it was, students had been divided into small groups for the purpose of doing a group project. The groups were to decide on their own what projects they were going to do. The teacher may have had to approve them, but I don't remember now whether this was needed.

There were probably four people in my group, including myself. I had a possible idea for what to do, but wanted to see if anyone had any other ideas first. No one did, and they all seemed to be hoping that someone else would come up with something. Seeing what the situation was, and somewhat surprised by its severity, I stepped into the vacuum and took control.

I told them I had an idea on what to do. They perked up, looking interested and hopeful. I told them that we could make a dinosaur out of bark, a Tyrannosaurus rex. They agreed with this, and we set about gathering small pieces of bark. The bark was mostly of the thick brown variety, with a soft, uneven surface.

The dinosaur was a small model, around seven to eight inches high, longer if measured diagonally. I did most of the work putting it together, though the others helped in a small way. I don't think it had any internal framework, just the pieces of bark glued to each other. When we turned it in, it was thought to be so impressive that it was put in the front offices of the school for a while, so people could see it.

After we finally got it back, we had to decide who got to take it home. I wanted to take it, of course. One of the other kids begged we, over and over, to let him take it, but I refused. I think he said something about wanting to show it to his mother, that he didn't really have anything else that he did that was important. Part of me felt bad for him, but there was no way I was going to let him take it.

I still have it, on a shelf, wrapped in plastic.

Wordzzle 62 - The woolly mammoth and the bubble gum

This is my contribution to this week's Wordzzle. Wordzzle is a game in which each week word lists, used to create stories, are given on the blog Views from Raven's Nest. Participating users post their stories on their own blogs.

This is the sixth time I've played the game.


Ten Word Challenge:

gentle spring rain,
mammoth,
soap opera,
worry,
bubble gum,
garden gate,
seizure,
of Biblical proportions,
paralysis,
wrinkles

Beyond the garden gate, a woolly mammoth stood, looking at them. The man went to the gate and held up a handful of bubble gum to it. The mammoth solemnly took them with its trunk and put them in its mouth and began chewing. After a while it blew an enormous bubble and floated up high into the sky with it. The man watched over by the house, standing by a woman.

Then the bubble popped and the mammoth came back down, landing in the garden. The impact was enormous, and the mammoth sank deep into the soft earth, with only a few feet of it showing. Chunks of dirt were flung everywhere, and wrinkles and cracks went out in the ground in all directions. The man and the woman stood there, looking at it. Finally the woman broke their mutual paralysis and said, "My garden seems to have suffered a disaster of Biblical proportions."

"Yes," the man said. "I don't think we'll ever get it out of there. It's just too big and heavy. We'll just have to put some dirt over it. It'll take a lot of dirt to keep it from smelling, so there's going to be quite a hill there. It's going to take a lot of days to do it."

"I'm going to have a hill instead of a garden?" the woman asked, looking worried. "Could I still plant things on it?"

"Some areas might be too steep. We can just put rocks on those areas instead."

They looked at it some more in silence. After a while the woman said, "Aren't woolly mammoths an endangered species?"

"Maybe so," said the man. "I never really paid attention to such things."

"If they're endangered, then there might not be many left. In fact, that might be the last one. That's so sad."

"Yes," said the man, "but there's nothing to be done about it now. This isn't some soap opera where people keep coming back to life."

They looked at it some more for a while, standing there by the house. A gentle spring rain began to fall, and they moved back a bit to get under the overhang of the roof. "It's almost like the sky is crying," the woman said.

Suddenly the mammoth moved, and climbed out of the hole. The woman gave a half-stifled cry, and they both stepped back further, and now had their backs pressed firmly against the house. The woolly mammoth turned and looked at them.

"You almost gave me a seizure," the man said. "We thought you were dead."

"No," said the woolly mammoth. "That was quite a ride, though. I'd do it again, but I think I swallowed the rest of the gum."


Mini Challenge:

operatic,
stuffed animals,
anger management,
biographical,
paint splatters

Drops fell from above, leaving paint splatters on the stuffed animals. He looked up, then quickly moved to the side, as another one landed where he had been. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked the woman.

"Well, so far most of the paint is going where I intended, and I'm going to call that a success. You'd better move those toys, though. They might get a few stray drops on them."

He looked at the toys, and at the rug. "Aren't you supposed to put plastic over everything first?"

"It costs too much to buy that much plastic. We're trying to economize, remember? That's why we're doing the painting ourselves. It's a good thing we got this paint on sale. I don't know how we would have afforded the more expensive stuff."

He looked at the painted section. The paint wasn't quite covering the burn marks, and they'd have to put on another coat, at least over part of it. The burn marks were there from when she trying to save on electricity by burning lots of candles instead. It had not worked out well.

"You could be helping me, you know."

"I guess I could, but you only bought one brush."

"Well, maybe you could get a pan and catch any drops that fall, then."

He stood there for a moment, considering her request, but he was having trouble wrapping his mind around it. Suddenly a drop hit him on the forehead and cheek, leaving a line across one of the lenses of his glasses. Another one hit him on top of the head, and trickled down behind one ear. He could feel other drops hitting his shirt and pants. "Um, maybe less drops would fall if you painted a little less energetically."

She turned her head around and looked at him. "Wow. You could have used the pan, you know, you didn't have to catch them with your body." She looked around at the room. "I guess the room has quite a bit on it, too. Why didn't you say something?"

"I thought that I did, sort of. I didn't want to nag you too much, I wouldn't want to make you angry."

"Angry? Don't be silly, I never get angry. Anger management is something I never have to worry about, and it's a good thing, because I've got so much else to manage."

She studied the wall. "We've still got part of a can of varnish. I guess I could fling drops of it on the wall, make a kind of reverse color scheme splatter pattern, so that it would seem that the rug splatters were intentional, and just part of the effect."

"That still wouldn't hide the burn marks showing through."

"Maybe I could make a mural then, something that tells a story. Maybe something biographical."

"It kind of already tells a story. And it's already biographical."

"Yes, but it's not interesting enough. It needs to be soaring, operatic even. I think I'll put the Eiffel Tower over here, and some Vikings with horned helmets over here."

"But, we've never been to Paris or ever seen an opera."

"Yes, but nobody has to know that."


Mega challenge:

gentle spring rain,
mammoth,
soap opera,
worry,
bubble gum,
garden gate,
seizure,
of Biblical proportions,
paralysis,
wrinkles

operatic,
stuffed animals,
anger management,
biographical,
paint splatters

"Stop watching that soap opera and come help me get this bubble gum out of my hair!" the man said.

"Oh, all right. You wouldn't have it there, you know, if you hadn't kept hiding under the table at that restaurant."

"I didn't know the whole underside of it was covered in bubble gum."

"Any fool knows that's where people put it, but you're not just any fool, are you?"

"Just get it out," he moaned.

She fiddled with it for a while.

"It won't come out. I'm going to have to cut it off."

"Cut it off? Cut my hair off? No..."

"Hold still, you're making it worse."

"My hair! This is a disaster of Biblical proportions!" He wept, wrinkles of worry crossing his face.

"You're such a baby! Let me get one of your stuffed animals for you. Here, take it." He clutched at it, tears still falling like a gentle spring rain.

"There, that's the last of it," she said, stepping back a bit and looking it over. "I could take off a little more. I might be able to hide some of it."

"No! Let me see how it looks."

He hesitantly went to the mirror and looked at himself. His eyes opened wide and he staggered all the way back to the wall, then slid down it to a sitting position.

"You're not going to have a seizure over it are you? It's just hair."

"It's MY hair!"

"I can still cut some more off, try to even it out some."

"Maybe later, I can't face any more right now. How can I go out on job interviews like this?"

"You haven't got any job interviews. You haven't even sent out any resumes."

"I'm still working on the biographical information."

"Well, don't include what happened to your hair."

"No, no, they don't want details like that. Just the highlights."

There was a moment of silence, then "Were there any highlights?"

"I'm sure there must have been some. That's what I'm been trying to think of. I don't know that it matters now, not with this... this... mammoth problem." He bitterly indicated his head.

"I've never understood why you took that anger management class. You're such a wimp, always moaning and worrying. Why didn't you take a class to fix that?"

"The anger management class was something that the place I used to work would pay for. It's okay to be angry, it makes you seem dynamic, like you're a real man. I could never take a class to make me be less of a wimp. People would look at me funny."

"I've got news, they look at you funny already."

"Maybe, but there's no point in making it worse."

"Well, if you're not going to let me cut your hair, you better get to work on the resume. No point sitting there in your own paralysis."

"I can't think right now. I think I'll go out in the back yard and pace for a while. I hope no one sees me like this."

"As long as you're going out there, you might as well finish painting the garden gate. And try not to get paint splatters on the walk this time."

"No! I can't get paint on my hands, not if I'm going to have job interviews."

"Yeah, with you doing it you'd probably get some in your hair, anyway."

He noticeably cringed, then gave her a pained look.

"It's your own fault this happened," she said. "No normal person would be hiding under tables."

"I had to! My old boss came in the restaurant, and I didn't want him to see me!"

"Well, he saw me and he knows I'm your wife. I don't know what he thought, with me sitting there alone and whispering to the table."

"You saw each other?"

"Well, across the room, it's not like we went out on a date. Believe me, if they made our lives into a television show, it wouldn't be a soap opera. It's not even faintly soap operatic."

Suddenly the doorbell rang. She went to answer it, and found a young woman there holding a baby.

"Hi," the young woman said. "I'm the daughter you had as a teenager and gave away. This is my daughter, your granddaughter. Who's that under the table?"

Dream - Collapsible cars and my mother the pirate

Around November 17, 2007, I had a dream about school, work, devices that could collapse cars to a small size and then restore them, and my mother dressed like a pirate.

In the dream, I was in a school, and had missed most of the second year, with only a few days left. It was a very big, square, low building and I apparently also lived in it. The instructor was going to let me pass anyway by doing a quick catch-up of the work. He was wanting me to do something with a camera, perhaps construct one, but I think I also needed to take some pictures with it. He also wanted me to later make a movie camera, but first he wanted me to thread film into a projector. "You do know how to thread a projector, don't you?" I didn't say anything, though of course I didn't know.

Later, I was driving back and forth to Nevada. I had earlier bought a device, which was apparently shipped to me from the car manufacturer, that could collapse my car to a collection of tiny circuit boards about the size of a small camera, that could be kept in a bag that came with it. The car could later be reconstituted by adding water. It would recreate itself perfectly, to factory specifications, fixing anything that needed fixing, but still have anything extra that I had been keeping in the car. I had been driving the dark blue 1987 Oldsmobile, but I also bought a similar device for the 1970 Cadillac. I also later bought, for the Oldsmobile, improved versions of the device, one that was only about a quarter inch thick and one that was absolutely flat, the thickness of a playing card. Initially, I think the cost was 900,000 and something dollars, perhaps 980,000 or 960,000 or 920,000. Later, I bought the improved device (the quarter inch thick one) for 780,000 dollars.

At some point I was going uphill in the dark in the Oldsmobile, up a narrow street with cars parked on one side. Eventually it became too narrow to drive past the parked cars, and I collapsed my car and carried it in the bag. I think I was using the quarter inch thick version of the device at the time. I got to the sidewalk and turned left to go to the entrance of a building. I was very late and had been expected hours before. It was some type of eating place. My father had been waiting in a circular sunken outdoor room to the left of the entrance. He had evidently been sleeping a lot of the time. I joked with the hostess and also with my mother, who had also showed up, perhaps after me. I said that my father would have to give back all his naps and the food he ate when he left. The hostess laughed. I had also a little earlier joked about it with my mother.

Then, I was driving to work in the Nevada desert. My mother was with me and also my grandmother, who had died over twenty years ago. Somehow, then, someone else was driving and I was hugging my grandmother and kissing her, saying how happy I was to see her. I reminded her of the times, long age, when I sometimes stayed at her house. I said that I was going to do it again, but as I was saying it I suddenly felt unsure if I would be able to. She was smiling, but she never said anything. Her gray hair was undone and fell in a long, narrow band most of the way down her back.

We turned onto the entrance road to the place I worked and stopped off the road not far from the gate. Somehow we now had two cars, at least one of which was a rental. I'm not sure any of them had the necessary ID sticker to get past the gate. My mother was carrying something in a bag, perhaps a gun, and also had a very small knife strapped to her leg just above the knee. She had to leave both of them behind before we went to the gate, because weapons weren't allowed. She was now much younger, perhaps around fifty or even in her forties, and was dressed in black leather with leather shorts. She looked almost like a pirate, perhaps even including an eye patch. She unstrapped the tiny knife and I guess put it and the gun in one of the cars.

I was going to let them stay in a low, square building that was an eating place that was a little ways past the gate, to the left. It had large ham sandwiches that I thought they would enjoy. I would be spending most of my time in a long building to the right, working. Originally, the eating place had been a much smaller affair. In real life, no such eating place existed.

Later, we were in the 1973 Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser station wagon, a car that we sold long ago. My father was driving. We were going back to Arizona. I looked at the hilly, mountainous way we were on and wondered if we were in Arizona already. It seemed to me, though, that we had not left Nevada yet, and I finally decided that we were still there and thought that I might know approximately where we were. My father told me to look at the moon. The sky was very cloudy with light shining through the clouds. I looked in what I thought was the direction he was referring to, where a bright light was shining behind the clouds, behind me and to one side. I said that it was the sun, not the moon, and looked around to try and find where the moon might be. I saw a lesser light to the front, at the left, and decided it must be the moon, and said so.

Wordzzle 61 - The mouse and the mongoose

This is my contribution to this week's Wordzzle. Wordzzle is a game in which each week word lists, used to create stories, are given on the blog Views from Raven's Nest. Participating users post their stories on their own blogs.

This is the fifth time I've played the game.


Ten Word Challenge:

translation,
crunchy,
cat’s paw,
trunk,
I love raspberry tarts,
global warming,
star struck,
the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
fragile,
Spring fever

"I love raspberry tarts," he said, biting into the crunchy crust.

"That's not a raspberry tart," she said. "That's overcooked pizza."

"Yes, I know. Just reminding you about dessert."

"If you want raspberry tarts, you'll have to go and get some. I'm not cooking anymore tonight, not after all that's happened."

He thought about the first pizza, so black it was too fragile to pick up. The second one looked good, until the cat jumped on it, skidded off it, and took half the topping to the floor. They'd had to catch the cat, then, which was a job in itself. It ran all over the house from them. They finally got it, though, inside the trunk, on top of some clothes that now might be permanently stained. They had managed to eventually get most of the pizza sauce and cheese cleaned off of the cat, though it had been a battle. They were still finding the cat’s paw prints on things everywhere, though, and he suspected they would for months. Maybe years.

"I hate to go out just for that," he said. "All that gas wasted. We have to think of global warming."

"If you like, I can give you a list. In fact, I think I will anyway."

"It's getting so late now. I feel like I'm going on the midnight ride of Paul Revere."

"It's not midnight yet, but it will be if you don't hurry." She handed him the list. "And don't complain. I've had to cook pizza three times tonight."

He looked at it and sighed. He didn't really feel like doing all this shopping right now. He supposed it might be Spring fever, but anyone would be tired after a day like today. He looked again at the list.

"You better get going," his wife said.

Translation, he thought. I'm not going to get out of it. He wearily started heading for the door. She had been a cheerleader, and he had been so star struck when he met her. He hoped tomorrow would be better.

"Get some more pizza, too," she called after him. "Even though I didn't put it on the list. And get ones with thick crusts this time. That last one was like eating crackers."


Mini Challenge:

pancakes and syrup,
flat tire,
mongoose,
this place looks like a bordello,
first dance

He stared at the plate of pancakes and syrup. One pancake looked like a flat tire, and one looked something like a mongoose.

His wife said, "Hurry up and eat. We've got to go to the store and get some paint. Everything's red in here. This place looks like a bordello!"

He sighed, and began to cut into the pancakes with his fork. When that proved too difficult, he reached for his knife instead. It was hard being married, he thought, but he had no regrets. Ever since that first dance, he'd known they were meant to be together.


Mega challenge:

translation,
crunchy,
cat’s paw,
trunk,
I love raspberry tarts,
global warming,
star struck,
the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
fragile,
Spring fever

pancakes and syrup,
flat tire,
mongoose,
this place looks like a bordello,
first dance

The mongoose stared at the paw prints. "I think this might be the perpetrator," it said.

"You think so?" said the mouse. "How can we be sure?"

"The creature that did this is the one that ate the raspberry tart. There seems to be little question of that. We just need to find which creature the tracks belong to."

"I love raspberry tarts," said the mouse. It stared at the prints. "These look like they were made by cat’s paws. I'd like to help with the search, but my little car's got a flat tire. Let's have pancakes and syrup instead."

"You're such a chicken," said the mongoose. "I'm not afraid of anything, not even snakes! Now come on, are you a man or a mouse? Squeak up!"

"I can't help but squeak, I am a mouse!" it said, somewhat fearful now of the mongoose.

"You can ride with me," said the mongoose. "We can carpool. Do our bit to help prevent global warming."

"We'll prevent global warming even more if we just stay here!" The mouse wondered if it was too late to just run. "I'm afraid I'll be just another crunchy treat for the cat!"

"Oh, just get in the car," said the mongoose. You can hide on the floor in back if you want."

The mouse was about ready to get in when it paused. "Why does it say Revere on the side?"

"Well, you've heard of the midnight ride of Paul Revere. He also made pots. I had to fashion some repairs out of one of his pots. Parts for these little cars are hard to find, especially out here."

The mouse looked at the door again and then finally got in, somewhat doubtfully, wondering what other odd repairs might have been done to the car. "If I wasn't so star struck by you I'd have stayed behind," it said.

"Translation: You mean if you weren't so afraid of being struck by me."

"Yeah, that too," the mouse said, worriedly looking out the window from its position on the floor. Mice are fragile little things, it thought. Everybody wants to get us. "Are you sure I can't ride inside the trunk?" it said.

"Of course you can't ride inside the trunk! How would you look for the cat from in there? It's too stuffy in there, anyway."

The car suddenly jolted, one front corner dipping sharply, and spun in a half circle and stopped. They got out and went around to the front and stared. One of the front wheels was laying flat on the ground, and part of a lumpy-looking spring was sticking out of the wheel well.

"It looks like it has Spring fever," said the mouse.

The mongoose looked at the mess mournfully. "I thought making springs out of twisted tin cans would surely work," it said. "They were, after all, from Springfield."

"Looks like we'll have to walk now," said the mouse. "I better go back, though. It's too dangerous for me."

The mongoose grabbed him. "Oh no you don't! Every hero needs a sidekick, and you're mine!"

The mouse's eyes glazed over with terror. "Okay," it finally squeaked out. You take the lead, like heroes do. I'll follow along behind, watching your back." From way back, it thought.

They followed the trail for another ten minutes, until it ended under a bush. They carefully looked inside. Everything was red. Even red liquid dripped off the leaves.

"This place looks like a bordello of blood!" the mouse screeched, too scared for the moment to even run.

"That was a good movie," the mongoose said thoughtfully. Then, returning to the matter at hand, it said, "It's not blood, it's just raspberry filling. See all the empty tins and plastic containers?"

The mouse looked again, calming down slightly, and saw the place was littered with empty pie pans and other containers, some even of white cardboard.

"That cat sure had a sweet tooth," said the mongoose. "Especially for raspberry filling."

"Who's there?" came from somewhere under the bush, in a faint sickly moan. The mongoose and mouse looked at each other. "I can hear you out there," the cat said, a little louder and more forcefully. Finally, they heard some movement, and after a while a head poked out, the eyes somewhat unfocused. Then the rest of the cat emerged, somewhat slowly. It had a huge stomach. The mouse hid behind the mongoose. The cat, attracted by the movement, said, "Is that a mouse?" and looked like it was going to be sick.

"Don't worry!" said the mongoose. "I'll protect you! I've danced many a time with snakes, but this is my first dance with a cat!"

And it was suddenly dancing all around the cat, who was trying unsuccessfully to follow the movements and looking sicker and sicker. Finally it turned and ran back into the bushes, and they could hear the sounds of it hacking and coughing.

"And don't come back and raid our raspberry tarts!" yelled the mouse.

"No! Never!" they heard the cat say in a weak, shaking voice.

"We beat it!" cried the mouse, standing up straight and proud.

"Yes, I guess we did," said the mongoose thoughtfully, patting it on the shoulder. "Now come on. You can help me repair my car."

The blue flame

It was very early Sunday, October 12, 2008, around 4:00-7:00 AM. I was sleeping in bed. It was a cool night. I had a cover pulled over me, and was laying on my side facing out into the room. I opened my eyes and saw in front of me a long, large, blue transparent flame, like a gas flame, going horizontally across the room, a couple of feet from the bed and maybe four feet or so above the floor. It went just across above things that were stored by the bed, and apparently coming from the hallway, though I just saw what was in front of me as I looked out toward the room. In the last few feet the flames expanded upward at a small slant and then turned into actual flames licking upward, still bluish and transparent. The whole thing was very thin, almost two dimensional, getting slightly thicker at the edges and where the flames were. It was like it was being shot in there from the doorway, from a small source somewhere out in the hall area.

I closed my eyes briefly a few times, thinking it might possibly be a dream or the after effects of one and that maybe I was not fully awake. Looking out again when I opened them, though, the flames were still in front of me. Each time I opened them, the flames were still there.

I worried about the house catching fire, and wondered if it already had. Nothing in the bedroom itself seemed to be burning yet. I thought I was going to have to get up and check the rest of the house. I was very tired, but it looked like it would have to be done. I wondered if the end of the hall was already in flames, picturing it that way in my mind.

I looked out at the hall, at the narrow section of wall that enclosed the furnace, and saw a curved band of energy on the wall there, coming from the hallway direction at the top and going sharply downward, looking like a strange rainbow. The bands were dark blue and dark red, dark smoky colors, fuzzy and ragged and transparent, like curved bands of graphed noise. The flames themselves were gone now, there was just the rainbow. I felt like I was already awake and kept taking my head away from the sight and shaking it and looking again, over and over, and finally the sight was gone and I felt more awake.

I considered whether to get up and check the hallway and the rooms at the front of the house, but realized that it couldn't be a gas fire caused by the furnace. The furnace was off and the gas to it was shut off. I thought that it might have been some kind of weird energy I was seeing instead of a fire, particularly in the hallway. The part in the bedroom could have been energy also, sent out in a beam, and just misinterpreted by my mind. I wondered if I had been visited by some strange presence or energy form. Nothing more seemed to happening now, though, and things seemed to have settled back to normal, so I went back to sleep.

A few days later, looking at that area of the hallway more closely, I saw that a door for some shelves was left open there, covering that area of the wall. It might have been open on the night I saw the dark smoky rainbow, but there was no way to tell now. The wall was a pale yellow, though, much lighter than the brown of the door, and seemed to more closely match my memory of that night. In the end, I'm not sure what difference it would have made. Whether on the wall or the inside surface of a door, the rainbow had been there for a while that night and had then gone, so nothing on the door or wall could have caused its appearance.

Another, possibly related, thing was that I had just watched "The Five People You Meet in Heaven" on TV the evening before the blue flame appeared, and it had a scene with a flamethrower. However, the long triangular beam of blue flame that I saw was very stable and calm and did not resemble something sent out from a flamethrower.

So, what actually did happen? Was it real? Sometimes people who have or have had a close encounter UFO experience have also reported blue beams of light in the house. I had no memory of such encounters, except in dreams, but it's possible something related might have occurred that night. Another interesting match is that sometimes people have awakened to find bizarre and even terrifying things going on, even strange entities in their rooms or outside their windows, and then just gone back to sleep, the way I did. These matches with other people's experiences might be some indication that something was really happening that night, but I'll probably never know.

Dream - The talking Pekingese

On the 26th or 27 of November 2007, in the morning, I had a dream in which a talking Pekingese appeared.

In the dream, it was cold, and toward the back part of the backyard of the house (the backyard was much bigger in the dream) snow and ice gradually and then faster rose to perhaps three or four feet high, ending abruptly, perhaps at a fence, perhaps a chain-link fence, not the wooden fence we currently have. A lot had happened earlier that I don't remember. In the front yard, I went over to the east side. The yard was mostly dirt with occasional landscaped portions with plants, similar to some other dreams. The front yard was raised up on the eastern side, getting higher as it got farther away from the street and closer to the house, but remaining highest near the fence, and water was running from the backyard, from the rain and melting snow, digging a channel by the low fence separating our yard from the neighbors'.

Not far from the house, laying on and wrapped over a high area, almost a ridge, and looking down into the water rushing by in the channel, was a pale Pekingese, looking something like Wojo, a dog who died somewhere around 1996-98. I went over to it and I think I at least partially picked it up, although it spent most of the time on the ground. It looked over at me as it lay there and talked to me in a low, even, calm and somewhat soft voice. Sometimes, especially later, it had a human mouth and even part of a human face, looking somewhat like an area of the dog's face was blocked out and the human features were substituted. I don't remember what it said, but it didn't say anything of great importance. I apologized to it for not writing in defense of the animals (I had apparently been supposed to be doing that) and said that I would do so soon. I may have also said something about other things getting in the way, trying to give at least a partial reason or excuse for the delay, or I may have simply thought it to myself.

Some more happened around and on the banks by the rushing water, with some seashells and strange little animals, including strange, fat tube-like animals and ones that looked liked some type of crabs or lobsters. At some point other people came and talked, sometimes to me and sometimes not. Some of the people were from next-door, from the house on the other side of the channel, and some may have been from down the street on the other side of us, and some were family members who had come out of our house. I talked to the dog from time to time and also concerned myself with the strange animals. The day was dark and it continued to rain, softly.

Much more happened in the dream. Weeks passed, though, before I wrote it down, and by that time a lot had been forgotten.

Dream - The levitating train

In March 2008, probably on the 22nd or 23rd, I had a dream about a levitating train. Another unusual thing was that I changed, partway through the dream, from a man into a woman.

In the dream, I had gone toward downtown Phoenix, on the south side, apparently walking. I thought something to myself about me doing this again, going to the south-side downtown Phoenix area, because I had done this so many times before, and the thought was almost one of exasperation. I had originally had some kind of purpose for doing this, but I don't remember what it was. It seems that I was going to meet someone, not there or even in that direction, but for some reason I was going there first. It also seems that I was going to meet some family members a little later, and they were going to somewhere in Tempe where we would meet, and that they had something to do with me going out now, though they didn't send me this direction or intend that I go this direction.

I didn't make it all the way to downtown Phoenix, but instead turned and started going back perhaps somewhere around 20th St. or a little past it. I don't think I went back exactly the same way I came, but turned south down a street and then started back east. I came to a big place on the south side of the street where trains went through going north-south and south-north. There were two huge bays that the trains went through, one for each direction, and something else on the east side of the bays but part of the same building, perhaps an area for maintenance. On the west side and attached was an enclosed structure where people worked and train tickets were purchased. The whole thing, including the bays, was roofed.

The trains were very tall, perhaps as much as three stories, and were very futuristic looking. Most of the height was apparently devoted to the engines and perhaps some for storage, with people riding at the very top. The trains did not have many cars, apparently three including the one the engineer and crew were in. The trains were kind of a semi-shiny gray metallic, the sides slanting out slightly toward the bottom and finally bulging out some the last few feet. The sides were largely blank except for some occasional slight indentations and protrusions that were generally in lines and sometimes, relatively rarely, even small slots. Up high, a row of small windows could be seen. One time I saw what was apparently an engineer leaning out of a larger window toward the front and talking to someone on the ground (actually on the concrete).

The trains came and went fairly swiftly for a while. Then a more extended break came, with a train in the west side bay and I think without a train in the east side one (the east-side trains went north and the west-side trains went south). I wandered around, thinking they probably didn't want me doing that but doing it anyway and hoping no one objected. I talked to a person or two on the way, apparently people who did maintenance and washed the trains. They seemed pleasant enough.

As I made my way back toward the street, I changed into a woman. Instead of being over six feet tall and a little overweight, I was now a lot smaller and slimmer and wore a dress, and had dark brown hair that was styled to curl around to the front a little and on the back of my neck. It seemed a smooth transition, though, and I didn't think it was too unusual. It just kind of faded in as I walked along, and with it came a happier feeling, a feeling of lightness.

As I went toward the street, I was getting kind of anxious to get away, I guess maybe to get back on my journey. I was talking to a few people, and some more were approaching, but none of them were very close, the closest perhaps ten feet away. I realized then that whole train complex was raised high above the street (though it wasn't originally), and the northwest corner I was heading toward was particularly high above the surrounding area, perhaps as much as fifteen to twenty feet.

I was still maybe five or six feet from the edge, and felt that I could just step or jump off the edge and land safely, perhaps even changing to a low glide across the pavement before touching down, but I also felt that if I tried to go over the edge it would upset the other people, who did not know I could do this and would be afraid I would get killed. I could picture them calling out, telling me not to do it, and rushing forward. Even now I could see that they were getting nervous, afraid for me. I edged away from the corner, going back to the south, staying several feet from the side. The people were still somewhat nervous and followed at a little distance, talking to me and me talking to them.

I went at a slight angle away from the edge, continuing south. I went past the train terminals a ways and met some other people (I think they were different ones than before). We talked and I saw, perhaps in my mind, a scene of one of the three-piece trains high in the sky, apparently on the edge of space. It looked ghostly, like it was made out of ice, and the cars kept rocking from side to side, the first and last cars going the same direction at the same time and the middle one going the opposite way. I felt that the appearance and the rocking was a normal effect of the engines, of the type of power used.

I was on a small high platform, then, with a barrier and railing around it. A few other people were with me. They were being taken north, back to the trains, on this moving platform. There was another platform with other people behind us, and perhaps more behind that. The platforms were on top of tower-like structures, probably square or rectangular in cross section, that were narrower than the platforms. We had gotten on the platform by going up stairs that were inside the tower-like structure.

I was laughing and talking about it finally coming true, about how we had ghost cars and ghost trains and ghost something else, referring to the train high in the sky (it was apparently normal for the trains to travel this way). The woman I was talking to was smiling and seeming to accept what I was saying, though I was wording it somewhat awkwardly.

The moving platform reached the place at the station to give or show the train tickets and get on the train, and two women were leaning out a double window opening toward us, to be shown or given the tickets. They had smiles on their faces and seemed to be very happy in their work, and I had the impression that they did a lot of chatting with each other while waiting for the platforms to bring the passengers. I explained to them that I wasn't going on the train, I was just talking to the other people while they took the ride (on the platform) over to the train. I said that I would just get off here. The women workers, though, smiling big and looking at each other and at me, said, through one of them, that I couldn't do that, that I had to take the platform back. I didn't want to do that, I would be going out of my way to go way back there, but it didn't seem that they were going to give in.

The platform had a tall railing that had flat panels on the sides except at the bottom, with three bars going down the sides to support the top rail and the panels. The platform was much narrower than it was long and the three bars were on one of the long sides, with a narrow side facing the worker women. The bars, which were formed of sheet metal and may have been square in cross-section, had different amounts of spacing and were widely spaced enough that I could slip through them.

I quickly slipped through the opening at the southeast corner, on the end away from the worker women. The bottom of the platform was perhaps eight feet above the pavement. I fell quickly and landed lightly, with my knees bending slightly as I hit and then quickly straightening. When I slipped through the bars I could hear the women workers going "Ohhhhh" and could sense them leaning over and looking at me, worrying. I stepped quickly away after landing, a little smile on my face, assuring everyone I was alright.

The platform behind us was starting to approach, though it wasn't too close yet. There was a man on it that I knew. Another person or two were on it as well, but I didn't get a good look at them. The man was leaning forward, looking out toward me and saying something. I don't think he was very concerned that I might be hurt, though he might have been a little surprised and I think maybe a little amused.

Wordzzle 60 - The polar bear and the hunter

This is my contribution to this week's Wordzzle. Wordzzle is a game in which each week word lists, used to create stories, are given on the blog Views from Raven's Nest. Participating users post their stories on their own blogs.

This is the fourth time I've played the game.


Ten Word Challenge:

preparation,
tic-tac-toe,
splurge,
auction block,
the bitter end,
milk,
papyrus,
when the parade passes by,
bill of lading,
stone wall

A papyrus and a jug that once held milk, both items from an Egyptian tomb, were on the auction block and he just had to have them. He kept bidding till the bitter end, as the price went higher and higher. He was really splurging, doing this, but he couldn't help himself. He had passed up a piece of stone wall so that he could be sure that he had enough money. It was a good thing that he had gotten a look at the bill of lading, and seen in advance all that was going to be auctioned. There was no substitute for good preparation. He was not going to be one of the folks that just sits there when the parade passes by, watching and doing nothing.

When the auction was over, he went to get his items. On the way he happened to get a good look at the piece of stone wall he had passed up.

He paused. No! It had the tic-tac-toe hieroglyphic he had been looking for for years! He wondered if he could talk the buyer into trading with him.


Mini Challenge:

polar bear,
20 seconds,
get it together,
spasmodic,
antiquity

"I've got maybe 20 seconds to get it together," the polar bear thought, "and do something to stop that idiot from shooting me and mounting me for posterity in a room full of antiquities." It had considered offering the man a Coke, but finally decided that it might be misinterpreted.

"Maybe if I can convince him that it's hunting season for something else, maybe that would do it," it thought. The polar bear looked around at the vast expanse of empty ice. There didn't seem to be any other animal to shoot. Then it heard something above it and looked up. "Ducks! Yes, that would do it! Duck hunting season!"

It ripped a board off a crate, something that its Coca-Cola had been delivered in, and proceeded to write swiftly, almost spasmodically, on it. There wasn't much time left, so it would have to be brief. It finished and quickly held it up. It said "DUCK" in large bold letters.

The hunter paused and stared at it, then suddenly dived flat onto the ice.

The polar bear looked at him for a moment, the sign drooping slightly. Then it put the sign aside, ambled off, and leisurely went into the water. "Oh, well, whatever works," it thought.


Mega challenge:

preparation,
tic-tac-toe,
splurge,
auction block,
the bitter end,
milk,
papyrus,
when the parade passes by,
bill of lading,
stone wall

polar bear,
20 seconds,
get it together,
spasmodic,
antiquity

It was on the auction block, and then it was gone. Just like that. He could hardly believe it. The tic-tac-toe board, carved out of oak and the size of a small table, was gone. It had been part of his family for years, one of many antiquities that had been handed done through the ages. Not many of them were left now. At least he had gotten a good price for this one. With that and the papyrus sold, he could afford to splurge a little now, maybe even buy some gourmet ice cream instead of the store-brand stuff that seemed to be mostly frozen milk.

"You better not spend too much," the polar bear said. "It's going to have to last for a while, and you've still got bills to pay."

The man sighed. "Are you a mind reader, too?"

"Of course I am," said the polar bear. "I am, after all, all in your mind. At least I think I am."

"I'm going to count slowly to 10," the man said, "and when I finish you'll be gone."

"It didn't work before," said the polar bear. "Better make it 20. If 20 seconds of counting doesn't do it, you're really in trouble."

"Never mind," the man said, and got up to go.

"I'm with you to the bitter end," chortled the polar bear. "You'll never get rid of me!"

"You weren't always here, said the man. "I'll get it together somehow, and then you'll be gone. I'll learn to meditate, I'll set out candles, I'll even play relaxing recordings of waves on a beach. I'll do whatever it takes, make whatever preparations I have to make. And then one day, you'll be gone."

"You'll never get rid of me! I can even show you the bill of lading from when they delivered me!"

"There is no bill of lading!" the man shouted. "You're a figment of my imagination!" Some nearby people turned and looked. Even some people who weren't so nearby. The man turned his face away from them and bent his head down, one eye twitching spasmodically.

"Still too many people here, huh?" asked the polar bear. "A whole parade of them in fact. Well, good. I like to be there when the parade passes by."

The man ground his teeth and muttered under his breath. "It's like beating my head against a stone wall."

"It would be," the polar bear said, "except you've already sold the stone wall."

Dream - Releasing Jesus from the cross

A little over a year ago I had an interesting dream, in which I released Jesus from the cross. This dream probably occurred on Saturday, March 22, 2008, the day after Good Friday.

In the dream, at some point, I came into a room where I saw Jesus, still on the cross. The wood was very thick, around 6 by 8 inches. The cross was not much taller than Him, and His feet were near or on the floor. His arms were straight out along the crosspiece, and were tied to it with lots of turns of rope around His upper arms.

As I came in, the cross was to the left side of me and facing away from the door, and Jesus turned His head to look at me. He seemed in fairly good shape and did not visibly appear to be suffering very much. I sensed some weariness, though, at being left on the cross for so long, and that He was a little anxious to be taken down from it.

He was not as commonly pictured, being perhaps around 5 feet 9 inches tall and slightly heavier than medium, and gave the impression of strong muscles under a slight layer of fat. His face was not long and thin, but more short. He had a very heavy beard a few inches long. His hair went forward and to the sides in slight clumps and on the top was slightly longer than His beard, but was shorter toward the sides and front, and did not fall much on His face or forehead. His hair and beard were very dark and almost frizzy, and a little dusty looking.

I went to Him and told Him that He didn't have to do this any more, and started to take Him down from the cross. The crosspiece came apart in large sections, and I took two large blocks of it off the ends. He seemed able to get His arms loose Himself after that. I concentrated then on His feet.

I couldn't find any nails sticking out of His feet, but I saw two small holes in one foot where the nails had apparently sunk below the level of his skin. His feet and ankles were a very dark red, almost black, from blood and dirt, and the skin of His foot looked stiff and shiny and loose fitting, almost mummified.

I backed away from the feet a bit, getting a more general view of Him. I noticed that His hands had seemed to heal themselves after being no longer attached to the cross, as there no longer seemed to be any trace of injury, or even any blood stains.

I concentrated again on the feet. I couldn't reach the top of the nails that went through them, and I thought that I would have to get behind them and pry the wood off and somehow then push the nails out from behind. By this time He was no longer attached to the cross at all, except for a small section that had separated itself from the rest of it. This small section, broken slabs perhaps a couple of inches thick and 6 to 8 inches wide and high, was attached to His feet. He had just that piece of wood left to be removed.

I looked at Him standing there, expectantly waiting for me to proceed....

Wordzzle - The eyes have it

This is my contribution to this week's Wordzzle. Wordzzle is a game in which each week word lists, used to create stories, are given on the blog Views from Raven's Nest. Participating users post their stories on their own blogs.

This is the third time I've played the game.


Ten Word Challenge:

prefix,
art festival,
income tax,
chicken noodle soup,
jump rope,
Dutch Treat,
flowering plum tree,
bats in the belfry,
diamond earrings,
tigers

"I brought you a Dutch Treat," he said, and took some wooden shoes out of the shopping bag and set them on the table in front of her.

She paused, a spoonful of chicken noodle soup halfway to her mouth. She put the spoon back in the bowl and took them. "Are you sure they'll fit me? They look kind of small."

"Well, they're more in the nature of something to display on a shelf than actually wear. I imagine that they would be too stiff to be really comfortable, even if you could get your feet in them. Not that your feet are too big, of course."

"Of course. I understand now."

She looked at a picture on the table of tigers wearing diamond earrings, with flowering plum trees in the background. They'd had to get rid of all that, she thought sadly. The art festival hadn't brought in nearly enough money. With the economy as it was, people were reluctant to spend their money on paintings. Now the only animals they could afford were the bats in the belfry, and they had to share those with other people. On the bright side, they didn't have to file an income tax form this year, not enough money came in to require it. Who knew, though, who would have thought, that her whole life, that their whole lives, would have led to this point, like a word with an odd prefix or suffix suddenly attached to it, one that didn't relate to the word at all and totally changed it.

"I have something for you, too," she said, and took a jump rope out of her shopping bag.

"Oh, thank you," he said. I've been really needing some exercise." He took it in his hands and looked it over. "I used to do quite a bit of this when I was young. Hour after hour sometimes. It'll take a little while to get back into practice, of course."

"Of course," she said.

"We could take turns using it. And maybe sing songs with each other."

"That would be nice," she said.

And so they celebrated their anniversary, there in the dining hall of the Salvation Army. It was not as fancy as some past anniversaries, but it had more meaning than many of them.


Mini Challenge:

book club,
organic tea,
the cow jumped over the moon,
paragon of virtue,
wench

The reporter was looking over the art exhibit, occasionally taking notes, when he was approached by someone.

"The best ones are over here," the man said, making motions with his hand, arm, and most of his body. "I should know, because I did them."

"Sounds like I should take a look, then," the reporter said.

They walked over, talking, to where some statues were exhibited. The artist led him to one and said, "I did this. Can you guess what it is?"

The reporter looked it over. It was fairly large, and seemed to be some type of farm animal, though it was fairly shapeless, with things sticking out at odd angles. It had horns, so it couldn't be a horse, and it was too big for a goat. "Is it a cow?" asked the reporter.

"It is!" said the artist. "Do you remember the story where the cow jumped over the moon? Well, this is that cow."

The reporter stared at it. "Ummm... Why does it look like this?"

"Re-entry was difficult, and then there was the landing. I call it 'Babel,' because it tried to reach to Heaven and paid a terrible price for it."

"Very Biblical," said the reporter.

"Yes, I am a paragon of virtue," the artist said. His eyes twinkled. "No matter what people may say."

The artist led the way to the next statue, which turned out to be of a man holding a small monkey in one hand, about to toss it into a large, dangerous-looking machine, filled with rods and large, toothy gears. The monkey was wearing a little dress, and did not appear to like what was happening at all.

"This sculpture is a protest against the tyranny of technology," the artist said. "The man is fighting against it, and is about to, as they say, toss a monkey wench into the works."

The reporter turned and stared at him. "I think that's supposed to be monkey wrench, not wench."

"Oh, well, close enough, close enough," the artist said.

They looked at the sculpture for a while, silent. The reporter finally spoke. "What do you call it?"

"I call it 'Hilda.'"

The reporter turned and looked at him. "Hilda?"

"Yes. That was her name. The monkey. The one who posed for the sculpture." The artist looked a little uncomfortable. "It was the least I could do." He turned and looked again at the sculpture, somewhat sadly. "She never quite trusted me again after that."

He suddenly moved on, going to the next sculpture. "Now this one is my masterpiece, my greatest achievement. At least so far," he said, moving his hand in a slow arc in front of the sculpture.

The reporter moved forward and stood beside him. This statue showed a caveman menacing a man dressed in modern clothes, down on one knee, with a hand up trying to protect himself. The caveman had a thick stick with what looked like a large divided rectangular axe head bound to one end, and was holding it high in the air, about ready to strike. There was something odd about the axe head, though. It looked almost like a representation of an encyclopedia volume, one that had been opened up, laid across the end of the stick, and lashed to it. The reporter peered closer at it. He could faintly see "Encyclopedia" carved on it.

"This represents the tyranny of the information society," the artist said. "We are overwhelmed with information. It is burying us. It's too much for us to ever process or understand, and there is no escape from it."

"What do you call it?" asked the reporter.

"I named it after the weapon depicted in it. It is called 'The Book Club.'"

"I see," said the reporter. He made some more notes and said, "I think I've got enough now."

"Are you sure? I have some more. We could get some cups of organic tea from that vendor over there, and stroll along, visiting each of my works, taking our time to get to know them."

"No, I've really got to be writing this up. I've got a deadline to meet."

"You will make a good story for me?"

"Oh, I'll make a fantastic story," the reporter assured him.

"Very well, I will let you go then." He paused. "You don't have to go into detail about the monkey."

"Yes, I understand. The sculpture speaks for itself. No need to go into extra background detail."

"Okay, then. Go do a good job!"

"I will, I will." The reporter turned and left. He would do a good job, too. Strange art, and strange artists, were things the public never tired of hearing about.


Mega challenge:

prefix,
art festival,
income tax,
chicken noodle soup,
jump rope,
Dutch Treat,
flowering plum tree,
bats in the belfry,
diamond earrings,
tigers

book club,
organic tea,
the cow jumped over the moon,
paragon of virtue,
wench

He examined the drawings of tigers on his drinking glass. They seemed to be looking at him. Of course, he also felt that the knotholes on the fence boards were looking at him, and it was hard to tell how much importance to attach to these things. He finally propped his napkin up against the glass, hiding it. That would have to do for now. He lifted up another spoonful of chicken noodle soup, looked closely at it, and finally put it in his mouth. He was going to have to hurry up a bit, he thought. The soup was starting to cool down a little. He sighed.

Maybe he did have a few bats in the belfry. He sometimes heard people whisper things to that effect, though usually in less flattering terms. Sometimes it was even himself saying it. Or he supposed it was, since sometimes no one else was there. Unless the things that were looking at him could talk, too. He thought about it a bit and finally decided that if they did talk, they probably didn't sound like people. At least he hoped they didn't. If they did, that could be terribly confusing. He shuddered a bit, then lifted the bowl up and swirled it around. looking intently into it, then put the bowl to his mouth and drank the rest of it, chicken and noodles and all. He reached for his cup of organic tea and took a sip. At least it was still warm. Was it really organic, though? How could one really be sure about such things?

He finished the tea and picked up the bell to summon the servant girl to take the dishes away. She would uncover the tigers in the process, and they would look at him again, but maybe it wouldn't be for very long. She didn't come, though. No one did. He frowned. What could have happened? He was on the porch, not in the house, and that might make the bell a little harder to hear, but that had never been a problem before. Surely at least one of the servants had heard it. He rang it again and then again, louder and more insistent.

Finally a woman came up and started picking up things. "You're not going to call me a serving wench, are you, like you did the maid? You do remember that I'm your wife don't you?"

He didn't say anything, distracted for the moment by her diamond earrings, which were of complicated design. They had a moon and a cow, formed of diamonds, on different ends of a silver loop, and as she moved about her movements caused the loop to rotate, like a wheel on an axle, and the cow jumped over the moon and then the moon jumped over the cow, over and over again. He wondered if the cow was looking at him.

"None of the servants want to come near you anymore. You're just too strange, and they're afraid of you." Her mood softened, then. "Here, have a Dutch Treat," she said, offering him a chocolate bar. "It's imported from Holland and very expensive."

He took it and looked at the fancy wrapper. It did say imported, but how could one really know? He opened it up and looked at it, then sniffed it, and finally took a bite. It did taste good.

His wife said, "At least you could say thank you! I'm a paragon of virtue for putting up with this!" She turned and left, then, taking the dishes with her, including the glass with the tigers. He felt a little better now, more relaxed, knowing they were gone. He took another bite, and wondered what was in the chocolate. It did taste good, but you could hide an awful lot in a food colored dark brown, especially when it had a strong flavor, too.

He wondered what to do next. They'd hidden his jump rope from him, not wanting him to have ropes. He still belonged to a book club, but it was difficult to read the books now. He felt that the people on the covers were looking at him. Duct tape had been put over the faces, hiding them, but he still knew they were there, waiting, and it disturbed his concentration. At least not all the books had pictures of people, and that helped some, though he wondered sometimes if they should have had pictures, or once did have pictures, and if that information had been suppressed.

He wondered if it was getting around income tax time. It seemed like it might be. He remembered doing the tax forms himself, long ago. He'd had other people do them for him for years, though, even before he'd fallen into such a state. He wasn't even sure how much he made now, if anything. He was scheduled to direct an art festival later this year, but he knew he wasn't going to do it. All those paintings, all those sculptures. Too many things with eyes, or with things that might be eyes. They had probably already picked someone else to do it. He wasn't going to be doing any directing jobs for a while, and maybe not forever. He was an ex-director, pretty much ex-everything. What a terrible prefix ex was, he thought, when placed in front of everything.

He felt it should bother him more, but he was strangely serene about it. It was the eyes that really bothered him. The eyes. Looking around, his gaze fell on the flowering plum tree in the yard. The flowers looked like eyes. Lots of eyes. He finally turned his chair around, so that he couldn't see it. He could feel it back there, though, watching him. He finally turned the table on its side and crouched down in front of it, hiding himself from the tree and its flowers. When that wasn't enough, he went all the way down to the floor and lay there in front of the table, curled up into a ball. After a while a bird hopped up onto the porch and stared at him. He flinched and hid his face in his arms.

Inside, his wife watched him through the window, talking on her cellphone. "Yeah, he took the chocolate again. No, he still doesn't suspect anything, at least not enough to keep him from eating it. He looks pretty bad right now. I don't think it will be much longer before we can have him institutionalized, and then we can have everything."

Dream - The space alien with the missing ear

On the morning of August 22, 2002, I had a dream involving little people with packages, new consciousness, and an extraterrestrial alien with a missing ear. I wrote down the dream back then, probably within a few days or weeks of it happening, but much of the earliest part was already forgotten.

In the dream, at some point I was talking to my father, who was with his wife. They were in a building, apparently where he had a business, near downtown Scottsdale, on the south end of that section of town. He said that another business kept packages for him when they arrived, and that he then went to that business to pick up the packages. The other business was a bookstore. I asked if it was the one on Scottsdale Road (thinking of Hunter's Bookstore before it moved across the street). He said it was not and that he had to show me where the other business was, rather then explaining it, apparently because the explanation would be too complicated. He and some other men set out walking to the north in a square loop, going north, than east, then north, and finally west. The men did not walk together, but seemed to be heading in the same direction, just at different rates. In real life, the section of town involved does not exactly match the dream, though it was a closer match in the past than the current landscape. Other dreams have had a similar downtown area to this dream.

Before they got to Scottsdale Road they entered a business, apparently a garage with areas set off for other functions, such as bookkeeping. In such an area a wall came out with a door in it. The building interior continued past the wall, which turned to form a closed-off area and then the interior ended in a wall with a door which led to a deeper part of the building.

In the first wall I mentioned, the one that protruded and then turned a corner, I remembered that long ago a recessed button used to be in the wall. Pushing the button would cause the wall to open up and a bookstore would be revealed. The button did not appear to be there anymore. A couple of the men were looking at a formed wire hanging on a wall, the wall that followed the outside of the building and led to the interior wall. The wire was bent into a protruding shape, as if for hanging a coat or as part of a shelf support. The wire was bent flat at the top and slightly slanted downward as it returned. At the wall, the wire was bent up at the top and down at the bottom, to fit into holders that allowed the wire to swivel. The wire was initially laid flat against the wall.

One of the men was pulling the wire outward, looking uncertain and uneasy. He pulled the wire partway out from the wall and paused. Nothing happened. He then moved the wire the rest of the way, until it was straight out. The interior wall then opened up and the bookstore appeared. I wondered how the bookstore could make a living, hidden so well.

The bookstore had two little people who ran it. These people were approximately four feet high and I felt were of supernatural origin (elves or leprechauns). My father did not seem to be here at this point, though the other men were. The little people confirmed that they kept packages for my father, who picked them up eventually. I asked them if they added late charges if he waited too long. They said they did not, but that there was one time when they did. They said that they had no set time for a late charge, that the time varied. On the one time they added a late charge, they gave a long explanation of how they had offered various services, such as making up advertising, selling the product, etc., and at each step my father had refused the offer. At each refused offer, they had added a charge. The charges added were extremely high, in the neighborhood of tens and even hundreds of thousands, but the charges were not in dollars. Eventually, after adding up all the charges, reaching a total, and then converting the total to dollars, the final 'late' charge was eight dollars.

They had a phone number where the business could be reached. The number apparently produced something like an Internet connection to the business, complete with graphics. I suggested that using the phone number, the business could be reached from anywhere and the package could then be delivered, instead of having to physically return to the business to get the package. The two little people looked uncertainly at each other and agreed that this was possible. They reminded me of the cartoon chipmunk characters Chip 'n' Dale, being very earnest and helpful, talking in quick little bursts, though with much longer pauses between sentences than the cartoon characters.

After agreeing that it was possible, they then turned to me and said that they still wanted me to physically check in with them, to make the next order. (Apparently at the time the previous order was picked up. This struck me as a pretense to get me to return to the store anyway.) I said I needed a number to reach them directly, that the previous number was the number to reach the store. They again looked at each other uncertainly, and finally said that, yes, they would give me a number but they had to look it up. They did not know what it was.

They went back into their store and began to look through papers, some of which were bound together into massive volumes. The papers were somewhat tattered and were of different colors. At some point the wall re closed and the bookstore disappeared.

We were waiting for them to call and give us the number. Finally, they called. The answering machine took the call. The one that called talked very slowly and softly, not like he did in person. He initially started out giving direct numbers, but then switched to giving words that represented the numbers, like when phone numbers are represented with words. Except that the words in this case represented a single digit per word, with the words being in a foreign language, multi-syllabic, and spoken slowly and indistinctly.

I tried to write down the phone number on a note pad with a small calendar on each of its pages, that I found in a box containing several of them as well as other items. I was a little concerned about using it since it did not belong to me. In any case, I was only able to write down the first few numbers. The other men, one in particular, worked at deciphering the code. The message was recorded, and they kept replaying it, even analyzing the waveform, trying to determine what was said. The letter that began each word apparently stood for a digit in the phone
number. I moved off to other things for a time.

An alien from a UFO came and told me how they were trying to raise the consciousness of mankind. They had been working for hundreds of years, converting a few people at a time, slowly. They showed me a small classroom in the building. The classroom seemed reasonably full, but only a few in there were being raised to a different, higher level of consciousness. In this new state, which was reached slowly over a long period of time, the people became more tuned into the universe, and developed psychic powers. They achieved kind of universal awareness. Some were achieving this as I watched.

The alien went back outside and I followed. The alien told me it was very important to raise mankind to this new state, and not all alien types were as friendly as he was. He told of another alien who held a grudge against us because a person had cut off one of that alien's ears two hundred years ago.

I asked the alien if the higher consciousness process could be speeded up to cover more people at once, and named a way this could be done. The alien considered and agreed that this was possible. I then offered another suggestion, and asked if an interface, using a machine, could be made between the aliens and the people, to speed up transfer of the powers. The alien thought about it and agreed that this was possible, also.

The alien had always appeared somewhat elongated, dark and shadowy as if composed more of energy then of actual physical substance. The alien was now drawn into the UFO, as if he was being sucked backwards into it, and seemed to flow and merge into it. The UFO, itself a vague shape, almost a presence instead of an object, then took off rapidly, elongating into a dark curved streak in the night. I returned inside.

The phone number to the bookstore was finally decoded, and the number was called. When it was answered, energy poured through from the other end. People clustered around a wall phone, bathing in the invisible energy, oohing and ahhing. The phone was not the phone from which the call had been placed, but was one of the phones to which the tech people had routed the call. The people bathing in the energy seemed to be gaining some psychic powers and awareness. As time passed, some left the phone, having apparently gained all they wanted, and others replaced them.

I finally decided to join them at the phone and crowded in. At first I did not experience much gain, although I could feel the energy. I gradually felt a small elevation of my consciousness, and then all of a sudden I could feel the energy wash over me, like being in warm water and having cool water from a source wash over me. I felt like I was getting lighter, and eventually I did start to rise slowly in the air. I drifted upward a few inches, until I bumped into an ornamental painted beam that ran along the wall above the doorway. I then moved off into the room, raising my whole body up until I was roughly horizontal, and above head height. People were coming and going. There were a couple of people walking along, talking. At least one of them did not look quite human, being too thin and elongated. I talked to this person and tried to get the person to return to the phone, as the person seemed to be only halfway converted by the energy. The person listened to me but wasn't interested and even seemed slightly annoyed, and moved off talking to the other person. Rejected, I hung for time in the air, my arms, legs and head drooping.

Eventually, I perked up and went outside, not the side where the UFO had been, but the side toward the back, the side where I had originally come in. Out there I was informed somehow that the alien with the missing ear was at a conference at the airport. Perhaps the first alien told me.

I felt that it was extremely important that I go there immediately. A phone connection was established to the airport and I went to a phone that was on the outside of the building. I turned into energy and flowed into the phone. It was a dark, invisible energy that was not contained within the wires but extended to several inches to each side. I flowed along the pipes and conduits. I eventually made it to the airport, but parts of me seemed to extend out and visit other phone locations around the world.

At the airport, I re-formed and went searching for the conference room. I met one or more aliens or people who told me to hurry. The aliens were not like the first alien, appearing much more physical. None of them seemed like the classic Grays. I located the conference room and went inside. I may have simply floated through the closed door, or I may have opened it and then floated in.

The room was full of aliens of various kinds. They seemed surprised at the interruption. The alien with the missing ear had been giving a presentation. He was thin and elongated, though not abnormally tall. He was slightly dark in color, perhaps with a slight purplish hue. His head was oval and tilted back, and his remaining ear, on the right, was set very low and tilted back. The ear was a different color from the rest of his head, being roughly flesh colored.

He had kept the severed ear in a small, ornate box all these years. I understood, perhaps from when the original alien had explained the matter to me, that this was not the original ear. The original ear had been lost somehow over the years and had been replaced with a different ear. I don't know the source for the second ear, but the ear looked the same as the one on his head, except for being for the other, left, side.

The alien, in his presentation of the injury he had suffered, levitated the ear out of the box and let it float out into the room, so that everyone could see it. I floated down the aisle and grabbed it out of the air. It was old and dry and crumbly, like stale bread, and small pieces crumbled off as I took it. I believe there was some commotion from the crowd, but it didn't matter. I flew to the alien and jammed the ear against his head. He did not really resist, but softly protested to me, that he knew what I was trying to do but the ear was not even what I thought it was. I felt he was trying to tell me that the ear was not the original one, but it didn't feel to me that it was an important distinction. I said or projected desperately to him to accept it, to draw it into him, to make it a part of him. I poured my power into it.

And then, suddenly, I was somewhere else, though I could feel that my body was still back in the conference room. My awareness, though, was in a different place. I was floating in the air partway up the side of either the enormous interior of a tall building or an area between two separate buildings. I was in an area between stories. The walls were made of brick.

I saw something on the wall, between the stories. Something lighter colored and elongated to the sides, an irregular beige splotch, more even on the top and bottom. I heard voices, from back in the conference room, saying "He's doing it." I went toward the splotch, reaching out for it.

Then I was back in the conference room. Some people, some of whom may have been aliens, were gathered around the alien whose ear I had attempted to restore. Their hands were lifted toward the ear and the area around it, like they were gently touching it, testing it, making sure that everything was alright, while they peered at it, heads tilted back slightly. They seemed to be doctors, or perhaps scientists. A crowd of people was around them, watching. I sensed that the ear had been successfully restored to the alien's head, and had started to live again.

Wordzzle - The acrobat, the optometrist, and the bumble bee

This is my contribution to this week's Wordzzle. Wordzzle is a game in which each week word lists, used to create stories, are given on the blog Views from Raven's Nest. Participating users post their stories on their own blogs.

This is the second time I've played the game.


Ten Word Challenge:

acrobat,
grocery store,
ceiling fan,
dandelion,
bumble bee,
alabaster,
scissors,
chartreuse,
strenuously,
cube

The acrobat took his scissors, which he had just purchased at the grocery store, and proceeded to carefully clip the dandelions in his yard. A bumble bee flew nearby, watching, not sure it liked this new development. Inside, a chartreuse cube talked to an alabaster-colored ceiling fan, making plans for the evening. Outside, the acrobat finished and took all the dandelions in and started putting them in vases. The bumble bee looked through the window, watching, sometimes strenuously bumping against it.

The cube said to the ceiling fan, "What do you think?"

The ceiling fan said, "Well, first let's hide the scissors. And next time, we need to write out a list. We told him we needed dust cloths, not dandelions."


Mini Challenge:

iPod,
poison ivy,
computer,
interpreter,
optometrist

The optometrist, listening to his iPod, walked mindlessly through the poison ivy. From high on a pole a camera watched, and a distant computer recorded the information. In a distant country, an interpreter translated the information for the use of people who keep track of such things. The optometrist knew none of this, not even about the poison ivy, and kept on listening to Bob Dylan singing "How does it feel?"


Mega challenge:

acrobat,
grocery store,
ceiling fan,
dandelion,
bumble bee,
alabaster,
scissors,
chartreuse,
strenuously,
cube

iPod,
poison ivy,
computer,
interpreter,
optometrist

Poison ivy grew among the dandelions, or perhaps vice versa. The optometrist, carrying a small bag of supplies, made his way carefully along the path, avoiding both of them. The optometrist was accompanied by a bumble bee, who rode on his shoulder, conserving his energies. The optometrist worried about the sanity of his friend, the acrobat, and sometimes spoke to the bumble bee about it. The bumble bee worried too, and not just about the acrobat, but didn't say anything.

As the optometrist came up to the house, he found the front porch covered with vines. Working strenuously, he pulled them aside, and finally reached the front door. He knocked on the door, while the bumble bee investigated some nearby flowers. The optometrist waited, but received no response. He knocked, and knocked again, and fearing something was wrong, was considering whether he should break in when the door began to open. Daylight poured in through the opening, illuminating an otherwise dark room. As the door opened further, he saw the face of the acrobat, blinking in the light. There was silence.

"You emailed me, saying you had a big problem and had to see me right away?" the optometrist finally said.

"Oh, oh, that's right," the acrobat said. "I was listening to my iPod, and got distracted." He peered outside the door. "Wow. I guess I should get out more often. Well, come on in." The acrobat led the way back into the house, the optometrist following. At the last minute the bumble bee zoomed in, just before the door closed.

"I hate to say this," the optometrist said, "but you seem to be getting kind of thin and out of shape."

"Yeah, well, acrobat work is hard to find these days. I guess I kind of let things go. I had to get into a different line of work. I act as kind of an interpreter, taking old translations of works of Greek and Roman literature and redoing them for a modern audience, simplifying them and putting in modern language, using lots of current slang and idioms and things like that."

"People pay you for this?" asked the optometrist.

"Yeah, but not as much as you might think. I have to make it up on volume." He paused before a picture of himself wearing an alabaster-colored costume, standing on an elephant that was wearing an ornate chartreuse and crimson head covering. "It's not like the old days," he said wistfully, "though it does keep me occupied."

He led the way to a room that had a computer in it, sitting on boards stretched across stacks of bricks. Beside the computer was a large, old fashioned monitor, and beside it was a printer. In front of the monitor was a keyboard and beside it, on a mouse pad, was a mouse. A large wooden box, cube-shaped, evidently used as a chair, sat on the floor in front of the setup. The floor of the room was covered in thousands of sheets of paper, some crumpled, some not. In one corner, several boxes of new paper were piled, with what appeared to be boxes of computer ink in a jumble on top of them. Overhead, a dusty ceiling fan slowly turned, only one of its three bulbs still working.

The optometrist stood there, taking in the situation, surprised and a little saddened. The bumble bee flew in and went to the computer, sometimes hovering in front of the screen, sometimes banging against the keyboard and mouse. A new window appeared on the screen for a while, and then went away. The acrobat stood a few feet inside the door, seemingly lost in thought. Time passed.

The optometrist finally said, "What seems to be the problem?"

"Eh? Oh. Oh. Well, I used to be sharp as a pair of scissors, just cutting through things, going really fast, but lately its gotten harder and harder and I've gotten slower and slower. I think the real problem is that I just can't see as well as I used to. The letters on the screen have gotten fuzzier and fuzzier and dimmer and dimmer. I know the light in here isn't bright, but the screen is lit from within, so lighting shouldn't be a problem."

The optometrist walked over to the monitor and stared at it. Then he bent down and blew on it, and took a bottle of eyeglass cleaner out of his bag and sprayed it. Then he took out a soft cloth and wiped it clean.

"How's that?" he asked, stepping back.

The acrobat stepped forward and peered at the screen. "Wow, I can see perfectly. Thank you, thank you, how can I ever repay you?"

"It's ... okay," the optometrist said. "Just let me know if you need help again."

"Sure, sure, I sure will, thanks again. Say, you want to stay for dinner? I don't get to the grocery store very often, but I've still got a lot of food I stockpiled when I thought the world was going to end."

The optometrist looked around at the dust and debris, and considered the prospect of dining on what was perhaps years-old food. "Thank you, but no, I really have to be going, I have a previous appointment. Someone else I have to help. I really can't break it."

"Sure, sure, I understand, someone as good as you must get a lot of calls for help. Maybe some other time then?" He fished around in some of the papers on the floor. "Here, at least take a granola bar," he said, somehow producing one from the mess.

"Yes, of course," the optometrist said, absently taking it and putting it in his coat pocket. "I'll, um, let you know."

He went quickly toward the door. As he reached it he paused, then turned around and waved. The acrobat waved happily back. The optometrist turned, then, and went out the door and closed it, then started carefully down the path. The bumble bee, who had flown out when the door was opened, settled on his shoulder once more.

"Well, that was different," the optometrist said. "At least I was able to help him."

The bumble bee still didn't say anything, but thought happily about the landscaping service that was going to come tomorrow, the one it had sent for with the computer, that was going to clean up the place and put in a lot more and better flowers. Next time, and the bumble bee knew there would be a next time, at least the bumble bee would eat well.

The Knight and his Knickers

This is a story that I did for a message board, on a thread normally concerned with comically constructing new words and definitions. They were at that time doing exercises where a user gave a short list of words and other users then wrote a story containing those words. The story is changed slightly here in that it is broken up into several paragraphs instead of being contained in just one, and has undergone some slight editing.

This is another of my stories from my post number 1000 for that message board, one of a group included in that post. The list of words for this story: kiwi, knight, key, kite, knickers.

This story is dated 9:23 PM, December 1, 2006, Arizona time (MST).


THE KNIGHT AND HIS KNICKERS

The knight had finally found the key to his knickers, when he got caught up in the string from a kite and carried high in the air.

He was carried into a storm cloud, where a bolt of lightning hit him, dislodging him from the string. His glowing form fell to Earth, leaving a trail of smoke in the air.

He landed on top of a cage containing a shipment of kiwi birds, bounced off, hit a haystack, and then rolled for several feet before finally stopping. He lay there for a while, his armor slowly losing its glow and cooling off.

Finally, he sat up and took the key, which he had saved through the lightning strike and everything, and prepared to use it but then stopped in frustration.

"Drat the luck," he said, "my knickers are welded shut."

The Damsel and the Dandelion

This is a story that I did for a message board, on a thread normally concerned with comically constructing new words and definitions. They were at that time doing exercises where a user gave a short list of words and other users then wrote a story containing those words.

This is another of my stories from my post number 1000 for that message board. The list of words for this story: dandelion, damsel, dart, delicious, deposit.

This story is dated 9:23 PM, December 1, 2006, Arizona time (MST).


THE DAMSEL AND THE DANDELION

A delicious damsel, rushing to the bank to make a deposit, was about to dart across the street when she stopped and picked a dandelion, and that made all the difference.