[stylist] BP Sharing writing

Tue May 27 13:21:13 UTC 2014

Bridgit,
this reminded me of something that could be expanded and made into a short 
story of sorts, such as Kafka would have written during the nights as he 
awakened and wrote down the details of his dreams.  You can expand the dream 
images and bring in more personal feelings - actually make us feel the 
sights and sounds you describe - like Kafka did. Kafka is one of my favorite 
writers of all time, and this piece you wrote down could turn into a kind of 
Metamorphosis, as Kafka wrote about - but yours is quite different. I think 
you have some very good material here to delve into and expand and give life 
to - Lynda
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Bridgit Pollpeter via stylist" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
To: "'Jackie Williams'" <jackieleepoet at cox.net>; "'Writer's Division Mailing 
List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Sunday, May 25, 2014 9:17 PM
Subject: [stylist] BP Sharing writing


> The following is something I jotted down. Have an entire story brewing
> in my mind. Inspiration is from my ability to lucid dream. Thought I'd
> share this little scrap I've been toying with.
>
> Bridgit P
>
>
> I'm dreaming; I know I'm dreaming. Yet I can't wake, and I'm waiting to
> discover what will happen.
>
> The sun streams in a mists of soothing gold. The sky calms with its soft
> but vivid shade of blue. Everywhere I look, this world gleams with
> brilliance. It's like in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy leaves the
> black-and-white gloom of her house, stepping into the Technicolor of Oz.
> Everything is too radiant to be real, and yet it's beautiful.
>
> I lay in the downy grass letting the sun wrap me in warmth. I close my
> eyes and listen to birdsong. This world is lulling, hypnotic. I want
> nothing more than to drift forever in this iridescent world.
>
> Something nudges me, and I bolt up, sensing-I don't know-something feels
> out of place, wrong. Twenty-feet in front of me, a figure strides
> towards me. My heart pounds and I glance around, nervous, looking for an
> escape. This is just a dream, so I can wake myself. I've done it before.
> I do it every time I have this dream.
>
> The figure approaches. They are wearing a cloak with a hood that hides
> their face. I can't tell if it's a man or woman or even human.
> Foreboding races through my body, sending tingles to each nerve ending.
>
> Wake up, Dulcy, come on, wake up.
>
> The figure stops only a couple of feet from where I sit. They stretch
> their arm towards the horizon and point with a long, slender, white
> finger. "Look." Their voice gives no clue to gender. It's husky and
> quiet. "Seek."
>
> Standing, I search in the direction they are pointing to. In the
> distance, where land and sky meet, I notice what looks like a smudge.
> It's as though something has marred a painting. It's out of place, not
> belonging to the landscape.
>
> "You must find us." The figure does not move. They continue to point
> like a signpost.
>
> "I don't understand," I say.
>
> "Look." An urgency infuses their voice.
>
> Shading my eyes, I look towards the horizon again. Something moves back
> and forth across the dark line creasing the horizon. Stepping closer and
> squinting my eyes, it looks as though a section of blue sky has torn and
> flaps in the breeze.
>
> "It looks like a torn painting," I say.
>
> "Look, seek."
>
> I turn, gazing back, freezing in fear. Chills manipulate my body, my
> legs wobbly, unable to support me. A dark, wraith-like figure approaches
> the tear in the sky. It turns, staring right at me. It takes all my
> strength to remain standing.
>
> Wake up, wake up, wake up.
>
> The wraith grabs at the smudge with a claw-like hand. Its stare is
> piercing. Fear holds me captive as I struggle to wake, to change the
> scene before me.
>
> The wraith holds a maniacal grin as it tears at the smudge. A great
> wrenching sound like cloth being torn apart flows all around in
> surround-sound.
>
> Wind rushes from the gap like a wild animal howling. Warm and cold air
> collide creating turmoil. The melody of birds dwindles into a single
> crow caw. The sky is an inky blue. I shiver as a chill blankets the
> atmosphere.
>
> This beautiful world begins to fade. The suns golden rays fade into cold
> ribbons of pale yellow. They still embrace me, but the embrace has no
> warmth. All around are varying degrees of fading, like an old painting
> left in the sun for too long.
>
> "Stop," I shout. A cold sweat covers my face in a sheen. I try to move
> my frozen limbs. My movements are slow like an arthritic old woman
> trudging up stairs.
>
> A howl escapes from the wraith. Its eyes have turned blood red. It
> speaks, sounding like heavy stones grating against one-another. "You
> can't stop what is in motion. We will have it, and we will have you
> too."
>
> Another figure appears. This time I can make out a male figure. He looks
> young, my age. His dark hair is short but the chilly wind issuing from
> the now large tear in the horizon whips his strands around as he faces
> the wraith.
>
> There's something familiar about him. He's tall and lean with the hint
> of muscles bulging underneath his swarthy skin, a hint of the man to
> come. I feel a sense of pride and longing as I gaze at him. Something in
> me wells up filling my heart. It seems to give me courage against the
> fear turning me to stone.
>
> He turns his dark eyes on me, and a surge of heat travels through my
> body melting the layer of ice.
>
> "Find me." Despite his years, his voice is already deep. "RUN."
>
> There's something I'm trying to remember, trying to figure out. It
> doesn't come. Tears trickle down my cheeks as I watch what I can't
> control despite the fact I know I'm dreaming. And yet this feels more
> solid than a dream.
>
> The wraith pulls a sword from its tattered, black robes. Terror
> threatens me.
>
> This is a dream, Dulcy. You have the power to change it.
>
> I'm desperately trying to move us out of this realm. I frantically
> search my mind, attempting to change this scene, to wake up.
>
> The mystery figure speaks again in their husky whisper. "Until you
> unlock the temple, no change will happen."
>
> "Temple>? What temple?" I ask.
>
> "Seek." The voice is filled with dread and urgency.
>
> Suddenly, the wraith throws its sword at the boy. He looks at me with
> sadness in his eyes, and I scream.
>
> Holding my hands to either side of my face, I shout no. The world begins
> to grow apart into pixels just as the sword reaches the boy.
>
> Darkness shrouds my room as I bolt up in bed. I'm sweating and breathing
> as though I just ran a race. Television fuzz pops and swirls in front of
> me, the remnants of my dream. I switch the lamp on my night table on,
> letting the contents of my room come into focus.
>
> Piles of fashion magazines mingle with books-Wuthering Heights,
> One-hundred Years of Solitude, The Complete Book of Fairytales. clothes
> litter various sections of the room, my vanity full of make-up, jewelry
> and perfume. Pictures of friends and family adorn my cream and lavender
> walls. Folds of my lilac and silver comforter are bunched up in my
> hands.
>
> It was just a dream. It's okay.
>
> But I remember it with vivid clarity. It's the same dream I've had every
> night for weeks.
>
>
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