(Author’s note: Hi. You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t written for about a month now. Work got crazy, and my mind got really really tired. I needed to rest after all the work that I had to do. As such, my mind has become a bit stale. So, here’s an offering that may not necessarily be the best, but it’ll be good enough for jazz.)
Delia’s eyes grew wide at the organizer on her daddy’s desk.
“Daddy, can I have paper clip?”
Her father looked down and smiled. His beautiful 6 year old came to work with him, due to inservice days at school. He sat down and lifted her onto his lap, and plucked a silver paper clip out.
Delia worked her fingers, bending, unbending; like lightning she moved. Daddy just closed his eyes, taking the quick break that he was hoping for.
“I’m done!”
He opened his eyes, and looked down at Delia, who had made a house out of one clip.
(Author’s note: Late on the story tonight. In the middle of cleaning the apartment for the next tenant, and getting all my stuff ready to move out. I hope to have a bit more time coming up to get things done, and to do more with the blog.
My time in Korea is ending. I will have a celebration post coming up, along with a State of the Blog very soon…likely while waiting for my flight in 2 weeks. Anyhow, enjoy today’s fictioneers.)
(In Korea, today is known as Buddha’s Birthday. While I am not a follower of Buddha, I am thankful that the Koreans gives a national holiday off. Now if only they could give tomorrow off…but that’s asking too much. Here’s today’s fictioneers.)
Brock ran into the portico, looking around quickly.
The vacation was supposed to be a dream. Perth, Australia was to be a dream for Brock Adamson. A dual citizen of France and Canada, he was easily waved into the country on his tourist visa.
And after only a couple days, on the run due to his past. A past that had two men following him and nearly taking off one of his legs.
He ran inside the building, and looked at the receptionist.
(Author’s Note: I’d like to give a shout out to Jason E. Gillikin, a good friend of mine who I have had the pleasure of contacting and being in contact with for many years. We both grew in our writing, and he is the Editor in Chief of Caffeinated Press, an anthology publisher based out of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He has helped me, in many ways, to get back to writing the way it should be. If you get a chance, you should visit his website: http://www.jegillikin.org/ )
Never one to dally, he reached over to the table and grabbed a charcoal pencil and his paper, and started to sketch.
A smooth nose, sleek lines jutting back from the rounded nose. A bump on the top towards the front, and a long tubular body. Each part of the drawing called upon the memory of his dream, the horror and awe of what he imagined.
Two ellipses, flattened, bisected the main body, rounding on either side, but thin enough to look like the blade of a knife.
The Lady In White
(aka Take Me With You)
by Miles Rost
I’ve seen her before. In the recesses of my mind, when I haven’t been paying attention, she’s there.
It usually starts the same way. I’m doing some sort of work-related task, maybe grousing a bit, or I hear a certain song. My mind drifts off to a beautiful beach. I assume that I am on a beach somewhere in the Southern Pacific, somewhere like Australia. That seems to be where my mind drifts off to, lately.
I’m on this beach, and I see this woman in front of me. She’s grabbing a hold of my wrist and forearm, laughing and being playful. Never do I see her face, but I do see what she wears. Each time I have the dream, or vision, she’s always wearing the same thing.
She wears a white cord-knit sweater, a slight bit bulky but not too big. Big enough to hide things, but not enough to make it a true mystery, even though most times the dream is a bit fuzzy (like when I don’t wear my glasses.) The sweater is a long-sleeved one, and reminds me of an older style of dress. She also wears a pair of white pants. I’m not sure if they’re jeans, capris, thin material, or whatnot. They show her curves off, but not so much as to make her look like a Kardashian or Mitsune Konno. Finally, she wears a pair of white canvas shoes. I know that they are because I cannot perceive holes anywhere on the shoes. It would also fit the idea of beach attire.
Strangely enough, I never see her face. She seems to have long hair, but I’m not sure what color it is exactly. It could be brown, black, or even red. But never do I see her face. It’s always obscured, or blurred out like one of those pixelated pictures to hide a person’s identity. Always a bit frustrating, but hey, who said dreams and visions weren’t a challenge?
The first part of the dream or vision, as I said earlier, is her pulling me along the beach. I can feel the salt in the air, and I can see that she is laughing. Apparently, she’s either wanting me to see something, or she’s just happy that I’m there. It’s in slower motion, but I noticed that she’s trying to keep me close as we stumble down the sandy shore.
Each time I’ve had the vision of her, it’s been a bit different. The first time I had the vision, we were as said above. But in later ones, she’s always been in my mind. Recently, when going through the final processes of giving up an addiction from which 20 years descended, I saw her in my dream. She wasn’t pulling on my sleeve. The air about her seemed to be serious, but with loving concern, and she gave me a thumbs up. It seemed like she was saying “You’re gonna make it through, and I’m here for you.”
Other times, I’ve had more than one dream or vision in sequence. The other dream is of both of us on a porch, looking over a hilly meadow and a tree that has afternoon autumn sunlight peeking through the browning leaves of the tree. She’s laying against my shoulder, while I hold her gently. We just sit for hours as the sun falls below the hills off in the distance.
I keep wondering about this lady in white. It feels quite a bit like one of those bad anime where a boy makes a promise to a young girl that they will be together and get married, and they move away from each other for 15 years or so, and meet up again to find that they’re different…and yet, so alike.
There are so many different possible explanations to what it could be. From wild and creative ideamaking, to a personal prophecy, to inter-soul communications, there are hundreds of explanations.
But I realize that sometimes, an explanation is not the thing that one needs. Maybe, just maybe, one may have to enjoy those fleeting moments in your own mind. If it turns out to be true, then all the better…
Klaus started to stir, as the winds gently caressed his face. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, and found himself on a beautiful windswept beach.
The sands were like salt and pepper, dark and light waves of sand coarsing across the entire beach. He saw the ocean’s waves crest and fall, the tide coming in and going out. The sky was a beautiful blue, with the sun overhead as though it was late afternoon. It was, in his mind, the perfect time and perfect place. It was where he wanted to be for his entire life, and he was there now.
He started walking down the beach, letting the waves lap at his feet as they lazily came and went. He breathed in the sea air, the scent of salt and marine life wafting like a gentle perfume into his nostrils. He walked for what seemed to be a long time, when he saw someone in the distance.
He continued walking as the figure in the distance got closer. He was happy that he wasn’t going to be the only one on this beach. He kept walking, kicking piles of sand and leaving his footprints behind on the soggy sandy shoreline. As he got closer to the figure, he noticed that it was decidedly feminine. And she had a familiar look to her. He got closer, to the point where he got to see her face.
He blanched, because what he saw could not be true. He was looking at his own mother, who had passed on many years before.
“Mom?! Is that you?” he cried out.
She walked over to him and smiled.
“It is me, Klaus,” his mother said.
“But, I thought you were dead.”
“My body is dead, but you know that my spirit lives on.”
Klaus took a nervous breath.
“But, if you’re not here, is this a dream?”
“It very well may be. However, I am here to offer some help.”
He looked at her, and gave her a look of wonder.
“You have been having trouble with your life, and where you want to go.”
“That is true, mom. I have been wanting to do something that is my passion, and the world seems to want me to go a different direction.”
His mom chuckled.
“Do you remember what I told you when you decided to go to business college?”
“I remember. You told me, ‘Don’t do what you want to do for money, do it because you love it.'”
“That’s right. Now, are you doing what you love to do?”
He looked down at his feet, and shook his head.
“I’m doing what I can to survive.”
“Then, my son, you should change it and look at doing something you love.”
He looked at his chestnut-haired mother, smiling cherub-like.
“I still wish you were around, Mom. I could use your help at times.”
She smiled back at him, and bowed.
“My darling son, I’m always around.”
She suddenly disappeared.
It was then that Klaus awoke from his slumber, in a sweat. He looked around the darkened room, at the alarm clock that signaled 4:30AM. As he turned himself over to go to sleep again, he mused at what he dreamed.
He looked at a picture of his mom, sitting on top of the nightstand.
Mike and Chelsie walked into the theatre five hours early, expecting to practice in the silence of the hall without any problem before the big performance that night. Mike was a horn player with his expertise in the trombone, though when asked he could bring out his trumpet and whip up a Herb Alpert production that would put the man himself in awe. For Chelsie, she worked with Mike for many years as his piano accompanist. She was adept on the ivories, and could be brought in for session work for any major band as a pianist or a keyboardist.
When they received the invitation to play the “New Fillmore” theatre in San Francisco, they jumped at the chance. After playing in smaller venues like Missoula, Montana and Boise, Idaho, they were ready to take their chance. Even playing in larger venues like Sacramento and Reno were good, but they weren’t the big spots. They weren’t San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, or even their dream: Los Angeles. When they got to the New Fillmore Theatre, they expected to have the theatre to themselves.
Boy, were they wrong.
As they opened the door, it was pandemonium. In one part of the backstage area, labeled as “Rehearsal Studio D”, there was a loud raucous band of youth attempting to try and perform like the Tijuana Brass. In Mike’s eyes, they weren’t going to even make the Tijuana Prison Brass Band look bad. And down another hallway, it was a dance troupe practicing only what Chelsie could think of as high school grade danceline work.
They walked up to a woman with a clipboard, wearing a dark blue pantsuit and a serious expression.
“I don’t know if we’re in the right place…”
“Then why are you here?” the pantsuit girl turned around to them, with an annoyed, yet serious expression.
“We were invited,” Chelsie responded indignantly.
“Oh. Names?”
“Mike Clark and Chelsie Daniels.”
The pantsuit girl leafed through some sheets and scanned the paper.
“Ah, the boner/pianist duet.”
“You make it sound so dirty,” Mike responded.
“Shorthand usually does that. You’re in Rehearsal Studio E.”
“Where’s that?”
“Main stage. We’re really full up in places, and Studio A is booked with the main act.”
“Who’s that?”
“Surprise. Can’t tell you.”
Mike looked at her blankly, wondering just where this woman came off acting in such a way.
“Head to the main stage. Make sure you’re only playing what you’re supposed to play for the show tonight. Any sort of musical hanky-panky will get you removed from the schedule. If you want to play such things…”
The pantsuit girl gave both of them a nasty gaze, as she breathed in.
She suddenly turned away and walked toward another group of people that were not where they were supposed to be.
The duo looked at each other, looked at the programs in their hands, and felt like they were trapped. They knew that even though they didn’t want to have to do this gig, this seemed to be the only time when they could play at a major location and maybe get noticed.
What they didn’t notice was a man, looking at them from a dark wing away from notice. He smirked as he thought about the changes coming.
“These two musicians will work perfectly…” he said to himself, pleased with his choice.
Music and Fiction 