Write About Denial

It was gone.

I felt the panic rising up, withing through my gut, and my stomach began to churn.  Desperately, I tore everything off the table, breathing hard.  No file.  With my hands pressed flat on the table top, I took three deep breaths to calm myself and then began slowly, methodically, picking up every piece of paper off the floor one at a time.  The file was definitely gone.  I sank down into the nearest chair and thought.  My head was still fuzzy from my cold and my throat was sore from coughing but I barely noticed.  Right now, my  whole being was focused on trying to remember where the file had gone.  I got up and paced to the front door.  I walked through my actions like an actor at a dress rehearsal.  Came in, dropped my keys and purse on the side table.  A quick rummage turned up no file folder.  Next I went into the kitchen to put on the pot for tea.  I retraced my steps.  The pot was still steaming and my neglected cup of peppermint tea sat cooling on the counter.  I touched everything on the counter but it was no use.  No folder.  Then what?  I could have sworn I headed to the table and dropped the folder there but a recheck still came up empty.  The phone!  I turned and headed into the small room off the front entry that I used for my home office.  Leslie had called me and I had picked up here, by my desk.  With mounting hope I rummaged through various papers and files but the blue folder was nowhere.  I paused, stumped, racking my brain for what came next.  Leslie had come by to check on me, we had chatted over tea, then she left and I headed back to the kitchen to clean up.  What else?   There had to be something else.  Something I was missing.  After Leslie left, had I seen the file?  I froze right in the door frame between the office and foyer.  Had I seen the file after Leslie left?  I leaned against the door jam for support as the answer rose in my head.  I hadn't.

Leslie.

No, no, it couldn't be.  I paced anxiously up and down the hallway trying to think of a scenario where the folder disappeared without Leslie being involved.  But the more I paced, the more pieces fell together.  Leslie had been so helpful and concerned.  She always appeared right when I needed her.  I never thought it through before but her involvement was kind of odd.  After all, we were only distant cousins but yet she had stuck her neck out for me numerous times this last week.  Hell, I would never have gotten my hands on that file without her.  She was the one with the contacts at the police station.  She was the one who arranged for the money drop.  She was the one who had showed up to check on my head cold and then walked out of here and the file was gone.

":Damn it," I whispered as I cut my pacing short and headed to the phone.  I didn't want to make this call but I could no long deny the truth.  Leslie had played me.

Bruce answered on the second ring.

"Yo."

"It's me.  We have a situation."

"Go."

"It's Leslie.  She has the folder.  She has all of it."

There was silence on the line.  I could hear Bruce breathing and the faint sound of cheering in the background.  Was he at a bar?

"You sure?"  he asked at last.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"OK, what's the play?"

"I'm going to call her.   Maybe I'm wrong but I double it.  Can you be at her place in 10?  If you see her try to run, grab her and call me.  We can meet at the warehouse and decided how to cover this up.  It needs to happen quickly but it needs to be quiet Bruce, got it?"  Bruce was very effective but he also tended to be very loud and didn't care about innocent bystanders.  The last thing I needed was the cops interested in me again when I was this close to free.  Damn Leslie.

"Got it.  Make the call in 10."  Bruce hung up.  I slammed the phone down with more force than necessary but I was sweating.  From the cold or anger or nerves, I just didn't know.  Leslie.  Oh Leslie, why?  To kill time, I headed back to the kitchen and poured anther cup of tea.  I sipped it slowly while watching the clock, watching the pieces fall into place, seeing for the first time what she had done.  When ten minutes were up, I picked up my phone, took a deep breath, and dialed.

The phone rang and rang.  Right when I thought she was already gone, she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Les, it's me," I croaked into the phone, adding a hacking cough for good measure.

"Oh man, you sound awful!  Are you drinking that tea I brought you?

"Yeah, thanks Les.  You have been so great.  I don't know what I'd do without you."  My words came out sweet but my thoughts were much darker.  "Listen, I have one last favor to ask.  Could you run over to Longs and get me some NyQuil?  I need my head clear when I meet with Jason to give him the info.  He should be here in about an hour or so.  And maybe I could introduce you?  You never know, after all this clears up, he may have some work for you too."

I could hear the pause now that I was listening for it.  She was good though.  Her voice stayed steady.

"Sure hon.  No problem.  I'll pop out to the store and head right over.  I should be there in, like, five, ok?"

I clicked off the line but didn't put the phone down.  Some part of me still hoped I was wrong.  Some small part still believed the phone would not ring.  But it did.

"Yo.  I got her.  She was runnin. Meet you at the warehouse?"

"Yeah Bruce.  See you there."

Oh Leslie.  Why?

What I Said Was Not What I Was Thinking

"No! That's totally fine.  I don't mind at all.  Really!  I can totally take them for a little bit for you."

Only I did.  Mind that is. This was the third time Cindy had called with an "emergency" and begged to drop her kids off at my house.  Of course, she swore it would only be for an hour but I knew better.  Yesterday her hour and turned into four.  When she came to pick up her kids, she admitted that she and her husband had decided to go to dinner since they were kid free.  Part of me seethed inside as I hung up the phone.  Why couldn't I just say no, I don't want your awful kids in my house.  I sighed and paced the kitchen floor and in my mind I ran through all the things I should have said.  I kicked myself for being such a marshmallow.  Who knows how long she'd be gone this time?  I decided to arm myself with a made-up appointment for later this afternoon and braced for the sound of her knocking on my door.

"OhmyGod!  You are such a life-saver!  Thank you so much!  I cannot tell you how you have saved me!" Cindy gushed as she herded her two boys into my house.  They immediately ran off in different directions and the sounds of destruction began ringing forth.  She dropped a large diaper bag at her feet and primped her ponytail.

"So, I have, like, a hundred errands to run but I swear, it should only take me an hour," she smiled at me and then glanced at her watch.  "Tyler had a bit of a tummy ache last night but I'm sure he's find now," she continued, "but I packed extra diapers just in case."  She reached out and grabbed me by my upper arm.  "You are the best hon!  Thanks a ton!"

"Sure Cindy, no problem," I muttered into her insincere smile.  "But you need to pick them up by three.  I have a dentist appointment that I have to make."

Her face fell and she tapped her lips with a red fingernail.  "Oh, huh, that isn't going to work for me" she dragged the work out looking at me with concern, "I may not be back by then."

She paused at let the silence hang between us.  My first thought was to rush in and smooth things over, tell her to take her time, that I could work something out.  But I bit my tongue and smiled at her.  The silence lengthened.  Finally, I broke.  "Well, I'm really sorry.  I wish I could take them longer but..."  I shrugged my shoulders and held my breath.

"Where is your dentist?" Cindy asked me.

"Over in Tigard," I answered, amazed at how easily the lie fell from my lips.

Cindy's face lit up.  "Ohmygod!  That is so perfect!  I have to run by a store over there!  Why don't I just meet you there with the kiddos and grab them from you then!  You don't mind taking them with you?  Do you?" Cindy beamed at me.

"Say NO," my brain raged but I found myself floundering.  Time seemed to slow and I heard myself parroting back her very words, assuring her I didn't mind at all.  There was a whirl of blond hair and black yoga pants and she was gone.  As I closed the door behind her, wondering how I got myself into this mess, I heard the sound of crying coming from upstairs followed by screams.  I rested my head against the cool glass of the door before I slowly made my ways up the steps to face the rest of my Thursday afternoon.

Write about smoke

So one issue I have with these assignments is that I frequently know what I would like to write about but that the prompt doesn't match my pre-concieved thoughts so then should I shoehorn what I want to write about to the prompt or am I missing the point of the exercise which is to stretch your writing muscles. If you always just walk around the block, you'll never see what's over in the next town or over the next ridge.

So I'm not sure what I want to do. Keep writing what I want to write? Keep shoe horning what I want to write to match the prompt, or try and branch out and grow with the prompt and see where it takes me.

I'm skipping my specific next one 'cause I didn't like it and going to the one after. I'm so far behind its not like if I skip one anyone will notice ;-).
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Write about smoke.


Sally yanked Mr. Buns from his seat, presumably so he could more easily access the black board. Mudsy, Tizzy and Ms. Whiskers all sat that their desks watching Mr. Buns be marched up, chalk in hand.

"Mr. Buns, I will not have you disturbing the rest of the class with your outbursts. I asked you a question. What is smoke?"

"If you don't know I certainly don't..." Mr. Buns replied. He aped a grin for the other three students.

"I know I know" Mudsy yelled from the center of the room where the student's shared table was, still covered in detritus from their make shift lunch.

"Its not your turn Mudsy and remember to raise your hand." Sally said. She gave the class as stern a look as she could muster, eye brows furrowed down, lips pursed.

"I think its time for tea." Mr. Buns said as he sat in front of the chalk board. He couldn't even seem to comply enough with Sally's wishes to hold onto the chalk, it kept dropping to the floor.

"It won't be time for tea until recess. So once more Mr. Buns, what is smoke? And I would like an answer before I get cross with you."

Mr. Buns looked up at her with his large black shiny eyes, seemingly on the verge of tears. (Sally was on to this trick as he tried it often to get out of trouble). Mr. Buns said: "Once more Ms. Sally, if you don't know I certainly don't, so why do you ask this stuff?"

"You must know." Sally's resolve was beginning to waiver. If these guys didn't know then hope was waning rapidly. This group of students were the best and the brightest. Huphalumps was too busy getting ready for nap time. Ralph hadn't even bothered getting dressed this morning. She was going to have to talk to his parents about that.

"But we know what it smells like. It smells like the camp fire daddy made last year." Sally said to the class.

"But it also smells kind of like leaves. Remember that time Daddy put all those leaves in the trash bin and threw in the match?" Ms. Whiskers said.

"Or it smells like Aunt Veruca's clothes and hair" Tizzy blurted out.

Sally crossed her arms and thought about that.

"Can I go back to my seat now?" Mr. Buns asked?

"I suppose". She escorted Mr. Buns back to his seat around the tea table, went back to the chalkboard and picked up the piece of chalk from where Mr. Buns had so carelessly left it.

Mudsy's arm was straining against gravity.

"OH, OH OH Ms. Sally I know."

"Very well, Mudsy. What do you think smoke is?"

"Ms. Sally," Mudsy paused, because he was very proper. "Smoke is a gas and comprises a collection of airborne solid and liquid particulates and gasses that are emitted when a material undergoes combustion or pyrolysis, together with the quantity of air that is entrained or otherwise mixed into the mass."

Mudsy looked at the others around the table, a smug grin creeping from between his tusks and under his trunk. The others around him just stared blankly at him.

Mr. Buns was first to break the silence, "What was that? I don't even know what the *#$%)@ half those words even mean."

"Language Mr. Buns!" Sally scolded, but then added "But, I agree with Mr. Buns." Sally said. Mudsy's cocksure grin started to fade. Was he wrong? It had seemed so obvious at the time.

"Would you care to expand on your answer?" she asked.

Mudsy slumped down and stared at the floor crestfallen. He had been sure it was the right answer.

"But he sounds oh so smart." Tizzy said. Ms. Whiskers nodded eagerly in agreement.

"Well, uh." Mudsy continued. "It is commonly an unwanted by-product of fires including stoves, candles, oil lamps and fireplaces, but may also be used for pest control, communication, defensive and offensive capabilities in the military, cocking or smoking..."

"That is enough, Mudsy. All right so now we know what it is. Would anyone like to tell the class what airborne, particulates or pyrolysis means?"

The class looked up at Ms. Sally, blank eyes all around. She sighed. This was going to be a long day...

The Landscape of Longing

Lisa's hair was long, blond and straight.  She was the undisputed queen of fifth grade and I watched her every day at recess.  I would sit on the cement curb under the holly tree with a book propped in my lap but my eyes never sought the page.  They were far too busy following the swirl of blond hair around the playground.  Her hair fell straight from a center part along her back to just below her shoulder blades.  It was two tones.  A honey blond on top with darker streaks underneath.  She never wore it up.  It was always loose and flowing and whipped behind her as she ran with her friends.

My own hair was sorely lacking.  It hung in two heavy braids down the side of my cheeks.  Thick, coarse, and brown, it tended to frizz and tangle at a moments notice.  Every year I dressed as an Indian girl for Halloween and my braids melded in nicely.  But my hair kept its costume on year round.  The two heavy braids reappearing year after year in school photos and Christmas cards.  My hair never whipped behind me in a silken wave when I ran.  It never fell and framed my face in a gentle stream.

But Lisa's hair, while enviable, was not my hearts desire.  What I really wanted were her eyes.  They were blue.  So blue they were clear; the color of aquamarine. I remember hearing a song on the radio once.  It was a country music station my mom listened to and the song caught my ear.  "'I"m gonna make my brown eyes bluuuuuuue," crooned the singer.  Of course she was singing about a broken heart and cowboy whose eye wandered but for me, at all our eleven years old, I took the song for truth and it settled in my heart.  Every time I looked in the mirror at my own brown eyes, I heard that refrain circling min my head.  If only I could make my eyes blue.  Clear blue.  The desire followed me through middle and high school.  Lisa from fifth grade was my standard.  My unattainable goal.  Hundreds of dollars were spent on magazines and hair treatments to try and copy those smooth silken locks.  Countless hours were spent sighing in front of mirrors.  Eventually, I settled into my skin.  Accepted my wild hair and plain eyes.  But the sight of a girl with straight blond hair and blue blue eyes still causes a small pain somewhere inside.

It's either the beginning or the Ending

"And that's when you called."

Write About Going Underground

I had heard rumors of the tunnels.  They supposedly criss-crossed under the city and were used to smuggle illegal gin or tussled up kids to the slaver ships.  If course, that was all they were, rumors, so I never paid them much attention.  I was busy just trying to get by.  Trade was down and my usual haunts were quickly drying up.  I probably never would have even steeped foot underground if it weren't for Umberto.

Umberto is my half brother.  He's loyal as a dog and about as smart.  Jules says I should have ditched him long ago but some last soft part of my heart won't let me.  So Umberto follows me around, always underfoot, always sorry, and always a pain.  I know he was trying to help when he managed to lose out savings.  I told myself that while I counted slowly to twenty but it didn't do much good.  I had carefully stashed every last farthing we owned into the side of this old cardboard box.  I slit it so gently, you couldn't even tell the money was in there.  It was a perfect hiding place.  So perfect, that Umberto tossed the box in an attempt to clean the place up.  So it was gone.  All of it.  All that was left was my anger and Umberto who was crying and apologizing all in the same breath.

I stormed out of our room, down the stairs, and into the alley that lead behind the building.  I was somewhere between desperate and furious and wasn't exactly aware of where I was going.  My head was in turmoil and my feet where on their own.  They lead me down to the wharf.  It was late, and the air was cool and salty.  I remember grabbing the railing and staring at my white knuckles while my mind raced looking for an answer.  I don't know how long I stood there but it must have been a while because I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye.  Just a flutter of something darker than black down below me.  I was aware of the shuffle of feet and a muttered curse.  It took me a minute to realize that what I was seeing was an abduction.  Three men had a kid bundled up in a black blanket.  One at the feet, the other the head.  The third held open a section of what looked like a stone wall.  The blanket was limp and unresistant but it was clearly a small body.  Why I stood there, motionless, I don't know.  Maybe I was in shock.  Maybe some survival instinct still functioned under my rage. But for whatever reason, I watched in silence as the three men walked up the gangplank to the moored ship before them and disappeared below deck.

Remember now, I was desperate.  Hard times call for hard choice so don't judge me just yet.  I hopped the railing and found myself in front of the immovable stone wall.  Only I knew it moved.  Carefully, my hand felt the rocks and mortar looking for the catch.  It didn't take long to find and soon the stone moved for me as well.  With the moon to my back, I peered down into the darkness.  The tunnel was crude but roomy.  The sides were dirt with some wooden support beams.  I could only see a few feet ahead and then the air turned black.  A deep, heavy black not of mystery.  This black smothered.  There was no way I was going one step further without a good torch and some back up.  Carefully, I swung the stone wall closed and padded back to my rooms for my half-brother.  Perhaps, just perhaps, our troubles could be solved tonight.

"If I want I can remember everything"

For some reason, I did the Sept 9th prompt on Sept 6th.  So, to keep with this strange logic, I guess I'll try the Sept 6th prompt for today?  Clearly, I need to find my rhythm again!

 If I want, I can remember everything-
Conversations late into the night,
Kisses stolen behind shrubbery with green leaves glinting moonlight.
The languor of your hand on my thigh.

But memory is dirty; it won't let me stop.
Though I want, I can remember everything-
Evasive glances and stony silence,
A distance that grows despite my pleads and tears,
The heartbreak of being left behind.

So what will it be?
Curse or blessing?
Gift or bane?

If I want, I can remember everything.
But can I also forget you if I try?

In my dream I was the first to arrive

"In my dream I was the first to arrive. I never am usually."

"What do you mean by that?" Dr. Arnett asked. She sat in her chair, blonde hair in a bun, horned rim glasses focused on me. In her lap lay the yellow legal pad that she
almost never took notes on.

"I mean that usually everything is already going on by the time I get there. This time I was the first." Even when I said it I could hear the value judgements being made in her head. Not professional but who was it who said: "Great claims require greater proof?" Yeah, this was one of those times.

"So when did these 'dreams' as you call them start?" She asked, bringing the clicker point of her pen up to her lips. I wasn't looking at her but I could tell her brows were furrowed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, but who was going to belive me. I thought a psychologist had been the best choice.

"About six months ago."

"Right, about the time you were laid off?"

"Yeah." I could see where she was going. "But, I don't know I don't think that had anything to do with it."

"But you said that its not every night and sometimes you dream them during the day? And it never happens when there's anyone else around."

"Not yet but..."

"What else do you have going on in your life? I mean losing your job can be very stressful. Your file said you're not married, no kids. You had a relatively active social life. Why do you think this has manifested itself with you?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out and I wasn't sure if I should see a shrink or a priest. Uh, no offense to the shrink comment." I sat in the chair becoming more and
more self conscious.

"None taken." She smiled.

"So, why don't you walk me through the first time it happened."

"If you think it'll help."

"You never know."

I proceeded to tell her about the first time "it" happened. Even now I can't figure out if it was a dream or it really happened. I had gotten my pink slip that afternoon at 4:45 on a Friday. 17 years of working there and bam, no "Sorry to see you go." No nothing just a pink slip on my desk after the all employee meeting. Biggs and Phil offered to take me out drinking so we hit our usual watering hole. We commiserate 'cause Biggs lost his job too. Phil bought us round after round and before too long we were pretty sloshed.

We were there till maybe 11 or so. The place started getting full of college kids and too noisy to talk any more so we decided to head home. Dr. Arnett stopped me there.

"So do you have this dream after drinking?"

"No ma'am. Just this first time."

"All right, please continue."

I thought for a moment. Since it had been a nice night out I decided to walk it back home because Biggs and Phil were too drunk to drive and I wasn't in that good a shape
either. The fresh air would do me good and I had all the time in the world right? About 20 minutes later I figured my head should be clearing but its not. It feels like someone has stuffed cotton in my ears, nose and mouth and that same someone is rubbing sandpaper and static electricity all over me.

"Does it always feel this way?"

"No, usually its worse unless I've been drinking."

"Interesting." That's all she said. I know the sound of 'Interesting'. It sounded more like "Right, I'm going to dial 9 and 1 and if you keep getting crazier I'm going to dial the last 1."

So I stopped for a minute to catch my breath. I'm 1/2 drunk and think maybe I'm having a heart attack or a stroke. I look up and see fire flies above me. Only they aren't fire flies. They're stars. First one star starts moving in an arc overhead and then another. Then 10 are moving, all in the same direction. I think, maybe its some sort of air-force jet or something but there's no noise. Then its 50 stars, then 100, then 1000. All moving and they're moving so fast that I start getting dizzy.

Now I know I'm having a stroke or something, so I sit down and put my head between my legs as best I can and try to take deep breaths. I say the alphabet and then say it out loud to see if sounds right. I get stuck between v and w although those two have always sounded funny to me. That's when I smell it. Its always the same smell. I don't know it smells like fog mixed with a flower shop mixed with the thump of a subwoofer when one of those low riding cars pulls up next to you. I know that's not a smell but you know, I'm already at the shrink so sue me that's what it smells like.

There's a breeze that starts up. At first its just enough to make the grass move but as more and more of the stars are moving over head the stronger the breeze gets. I stand up because at the middle of this circle of stars is a bright white light. And its just getting brighter and brighter. So now I'm thinking, "great I get fired and now I'm going to be hit by a comet. This day just sucks." But I figure there are worse ways to go right? I mean how many people's tombstones say "Death by comet" on them?

"That's pretty morbid. You think about this sort of thing often?"

"You asked me to tell you the story, and remember, I had just gotten laid off and was still 1/2 drunk."

"Point taken, keep going."

I continue. At first the wind is just enough to muss your hair, then it gets stronger and stronger and stronger. About ten seconds later it was so strong that I felt like I had to grab onto a nearby stop sign to keep from flying away. I looked around to see if other people were having the same problems but I didn't see anyone else around.

The stop sign started wobbling and before I could figure out what's going on we're both flying up to the sky towards those stars that were zipping around in a circle.

Dr. Arnett stopped me again. "So how did that make you feel, being out of control?"

"I was panicked, how do you think I should have felt?"

"Did you realize you were dreaming at this point?"

"It felt very very real. And except for how preposterous it was I'm still not convinced it was a dream." This last sentence caused Dr. Arnett's eyebrows to knit together.

"You think this was a real experience?"

"It was something. Look, Doctor. I know how this sounds. But I've also been dreaming my whole life. This was... Different."

She scribbled something down on her pad, which she tilted up towards her when she saw me peering over to read what she had written.

"Keep going." She said. "I feel like we're getting close to something here."

I flew up and watched the street fade into lines on a map then the lines disappeared and I could see lakes and hills and in seconds I could see the night half of the planet lit up like a Christmas tree, then the whole planet itself and the blinding light of the sun. I put my arms in front of my face and screamed bloody murder. There was no sense in how fast I was moving but the wind was still whipping around me and the stop sign I had let go of, was whipping around me in circle. I was convinced it was going to hit me so I tried to grab onto it. I must have blacked out because the next thing I know I open my eyes and I don't see the sun or the moon, I see this big white ball coming towards me. It looks like a snow ball coming at my face but it just kept getting bigger and bigger. It went from snowball to bowling ball to beach ball. I could start making out details on it and I realized that I was falling towards the surface of some crazy planet that was all covered in snow. I saw oceans on this planet as I augered in but they seemed to be frozen over. I didn't recognize any of the continents or anything but I saw details on the ground that were rushing towards me much faster than I could handle.

I was screaming bloody murder by then my voice was hoarse. I was sure that whatever part of my buzz I had starting this trip it was gone and in full sobriety I realized I was going to die, not from being hit by a comet but by falling onto a giant frozen mountain slope. As I got closer I saw that what I thought were clouds were actually smoke billowing up from a billion fires. I careened in trying to remember how I left my apartment and if there was anything truly embarrassing that my sister was going to find when someone finally reported me missing.

About 500 feet above the ground I started slowing down. Not like a nice gradual stop you make at a stop sign but rib cracking bone rattling stop like at the end of a badly running roller coaster. The wind was knocked out of my lungs and I flopped into a big circle carved in the snow about a foot wider than I was tall.

I took a few breaths of frigid air trying to figure out if this really was how heaven was supposed to look and I saw these things looking back at me from the other side of the circle. They were tiny, maybe about as big as my big toe and about as stout. They looked like little mice crossed with ants. Plump little things with whiskers, beady eyes and big ears and shells, too many limbs and antennae.

Blinking slowly and trying to figure out how many bones I just broke I saw this little knot of them, they were dressed in rags or something and one of them has what looks like a book being carried in one arm. The rest seemed to be armed with sewing needles and matches. The one with the book was waving its antennae all around and squeaking. The others got down on their bellies and just didn't seem to move.

I stopped for a second to see Dr. Arnett furiously scribbling things down on her pad.

"What do you think Doc? Should I admit myself?"

"I wouldn't do that just yet." she smiled. "But would you mind if I get my tape recorder to record the rest of our session?"

"Sure why not." She got up and went over to her desk and grabbed a little palm sized tape recorder.

"Excellent, Jim please keep going. What happens next? And let me just say that i'm impressed by your ability to keep your wits about you. Are you sure you didn't realize it was a dream?"

"Well hang on, let me tell you..."

I was still on my belly on the snow trying to figure out what the heck this little mouse-ant thing was trying to tell me when I heard it. There was a chittering from behind me. I craned my head and rolled over in the snow to see this smoke ball behind me. It was maybe basket ball sized and just looked like billowing smoke with four red eyes and two inch fangs.

Once again I'm sure I screamed like a little girl and began backing up only to find I couldn't move past the edge of the circle in the snow. It was like there was a piece of glass there that was strong enough for me to lean against and push myself up. Thankfully the snow wasn't too deep but it did make traction difficult and I slid as much as jumped towards the far end of the circle as that smoke thing came at me. it wrapped around the circle a little so it couldn't get at me. Big thanks for small miracles right?

The next thing I knew I heard a little squeak and felt a little crunch under my right foot. The mouse-ant thing with the book had been erasing the line in the snow behind me and I had accidentally stepped on it. As soon as the thing had breached the line I felt my ears pop and heard a sound like when you open a jar of pickles. I reached down and picked the poor squished little sucker up, mainly to see if it had left anything stuck in my shoe. At this point the other little mouse-ant things are skittering off in all directions. Before I had a chance to do anything the smoke thing passes through the far edge of the circle, I guess because the circle was incomplete now. It opened its smokey little mouth and comes at me all fangs and smog.

"What did you do?"

"I did what any red blooded American would do in this situation, once I got done screaming again..."

For a smoke monster it didn't seem to have terribly good traction on snow. Not that I had had a lot of experience with smoke monsters up to that point.

Dr. Arnett stopped me: "I'm glad you still have a sense of humor about this. That's a very good sign."

"Well don't say that yet."

So what did I do? As I had said, once I got done screaming and backing up I spent the next fifteen seconds trying to keep any extremity out of its mouth. That turned out to not be an easy task. I ran around the circle trying not to step on any more mouse-ants when the thing caught my foot. I felt at least 4 of its fangs go through my shin to the bone.

As I said that I hiked up my pant leg to show her the still red scars. It had been about six months ago so the skin was still pink and smooth. The smoke thing was remarkably heavy and I fell into the snow on my back. The thing let go of my leg and made a jump towards my chest. I rolled out of the way and as luck would have it my arm brushed the stop sign. With adrenaline pumping through my body I picked up the stop sign one handed and managed to fend off the smoke thing as it came down. I found out very quickly that either metal or paint, I'm still not sure which, and smoke monsters don't mix. It hit the flat red part of the stop sign and let out the most unholy cry I'd ever heard. It was like cats in heat playing with an angle grinder. It backed off but only for a second and rushed me again. I still wasn't to my feet yet and it caught my elbow here. I rolled up my sleeve to show her 3 two inch scars that were also pink and smooth.

"Not these here." I said, pointing to a cluster of five little dots that had just recently scabbed over. "Those were from a different time and some sort of frog thing. Its amazing how many of these things have teeth. Sharp sharp teeth."

Since Dr. Arnett kept scribbling and not saying anything I kept going.

It didn't get a solid grip this time either so I was able to rip it off my arm and actually heave the sucker a good 20 feet. Again it was the size of a basketball but it seemed to weigh more like a big bag of dog food. It looked at me and I didn't need to be told that it was sizing me up. I jumped up to my feet and grabbed the stop sign, trying to back up all the while and put some distance between me and it.

Apparently it still liked a taste of sweat and bar smoke and rushed me. I think it was more luck than anything that when it got within about five feet of me I brought the stop sign down edge-wise on it and sliced the thing clean in half. It let out another of those cat-grinder cries and then basically just exploded in what seemed to be ash, gray moss and pebbles. It twitched a couple of times and then stopped. I stood there still holding the stop sign realizing how hard I'm breathing. It seems like I can't catch my breath and my eyes are watering from the cold. I dropped the sign as it started feeling incredibly heavy and there was a pounding in my head. I could feel my vision beginning to flicker around the edges a little like a tunnel slowly closing in. I sat down in the snow not caring any more how cold it was and just wishing as I breathed that I could feel like I was getting a full breath of air.

A couple of seconds later I get the feeling of someone stuffing my head with cotton again and I can feel the sandpaper electricity on my skin and I pass out only to wake up on a street corner about five miles from my house next to a broken stop sign post. A police man was tapping me with his foot talking to me and writing me up for destruction of public property and public drunkenness. I had a splitting headache and the sun was beating down on me. I took the ticket and impressed on the policeman that I was ok despite the fact that I had blood on my pant leg and scratches on my arms. He attributed it to injuries sustained when I dismantled the stop sign.

I limped home and took a long shower then made a call to the doctor. Let me tell you how painful rabies shots are. The doctor said it looked like either a raccoon or a possum had gotten the best of me.

"But you don't believe the doctor do you? Look, I know how this sounds but you know the difference between a dream and something really happening to you. Besides, I thought you might take it this way so I brought this."

I handed over the miniature book the ant-mouse had. It was no bigger than a postage stamp but was about 1/2 and inch thick with paper thinner than an onion skin and crammed with tiny pictures and tinier writing. Dr. Arnett's eyebrows arched as she used her finely manicured fingernails to leaf through it.

"So you say this happens to you a lot? We'll call them fugue states for now as I agree I don't think dream is an appropriate word."
"Well not a whole lot. Maybe a couple times a week?"
"And this last one?" She handed the book back to me.
"This last one was different. I've only been to the same place a couple of times but never back to the mouse-ants. Except this last time. Usually it seems like I'm there after the action had started, but this time, this time I was first."

"...having lived away from home"

Alright guys, it's time to get back on the writing wagon.  Summer is over.  We are tanned and rested and ready to pickup our pens, er, keyboards, right?  Right!  It says we have 100 posts so far.  That is impressive.  Very impressive.  Pat yourself on the back.  Now, put your hands back on the keys and write!

Jenny watched her old home roll into view.  She wasn't sure how she felt as she pulled into the driveway that curved along side the house.  Her return was not in victory or defeat.  It was unexpected.  When she had left, twenty three year ago, she had vowed never to set foot in this town again.  And yet, here she was, with one foot planted on the drive and the other still in her car.  She lingered like this, uncommitted, for some time.  She could see herself at eight, hair flying, roller skating down this driveway with what felt like supersonic speed.  She remembered the knockdown, drag out fights at age 14 with her mom, both of them standing on the drive in the rain yelling at each other with such hatred.  But the memory that tugged at her most was the day she left.  She was 18 and so sure of herself as she stalked down the drive, around the bend and out of sight of this house, this town, and everything it held.  But twenty three years ages a person.  It grants wisdom and failure in equal measure.  Jenny knew, wisely, that her return was not failure.  But she also knew her return was not welcomed either.  And so, as she committed that second foot to the drive, she resolved that this time, she would not walk away until all her demons were confronted and all issues resolved.  She was home, at last.