A meeting halfway between the worlds: A dream from so many many years ago, about a person who no longer/never really existed

It's halfway between day and night. I'm in another world, one that didn't exist until I slowly woke up. Rain softly falls on the tin roof overhead, contributing to the surrealness of being awake, and making the pre-dawn light an even softer blue-gray than normal.
There is something about rain that just makes me feel as if it was lightly storming in my bones, my soul turned to white-gray. The storm creates a sense of tranquility; a sense of calm and peace. I feel completely comfortable, alive, and in the moment, even as I remember a particular dream from the night before.

Rain had been pattering softly on the roof in that one dream, too.
******
There was almost a bitter-sweet sort of anticipation in the air, a sort of lemonade atmosphere. Someone was coming, someone who had to travel far and long to see me, someone who I had never met before in the physical world.
I had been hurriedly cleaning the room that I share with my three sisters when I heard someone softly coming up the stairs.
It was him, the one who I seem to know so dearly, but have never seen in my life. We hug, long and happy, the moment savored.
There is a certain amount of awkwardness after the hug, neither of us really know how to behave, we are both cautious, overcome by the strangeness of the moment,  though we don't feel shy or uncomfortable. I suggest a walk, even though rain is still pouring outside.
*****
Most of what I remember about the dream are colors and feelings, black hair, tan skin, gray light. Happiness, and a sort of sadness. Perhaps that is my outside awareness, the part of me that knows it was only a dream, the part of me that so much wishes it could happen in real life.

I once wrote of a chance meeting, a meeting with a person I would never see again, I wrote "The heart hopes on, as it always will". That line perfectly described how I felt then, and how I felt as I woke up in the peaceful gray of a rainy dawn. It wasn't real, but, oh, it was beautiful.

In the dark, dust

Everything is pitch black, completely dark.
I am nothing but the dark.

I am scared that this is going to mean nothing more than laying here for endless years, no control over anything, lonely, and in the dark.


I suppose this situation would be suffocating, except I don't need to breathe. I would be cold, except the cold doesn't bother me.
I suppose there's really nothing to be afraid of; I'm completely isolated from the world in a box deep under ground.

No harm can befall me; I'm already dead.

***
Dark yellow afternoon light fell heavily through thick curtains, softly illuminating a square room filled with people. Some walked slowly past a casket while others stood around in small groups, speaking softly. Other people wept; a girl in her early teens sat in a straight backed chair, slumped over. Her mother's hand smoothed rhythmic circles on the back of her dress. Her mother looked like she too had been crying some time earlier, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and sadness seemed to weigh on her like a lead cloak over her wide shoulders. The girl's own thin, bony shoulders shook as she sobbed into her hands.
The father, a burly and powerful looking man, stood by the entrance, shaking hands or hugging the people who entered. He stood straight and tall, but his face looked as though something in his chest was causing him great pain.

As the light softened and faded, the casket was solemnly carried outside to a waiting car. A procession of cars wound through narrow streets to a small cemetery presided over by great, lush trees in the full colors of Autumn. The cars began to line the narrow roads running like a grid across the lawn dotted with trees, headstones, and concrete benches. Next to a deep, long hole in the ground stood a temporary canvas gazebo shading a thicket of folding chairs. People got out of their cars and gathered together in clumps and pairs. Children raced across the thick grass, laughing and playing, enjoying themselves despite their surroundings and circumstances.
A few of the children plucked brightly colored plastic flowers and toys from the bases and sides of headstones, delighted with their findings until their parents ordered them to return their newfound treasures to where they belonged.
The family of three, heavy shouldered mother, straight backed father, and weeping daughter made their way to the chairs and sat down.

***

Everything is dark and I am bored.

The funeral service was nice, but my inability to respond to anything was stifling.
My heart ached for my mother and father. I heard my sister crying once, and then again all through my mother's talk at the service. There was nothing I could do to comfort any of them.



I was scared right after the casket had been buried. I haven't been able to see anything since my eyelids were closed, but all sound ceased when my casket was lowered into the vault. I almost felt like I was suffocating until I remembered that I don't breathe anymore.

Now it is dark and quiet and there isn't much to feel.
I can feel the velvet against my bare arms, and the clothing on the rest of my body, but the air in here is still and unmoving. I suppose it's cold down here, but I am not uncomfortable, thank god. Or not. As far as I know, there's no afterlife, so why would there be a god? I haven't met a god, and I don't expect to. I never really did. In life, I didn't believe in a god.

The moment of death meant nothing more than the cessation of pain, and control over my body and senses. I wish I had been cremated, instead of enduring this unending consciousness.



It's dark. I don't know why I keep repeating that.

It's dark.

It's still dark.

It's going to be dark forever. I'm going to be here forever.
I never really thought myself outgoing in life, but my current state of undeath and loneliness is making me reconsider.
I had friends. I had family. I wasn't isolated or shy, but I didn't particularly seek out company.
What I wouldn't do for a conversation with anyone but myself right now...

Dark.

...think I'm losing the use of my mind.... never thought of thinking as a sense, like seeing, smelling, and hearing... nothing to do down here... thought is the only interaction I have with the world. There's nothing to hear, smell, or taste... but there's a little of something to touch. Touch doesn't count when you can't move.

Time has no meaning, nothing to measure it by. No clock hands, no sunsets no sunrises, no light contrasted with dark. No change in my emotional state... Not scared, not bored, not happy or angry or depressed.


...getting used to the dark, different shades of black in black... Used to see patterns under my eyelids when I lived... These are nothing like those patterns... maybe light is required... There is no light here. No light. No light. No light. Only-
Dark

*

Body breaking apart, breaking down- my abdomen collapsing, my joints loosening, my muscles unwinding and pooling, my skin tearing. My body crawling and oozing, my bones exposed through my flesh like the stone skeletons of the mountains, -flash of memory and lucidity, -I used to drive by them every day, windows down, trees, green or orange or bare-branched and gray, whirling, streaking past my own fragile little car.

*

Thought is no longer my only sense of my small world. I can smell the effects of my body decomposing. This is the most unpleasant thing I've experienced since the actual moment of my death.

*

My consciousness fragmenting, spreading out and breaking up.

Breaking down and breaking up... like a tv screen full of black and white fuzz, a cell phone connection going into a tunnel, radio static. At least forever isn't anymore-

Anymore isn't forever.

The dark. The dark isn't forever.

The dark is just now... Now is forever.

The dark... only not dark, not dark, not dark. Static, fuzz; lighter dark and darker dark.

I am...
I, am.
I am... slipping. Sliding, thoughts like walking with a bowl of water, liquid sloshing and spilling over the edge, droplets. Droplets scattering. St-st-stuttering, bre ak ing u p.

I.
I,
I-I-I.
One...
One word, but not one mind. One letter. One me? Me, two letters, still one.


W....
e

We?

We.


We, no I anymore.
Many, so many.
We are many. Live in the dark, of the dark. Still, dark is not forever.

Someday, emerge into the light once again; New Life.
Thinking they can stop time, but they eat the bodies of their ancestors every day, and ancient stardust lives on in them as us, and as Them. We are what they say is primitive, but they are the ones who don't realize; Everything Lives Forever.

Them and Her

    "Sorry what was that?... Actually, I gotta go, it's getting really loud in here and I can't hear a thing."
    "Do you have to? There's this creepy girl staring at me from across the cafeteria."  She glanced again toward a girl sitting at a high stool in front of a table right smack in the middle of the cafe. Students walked past the open entrance to the hallway connecting the cafe with the rest of the building, a college library. Chatting with friends or walking quickly forward, eyes to the ground, they made their way to their next class. Windows along the hallway framed the outside world; a circular courtyard and a grey, cloudy day.
    "...What? Sorry, I didn't catch that, I've really got to go, but we can text until I have to go to class, at 2:30. Bye Laura."
    " 'Kay, bye Chelsea."
    Laura took a bite of chocolate cupcake and slid her phone open to the tiny keyboard. Across the room The Girl on the high stool smiled at a boy sitting down at a booth against the wall. She turned her attention back to her sandwich for a minute, trying her hardest not to let all of the lettuce and meat slide from between the two pieces of pita bread. After reflectively chewing for a minute, her gaze rested once again on Laura sitting at a table against the far wall.
    "Chels, theres this creepy girl staring at me from across the cafeteria." Laura rapidly texted.
     "Eww, hav you seen her around befor?"
  "No"
  "Not a stalker then, eh Laura?"
  "LOL, no, just that I keep catching her staring at me
  ..."& she chose this realy high chair almost right in the midddle of the room." Laura added.
    The Girl took another bite out of her sandwich and the chicken in the middle oozed out onto her plate. She chewed a mouthful of lettuce and dry, garlicky pita bread. Unsure what to do about the chicken, She seemed to briefly consider getting a fork. A quick glance at the counter behind her confirmed that all of the forks were gone, so She gave an almost imperceptible shrug, opened up her sandwich on her plate, and placed the chicken back inside with the tips of her fingers. 
   "Ew, she's totally playing with her food now" 
 "Sounds lik a headcase..." Chelsea replied after a couple of minutes.
    Students came, ordered, ate, and went. The Girl watched them all, occasionally glancing at her phone, set on the table to the side of her plate. Soon nothing was left of her sandwich save for a few scraps of lettuce and bits of chicken. She contemplated them for a few seconds before just using her fingers to scrape them together and pop them into her mouth. 
  "has she ever heard of a fork?!" The absence of forks in the cafe was lost on Laura. 
  "hUH?" Chelsea replied.
    "SHE PRACTICALlY LICKED HER PLATE cLEAN!" 
  "Ew" Chelsea simply texted back, 
    "Listen, I gotta go to class now, ttyl laurs"
  "oh. Ok, cya chels"
  Laura looked up from her phone, at a loss for what to do now. She didn't have her next class until 3:00 and she'd finished her lunch, and her dessert. She watched as The Girl across the room finished her cranberry juice, and glanced Laura's way one more time before gathering up her plate, phone, and juice bottle. The Girl threw her plate away, stuffed the empty bottle into her bag, and walked out of the cafeteria.
    At least Laura wouldn't have to worry about any more creepy staring for her remaining half hour of time to kill.
   

A Greeting and an Anecdote

Hullo Little one. How be thee?
It would seem I was more eloquent in years gone past, 2011, to be exact in my thinking. How strange is that?

Yesterday I was witness to a hilarious happening, a sort of classic movie moment. My brother was testing out my longboard on the hallway floor as my sister had said it was turning rather strangely and stiffly. I think it's a bit stiff too, but I turn all right on the road with enough speed.
My brother coasted slowly up and down the cracked and chipped laminate until we heard a faint clunk. "What was that?", we all wondered and looked around to identify the cause of sound. A large bolt appeared on the floor in front of my board. We all looked at it for a few seconds, and once more wondered out loud, "Where did that come from?". My brother peered at the bolt inquisitively. He picked up my board, and we watched in astonishment as the front truck and wheels fell from the board piece by piece, like some enchanted creature ceasing to be held together with magic. Clink clunk clank.
And that is the story of how I almost died long boarding yesterday, as one of my trucks was, apparently, missing a nut. (Not really, my other brother scoffs whenever I make this announcement, as he says his truck actually fell off when he was riding once and it was fine, he didn't crash spectacularly or anything.)

The power of the opal (Nameless)

(Older than the hills, this story is.(from 11/29/10) I am one who has many head-books in her heart, none of them written down entirely, mostly condensed into short stories or poems, or nothing but ideas. This one was inspired by a dream, loosely inspired. All that was in the dream is merely mentioned in the story. More of an epilogue to the dream, really. It's been in my drafts for a while, so today I decided to touch it up a bit and just post it. Not a bad piece of flash fiction, terribly sentimental and saccharine, but I've chosen not to care too much.)

They watched the lights play out in the night sky as he held her in his arms. 
It was the end of all they had known, and what they had known was not pleasant. The pleasant times were to come in the many years ahead of them. 
    He looked down into her eyes.
    "What's the moral of this story?" He asked, his eyes searching her pale face as he tilted her chin toward the sky.
    She regarded his satin-blue eyes, and seemed to consider her reply for a short time. At last she spoke,

    "Why should there be a moral?" She questioned in turn, 

    He laughed, "Ah, I am afraid I do not know, I guess we'll just leave that to the bards, the poets, and the harpists."
    They laid down together on the dewed and singed grass. The flashing lights drew to an end as they slept against each other's shoulders. 

A few years later, after the the time of hard work and diligence in the building of their new civilization had come to an end, they took their evening walk, and 

she found a paper pasted to a stone wall. 
    "Look," She told him, indicating the paper with her outstretched finger, "Someone has written about our adventures." She gazed wonderingly at the paper, her head tilted to one side.
    "Why would someone write of us and post it in such a public place?" He wondered.
    "It is strange, Isn't it?" she said, her hair shone in the late afternoon light, "I've read the news my entire life, but I've always thought stories should be told out loud by a bard, or a poet. They give so much more life to the characters, the places and the deeds."
    The man peered closer at the paper.
    "'By Bartholemew St. James', do you suppose that's the Bartholemew St. James? That crazy old monk you used to know?"
    "It could be," She replied, also peering closer, her eyes narrowed in thought, "That's definitely the way he spelled his name." She giggled, holding her hand to her mouth.
    "It certainly merits a reading, then." 
    They both stood in front of the red-brick wall, holding hands, motionless and attentive for some time.
    Soon the sun began to set behind the mountains, causing glorious angel-pathways (as she called the beams of light that shot from the clouds) to dart out all over the darkening sky. After some time spent in silence, the two of them came to the end of the story. 
    They slowly turned and looked at each other with wonder and satisfaction on their rose and umber light-tinted faces.
    "I rather liked that moral." He said.
    "The ending was best." She agreed.

One of those nights of vivid dreaming

(I figure it's an experiment in storytelling, if nothing else...)

In a grey stone cave some way from a road in a forest a hunter stood with his gun in wait. 
In the cave, looking out, sunlight poured in through cracks and holes in a side wall. A magnificent stag slowly entered, his heart exposed on the outside of his breast. It would be terrible to watch this animal die at the hands of the grizzled hunter, who seemed a bit of an ignorant hillbilly at best. Still, we thought the kill was inevitable, and the suspense was too much to bear, so we urged the hunter on. His gun was trained dead straight on the stag's heart the whole time, unwavering, but still, he waited to take the shot. 
The stag was outside, we could see him lay down on the grassy ground through the holes in the cave wall, and his grand horns fell from his head to the ground in a mess of stringy flesh. We thought a little triumphant that now the hunter wouldn't have to kill his prey to win his prize, but something was wrong with the stag, something was terribly wrong. Another stag, younger with smaller antlers, limped into sight, its legs bent and broken. The hunter rushed outside, concerned, and did his best to try and repair the damage on both the animals with a first-aid kit. We looked on from the cave, admiring his determination, but all the same sure that it was hopeless for the two stags. 

Free-form Crochet in Digital Ink

Hello, it is me, come to visit this place of home.

There is a child hiding in my closet. I have no idea how there is room even for her small form in there, stuffed full as it is, as everything in my room is. I suppose I shall look back on all of this fondly someday, and indeed, I do not hate it terribly right now.
There is another child struggling to hide behind a dresser, but he has been found. The child in the closet is smiling at me from between the folds of a few dark dresses, and the child who was found is back again, hiding under my blankets and rocking my bed.
Apparently this is a game of hide and seek, based upon some sort of prison system.
The closet child has been found, a white arm and mess of hair were visible and the "warden" called her out. The child hiding in my bed has also been recovered and led to the next room, to return to "prison" once again. Now there is no one in here but me, and my sister who is actually in dream land still, so she doesn't really count.
I sit cross-legged amid mountainous folds of purple afghan and floral bed sheet, the corners of my laptop resting on my legs below my knees.
I'm kinda sorta lost. And I don't really know how to find my way back.

Never alone for long, a child darts into my room and onto my sister's bed pursued by the "warden" and is hauled off once again. My sister is sitting up, looking at me blankly, says "I hate getting up". And she lays back down, all yellow shirt and hair, sits up, blinks. I look at her, she looks at me, and says "what? what are you doing? what are you doing? Smiling so sneakysly."


I rather miss my school-time schedule. It's easier to write and remember to nap and exercise. I've given up on all else during vacation, but writing is life and nap-time, haha, makes life easier. I really am quite the four year old.
Never did it occur to me that I would be comforted by schedule and regularly ordered days, but I am, silly girl who thinks she's so very random. But ha, balance... Because yes, I can get very, very bored by too tight of a regimen.


How does this all fit together, I wonder? I followed the thread, but I also wound it. It is my making, so do I have the key to pulling it all tight and tying it neatly, or having been made by me, is there no answer nor key at all? 

Character Sketch

He smokes smarties and swears like a sailor.
Dark, dark eyes under a mop of blond hair,
insolent swagger even though he's not yet old enough for a learner's permit.
Thinks he knows all the girls, but they haven't even started looking at him.

Takes pride in petty, childish theft; silly boy, don't you know you won't ever have to grow up?


Even under all of this crustiness, he says please and thank you
with sincere gratitude,
Pure heart under pretentious bluster,
pretty song flowing from a clogged stream bed. 

We see what we tell ourselves to see, but this too is untrue

I keep making up all of these stories, but they interfere with sight so much, and I'm so sick of crashing down, running into walls and falling.
Now I'm lost. And even as I see where maybe I should go, or where I could go, I'm still lost. I am in a black room, with no walls, and no ceiling. There is a ring of round lights, evenly spaced all around me, but I don't know which direction to turn.
Even this is sentimental and a little silly, my dear. I feel and I try to explain, but in doing so, whatever I mean is one degree removed from what it actually is. But still I feel like I should, like it's doing me and others no good by sealing it all up tight and turning it back within. We're not meant to be a tightly wound thread, we're supposed to tie strings to others and the world, I think. Yeah, there's a way to do that destructively as well, but my metaphor is falling apart again. They always do. I start to glimpse the truth and communicate it to others, and then something flashes on the edge of my vision and I lose perspective and start spinning again.
Mostly I'm just trying to teach myself, but I do a dismal job of that as well.
I don't mean to make everything into a story. 

A Narrative and Subtle Geeking Out About My First Three Tomatoes, Followed By My Second Four

Riding a bike uphill in a smattering of rain, three tomatoes cupped in your left hand.
You brought nothing with you save an iPod, through which you didn't even play any music while you watered your garden. You wish you had heeded that prompting to get your pocket knife as you were going out the side gate earlier, perhaps then you would have remembered to grab some grocery bags, those at least would have been useful. It's kinda hard to steer with one hand. Luckily, you only have a couple blocks to go out of the three and a half between your home and your garden. (Not far, but far enough that the poor thing hardly ever gets weeded.) 
Rhythmically peddling, thinking and observing the road before you, your attention is a smooth stream and in no time at all your house comes into view, and you decide to travel on the bike a few feet farther to enter the yard through the front rather than the side gate.
You turn the corner, and you see the Western sky, an amazing display of piercing light and dark grey clouds, your breath catches, and you decide that everything is worth it, preferable even; the light rain, the slow, uphill bike ride, even the fact that you forgot to bring any bags to carry produce in. It all fits perfectly. 
Funny how that works sometimes. Even the uncomfortable or difficult moments of life blaze with beauty in memory, or even in the present. They stitch life together, defining and brightening every moment of it in one way or another. 
(9/26/13)

Monday's 

 From Today

Older: A Slightly Different Version of Missing Pieces

It was a clear, bright day at the height of Summer. In the middle of a large, sprawling park, where tall, lush green trees grew among expanses of well-tended grass and along winding, lazy sidewalks, people sat on picnic blankets conversing, or chased dogs and children through the grass and around trees, laughter floating upon a slight breeze.

            I walked, hands in pockets, sometimes along a pathway, sometimes on the grass; mostly alone with my thoughts, but sometimes watching the people talking, playing or running as I passed them by.

           

            Ahead of me, I noticed another pedestrian walking along the sidewalk, an older man, wearing suspenders and neatly pressed trousers. He wasn’t remarkable in any way save one; above his shoulders, where you would expect his head to be, there was nothing but air.

            Startled, I stopped walking.

            “Ahem, Miss?,” The word was obviously coming from the emptiness where his head was, in a middling depth, slightly gravelly voice, “Excuse me miss, but I seem to have misplaced my body, have you seen it hereabouts?” He said it in a sort of singsong lilt, the words going higher and lower like water above a rocky streambed.

            Yes, he was speaking to me; that was apparent. Though he had no head; therefore no face or eyes (the usual indicators of address), he had undeniably stopped directly in front of me, and his body was arranged in my direction, shoulders straight, feet pointed towards me.

            “Um,” I sputtered, unsure how to handle this strange situation, “You have a body, it looks to me like it’s your head that’s missing.” Well, that sounded a bit rude, I thought, and internally winced.

            “Oh. Hmm. That’s getting somewhere, at least.” Apparently that hadn’t sounded rude to him, good. “Do you have any idea what dimension you’re in, or rather, which dimension my body seems to be in?”

            I laughed nervously.

            “Welll, we call the world we move about in, with shadows and light and depth of perception the ‘Third Dimension’…”

            “Aha! But of course, that isn’t quite the name I know it by; you call it the third dimension, and this is still the planet called Gaia, or Monos, or maybe you know it by the name of Earth, is that right?”

            “Mhm, Earth. That’s it.”

            “Okay, so that would make it, by my reckoning… the 59th dimension!”

            With that exclamation, a fizzing noise grew louder, and with a violent pop, the man suddenly sprouted a head above his shoulders. Wild pepper-and-salt hair waved in all directions save one; the top of his head was shiny-bald. His hair didn’t match his orderly clothing or neat manners, much to my surprise. He also wore thick glasses with heavy frames. The formerly headless man’s glasses made his watery gray eyes appear significantly larger than they actually were. He peered earnestly into my face, his gaze a little unnerving.

            “There we go,” He said, a mouth finally accompanying his words.

            He looked down at his feet. I followed his gaze, a little stunned by the sudden appearance of what should have been at the top of his body all along, and noticed that he was wearing sandals over white, baggy socks. Hm, I thought, maybe his hair isn’t so incongruous after all… Still, there was nothing terribly peculiar about that, however; his socks lay flat and empty just where his toes should have been.

            “Well, I’m off to find the ends of my feet,” He grinned at me, eyes sparkling, all good humor and no bewilderment at his missing toes. I suppose that made sense though, considering how his head had made an appearance. He took his glasses off and polished them with a handkerchief from his pocket; his eyes actually were that big, making him look like some sort of a very large insect. “Thanks for you help!” he exclaimed after he’d replaced his glasses.

            With a quick wave and a short leap into the air, he was gone. Disappeared, though he left behind one thing that shortly vanished with him as well; a delighted and exhilarated laugh that lingered upon the Summer breeze for half a minute, before breaking up and skipping about, like the laugh that was said to have created fairies.

            “Well.” I said out loud. “You’re welcome.” A little late, but I had a feeling that he had heard me anyway. And I had the strangest notion that I had met him once before, in another time, long ago… 

(That was fun :) I think I definitely like him better as an old guy, more personality. I still want to try a young boy, though. It's funny how this is almost becoming a character study project...)

Missing Pieces (3rd draft)

It was a clear, bright day at the height of Summer. In the middle of a large, sprawling park, where tall, lush green trees grew among expanses of well-tended grass and along winding, lazy sidewalks, people sat on picnic blankets conversing, or chased dogs and children through the grass and around trees, laughter floating in a slight breeze.

            I walked, hands in pockets, sometimes along a pathway, sometimes on the grass; mostly alone with my thoughts, but sometimes watching the people talking, playing or running as I passed them by.

           

            Ahead of me, I noticed another pedestrian walking along the sidewalk, a man looking to be somewhere around twenty-five years old, turning as he walked as though he was searching for something; a dog, or a friend he was meeting in the park perhaps? He strode confidently, and wasn’t remarkable in any way save one; above his shoulders, where you would expect his head to be, there was nothing but air.

            Startled, I stopped walking.

            “Miss,” The word was obviously coming from the emptiness where his head was, in a middling depth, clear voice, “Excuse me miss, but I seem to have misplaced my body, have you seen it hereabouts?”

            Yes, he was speaking to me; that was apparent. Though he had no head; therefore no face or eyes (the usual indicators of address), he had undeniably stopped directly in front of me, and his body was arranged in my direction, shoulders straight, feet pointed towards me.

            “Um,” I sputtered, unsure how to handle this strange situation, “You have a body, it looks to me like it’s your head that’s missing.” Well, that sounded a bit rude, I thought, and internally winced.

            “Oh. Hmm. That’s getting somewhere, at least.” Apparently that hadn’t sounded rude to him, good. “Do you have any idea what dimension you’re in, or rather, which dimension my body seems to be in?”

            I laughed nervously.

            “Welll, we call the world we move about in, with shadows and light and depth of perception the ‘Third Dimension’…”

            “Aha! But of course, that isn’t quite the name I know it by; you call it the third dimension, and this is still the planet called Gaia, or Monos, or maybe you know it by the name of Earth, right?”

            “Yeah, Earth, that’s it.”

            “Okay, so that would make it, by my reckoning… the 59^th dimension!”

            With that exclamation, a fizzing noise grew louder, and with a violent pop, the man suddenly sprouted a head above his shoulders.

            “There we go,” He said, a mouth finally accompanying his words.

            He looked down at his feet. I followed his gaze, a little stunned by the sudden appearance of what should have been at the top of his body all along, and noticed that he was wearing sandals. Once again, there was nothing terribly peculiar about that, however; nothing occupied his shoes just where his toes should have been.

            “Well, I’m off to find the ends of my feet,” He grinned at me, his eyes sparkling, all good humor and no bewilderment at his missing toes, “Thanks for you help!”

            With a quick wave and a short leap into the air, he was gone. Disappeared, though he left behind one thing that shortly disappeared with him as well; a delighted and exhilarated laugh that lingered upon the Summer breeze for half a minute, before breaking up and skipping about, like the laugh that was said to have created fairies.

            I let out a short laugh that almost, but not quite matched his and shrugged, “He seems to be having a good time.” I said to myself, and continued along the sidewalk once again, wrapped up in thinking of my strange encounter with what seemed to be an inter-dimensional traveler. 

(So I'm thinking that maybe this might be a tad more interesting with an old guy, or perhaps a young boy? If he was a boy, then maybe his inter-dimensional traveling might seem like a game played with himself or among friends?)

Missing Pieces (Second Draft)

It was a clear, bright day at the height of Summer. In the middle of a large, sprawling park, where tall, lush green trees grew among expanses of well-tended grass and along winding, lazy sidewalks, people sat on picnic blankets conversing, or chased dogs and children through the grass and around trees, laughter floating in a slight breeze.

            I walked, hands in pockets, sometimes along a pathway, sometimes on the grass; mostly alone with my thoughts, but sometimes watching the people talking, playing or running as I passed them by.

           

            Ahead of me, I noticed another pedestrian walking along the sidewalk, a man looking to be somewhere around twenty-five years old, strong, square shoulders swiveling this way and that as if he was searching for something. A dog, or a friend he was meeting in the park perhaps? He took long, confident strides, and wasn’t remarkable in any way save one; above his shoulders, where you would expect his head to be, there was nothing but air.

            Startled, I stopped walking.

            “Miss,” The word was obviously coming from the emptiness where his head was, in  middling depth, clear voice, “Excuse me miss, but I seem to have misplaced my body, have you seen it hereabouts?”

            Yes, he was speaking to me; that was apparent. Though he had no head, therefore no face or eyes, the usual indicators of address, he had undeniably stopped directly in front of me, and his body was arranged in my direction, shoulders straight, feet pointed towards me.

            “Um,” I spluttered. Unsure how to handle this strange situation, “You have a body, it looks to me like it’s your head that’s missing.” Well, that sounded a bit rude, I thought, and internally winced.

            “Oh. Hmm. That’s getting somewhere, at least.” Apparently that hadn’t sounded rude to him, good. “Do you have any idea what dimension you’re in, or rather, which dimension my body seems to be in?”

            I laughed nervously.

            “Welll, we call the world we move about in, with shadows and light and depth of perception the ‘Third Dimension’…”

            “Aha! But of course, that isn’t quite the name I know it by; you call it the third dimension, and this is still the planet called Gaia, or Monos, or maybe you know it by the name of Earth, right?”

            “Yeah, Earth, that’s it.”

            “Okay, so that would make it, by my reckoning… the 59^th dimension!”

            With the explanation, a fizzing noise grew louder, and with a violent pop, the man suddenly sprouted a head above his shoulders.

            “There we go,” He said, a mouth finally accompanying his words.

            He looked down at his feet, I followed his gaze, a little stunned by the sudden appearance of what should have been at the top of his body all along, and noticed that we was wearing sandals. Once again, nothing terribly peculiar about that, however, his feet ended just before where his toes should have been.

            “Well, I’m off to find the ends of my feet,” He grinned at me, his eyes sparkling, all good humor and no bewilderment at his missing toes, “Thanks for you help!”

            With a quick wave and a short leap into the air, he was gone. Disappeared, though he left behind one thing that shortly disappeared with him as well; a delighted and exhilarated laugh that lingered upon the Summer breeze for half a minute, before breaking up and skipping about, like the laugh that was said to have created fairies.

            I let out a short laugh and shrugged, “He seems to be having a good time.” And continued along the sidewalk once again, wrapped up in thinking of my strange encounter with what seemed to be an inter-dimensional traveler. 

complete bacterium story, 2nd draft

Once there was a bacterium.

            He lived apart from the rest of his kind by his own choice, this was strange, for bacteria are social creatures who live in constantly growing (or diminishing) colonies, living and working together.

           

            This bacterium very much wanted to know the purpose of life, and very much questioned the answer he was given every time he asked any of the other bacteria. He suspected that he might be given a different answer if he ever asked anyone other than his own kind, but he had never really come across anything but other bacterium just like him. He was also too terrified to venture out of his usual rounds in the small, soupy world he lived and swam in.

            He didn’t know much about what else was or could be out there. Even though this was what made him so scared and paralyzed, he was also desperately curious about the world outside his own.

            One day, (if you could call it a day, maybe it was more a fraction of the many cycles that dictated every bacteriums life,) as he was wrestling back and forth between his fear and curiosity for the unknown world that lurked the edges of his lonely routine, something much larger than him appeared on the edges of his consciousness. He thoughtlessly fled, uncaring as to whether the thing might be possibly friendly or definitely predatory.

            He was heading straight for the edge of all he knew, and would have stopped, fleeing for his life or not, if he only had noticed, but he was too busy fleeing the unknown behind him to have any thought for the unknown ahead.

            Still unaware, the bacterium quickly overtook his carefully plotted boundary and left it far behind, along with his pursuer, who had stopped stock-still, curiously, at the border of the bacterium’s familiar world.

            But he was once again unaware. Numbed by terror, and oblivious by nature, he raced onwards still, everything a blur to his frantic consciousness.

           

Completely spent, he finally directed his attention behind, the good news: he was no longer being chased. The bad; he had no idea where he was.

            If bacterium could hyperventilate, this one would have at that very moment of realization. Instead, he swam in rapid circles, faster and faster until instead of being small and rod-shaped, he was rather large and oblong and hollow in his middle, like a dog chasing its tail. Eventually, he came to a stop, and returned to his normal size and shape.

            Finally calming down, he noticed a steady, thrumming vibration, as if another bacterium was trying to get his attention, but the thing emanating this pulse seemed nothing like any bacterium he’d ever encountered, which, granted, hadn’t been very many.

            “Who are you?” The bacterium cautiously communicated with a dim pulse from his own body. He would have fled, as before with the other unknown entity, but he was too exhausted, and intriguingly, this new thing made him feel calm and peaceful. He had no idea why.

            “I am” The thing simply emanated, and drew closer, greatly alarming the bacterium. Before he had time to flee, he had been absorbed into the unknown being.

            And yet the bacterium still was. Still aware, still alive, even though now he knew what it was he had confronted; An Eater; something that consumed bacteria, something he had known from other bacterium’s experiences, but never actually met before.

            But why hadn’t his consciousness snuffed out after the Eater had consumed him? The bacterium was still conscious, still himself, but now, somehow, he knew that he was part of something much bigger and grander than just a single bacterium separate from everything else.

            He became aware of new things tickling the edge of his consciousness, concepts and memories he had never thought of or experienced himself; communication from the I am. (As he decided he would call it, it wasn’t like any Eater he’d ever heard of, though it bore a striking resemblance to the stories he did know.)

            Even though he had been “eaten”, the bacterium was still very calm. This was a strange feeling to him, after having been terrified of everything new and unknown for most of his life.

            I am came again into his consciousness, “ I am and you are,” it communicated, “But we no longer have the illusion of separateness; we are one. You are correct in naming us “Eater”, but also correct in setting us apart from that predatory creature.”

            The bacterium became aware of a warm glow, not really around him or within him, for though he was still himself, he was no longer anywhere. The glow just was. He had no sight, and had never experienced life through sight before. But suddenly he could see.

            The bacterium was still calm, albeit a little bewildered by everything that demanded his attention, and I am’s talk of “us” and “we”.

            Through the glow, images began to appear, much to the bacterium’s further disconcertion.

            “We would like to show you our world,” I am softly conveyed, “There are many senses available to forms of life in the entirety of creation, you have not experienced many of them, but to truly understand the answer to the question you seek, you must experience all viewpoints.”

            And with the images came sound, and smell, along with the bacterium’s familiar taste and feeling; even that sixth sense of inner knowing sometimes called “intuition”. The “third eye” is not a sense like sight so much as a better-developed touch that envelopes and knows the whole of the thing perceived.

            Even more senses ricocheted around the bacterium’s awareness.

            He began to understand the things shown to him by I am, even without a sense of self.

Worlds and creatures previously unknown to him crowded into his mind, their names and words somehow accompanying their images.

            I am was also pulling up every memory, hope, and dream the bacterium had ever had from his mind, and presently said;

            “You wish to know the meaning of life, but first I will tell you this: every creature’s purpose is different, though they all follow the same pathway; striving towards higher consciousness. This is something that goes on and on, forever and ever, and is once again different from one being to the next.”

            Throughout I am’s short speech, different images, sounds, and feelings flashed through the bacterium’s mind; first the touch of fur, feathers, skin, and scales accompanied by thousands of three-dimensional pictures of all creatures known and unknown throughout creation; then a bright point of light, and a feeling of great warmth and yearning; and finally, an image of a great, winding staircase, a snow-capped green mountain, and the darkness of space, stars twinkling and streaking by as if the bacterium were traveling at a great speed. He had never seen or felt any of these things, but he knew what they were.

            “But what is my purpose, I am?” The bacterium asked, his mind straining to take everything in.

            “Your purpose, dear one, is whatever you choose. The general purpose of your kind is to grow and reproduce and digest, as it is the general purpose of my kind to consume your kind. This is the purpose that creatures are often lost in, passing over the universal purpose of walking the path of higher consciousness, but that does not mean that both purposes can’t coexist peacefully in every creature’s life.”

            “Does that mean I can deviate from the general purpose to pursue the higher purpose?”

“Of course,” I am answered, “Your life is what you choose.”

“How can I do that? I have no idea where to begin, though I’ve been feeling around for the path all of my life.”

“You are already on that path.” I am kindly said, and the bacterium experienced the sensation of a hand on his shoulder (he had none), lips on his forehead (he didn’t have one), and compassionate eyes peering into his (he hadn’t any).

“You always have been, that is what led you here, to us. You must remember that you’ve always known all of this; that was why you had that wish in your core, to know the meaning of life.”

“Will I ever achieve this 'higher consciousness', I am?”

“Of course you will; you are and you already have many times already. Higher consciousness isn’t something to achieve and forget. It is the journey of ages, progressed over many lifetimes.

“Now is the time for parting; albeit not the kind you are thinking of. It is the time for you to become Yourself, though not separate, bacterium.”

The bacterium found his shape again, he was once more himself, and he saw I am before him, his shape rippling, and faintly glowing.

He found that he also glowed also, and his heart (though he didn’t really have one) leaped with a new feeling; joy. So many emotions all at once; he had discovered love as well after his strange and enlightening encounter with the being I am.

The bacterium set forth once again, with new eyes, new tranquility, new love; and a great eagerness for life, the unknown, and the journey that lay behind him and stretched on ahead of him forever.

Final Part, Draft One, Bacterium Story

Incredible, that is was. Worlds and creatures previously unknown to him crowded into his mind, their names and words somehow accompanying their images.

            “You wish to know the meaning of life,” I am disclosed the bacterium's aspiration, “But first I will tell you this: every creature’s purpose is different, though they all follow the same pathway; striving towards higher consciousness. This is something that goes on and on, forever and ever, and is once again different from one being to the next.”

            Throughout I am’s short speech, different images, sounds, and feelings flashed through the bacterium’s mind; first the touch of fur, feathers, skin, and scales accompanied by thousands of three-dimensional pictures of all creatures known and unknown throughout all of creation; then a bright point of light, and a feeling of great warmth and yearning; and finally, an image of a great, winding staircase, a snow-capped green mountain, and the darkness of space, stars twinkling and streaking by as if the bacterium were traveling at a great speed. He had never seen or felt any of these things, but he knew what they were.

            “What is my purpose, I am?” The bacterium asked, his mind straining to take everything in.

            “Your purpose, dear one, is whatever you choose. The general purpose of your kind is to grow and reproduce and digest, as it is the general purpose of my kind to consume your kind. This is the purpose that creatures are often lost in, passing over the universal purpose of walking the path of higher consciousness, but that does not mean that both purposes can’t coexist peacefully in every creature’s life.”

            “Does that mean I can deviate from the general purpose to pursue the higher purpose?”

“Of course,” I am answered, “Your life is what you choose.”

“How can I do that? I have no idea where to begin, though I’ve been feeling around for the path all of my life.”

“You are already on that path.” I am kindly said, and the bacterium experienced the sensation of a hand on his shoulder (he had none), lips on his forehead (he didn’t have one), and compassionate eyes peering into his (he hadn’t any).

“You always have been, that is what led you here, to us. You must remember that you’ve always known all of this; that was why you had that wish in your core, to know the meaning of life.”

“Will I ever achieve this 'higher consciousness', I am?”

“Of course you will; you are and you already have many times already. Higher consciousness isn’t something to achieve and forget. It is the journey of ages, progressed over many lifetimes.

“Now is the time for parting; albeit not the kind you are thinking of. It is the time for you to become Yourself, though not separate, bacterium.”

The bacterium found his shape again, he was once more himself, and he saw I am before him, his shape rippling, and faintly glowing.

To his surprise, he found that he also glowed, and his heart (though he didn’t really have one) leaped with a new feeling; joy. So many emotions all at once; he had also discovered love after his strange and enlightening encounter with the being I am.

The bacterium set forth once again, with new eyes, new tranquility, the new found feeling of love, and a great eagerness for life, the unknown, and the journey that lay behind him and stretched on ahead of him forever.

 (Truly, I do not have the experience required by this undertaking, but it was fun to try, and I intend to revise it, and perhaps someday far in the future, I will have what is required, and this story will be exactly what it is supposed to be. Revise it I shall, experience or no, for this whole story is quite the garbled mess, despite the editing I have already done.)