Frisky Friday

12:15am Friday night after some farewell drinks at the Lucky Coq, and I am walking down Chapel Street in my favourite jeans to my awaiting ride home. Walking, not falling over myself, but I did have a few drinks in me. I see two men with a very sniffy dog coming from the other direction. The dog goes over to my left to sniff some people on a bench, and I put two and two together as I notice that the men are wearing police lanyards and light blue shirts under their jackets - drug-sniffer dog! I marvel as it was the first time I've seen one, and continue along past the people of the bench (bench people).

As my intoxicated mind began to wander on to another thought I notice, and feel, the dog sniffing rather purposefully up and down my leg. My first reaction is a smile and a mental "hey doggie!", but this doesn't last long. I was suddenly thinking "WHAT THE HELL?" as the two men come over to me and start asking me whether I've been using narcotics of any kind this evening. Or if I've ever had any problems with the police before. I respond coherently (thankfully) and tell them (truthfully!) that I've never touched any illicit drugs in my life.

They then ask me to empty my pockets of everything and put it on the ground, as well as hand over some ID. One of the men tells me to turn around and promptly frisks me! I wasn't really aware of anyone else around me, but if I'd have been sober it would have been pretty humiliating. While I'm being frisked the man with my license asks me to recite my details as he writes them into a notepad.

"Have any of your friends been using drugs tonight?""No, no, I don't have friends like that." I reply as one of them looks through my wallet."Where have you been tonight?""The Lucky Coq, just on the corner of High Street back there.""And where are you going now?""I'm on my way home, my friend's waiting to give me a lift."
Seeming somewhat satisfied now that they'd intimidated me and felt me up, one of them suggests that it was most likely that I'd sat down somewhere on/unknowingly come into contact with some drug residue. And they let me go on my way, confused and shocked...

So now the police have my name on their books, through no fault of my own! I'm definitely washing those jeans! If I don't blog again for a while, I may well be incarcerated...

But no, afterwards I was in such shock that I thought maybe I was being conned. Identity fraud or something. I even rang up the Prahran police station to ask if what happened to me was common procedure. Which it turned out, was the case.

"To be frisked by police" wasn't exactly on my list of things to do in my life... But now I have, and I have a story to repetitively retell every time someone mentions law enforcement or drugs or even dogs. :)

Dale.

Unreliable Narrator

My name is Harry today. I chose it because it's boring. Boring and plain. Like toast. She never says it but I can tell she always wants me to be more like toast. Let's see what a name can do...

"Harry" didn't go so well. If I were toast like she wanted, then the toaster caught fire and exploded all over everything. Things just happen to me, no matter what my name is or how many times a day I say a curse word. It wasn't my fault that she sent me into one of those fits!

Sometimes I talk so much that I think my mouth might fall off and get all dusty when it hits the carpet. I wish I didn't talk so much... Especially to her.

There's nothing more in this world that I want than to just not be with her... I'd give anything to NOT be with her... She's so ugly and-- and-- undesirable.

(incomplete)

Inspired by Poe's "Tell-tale Heart".

Dale.

Duplicity

I watched Duplicity (Julia Roberts, Clive Owen) on dvd last night and it was really good! I appreciated it as a viewer and from a writing standpoint as well. The dialogue was snappy and intelligent and so was the story. The ending really impressed me as well because it was different, but the perfect way to conclude everything at the same time.*

*The above positive review may have been affected by the conditions in which I watched the movie; with insanely delicious chocolate chip cookies, milk, and unbeatable company. ;)

I'm reading The Crucible because it's one of the Year 12 VCE English texts for this year, and I decided it would be fun to go back to high school and pretend to be a Year 12 student again. Or maybe I'm just reading it because I'm tutoring a girl who's doing Year 12 English this year. Or maybe I am a figment of your imaginorium... Regardless, it is different reading a play again. Quite different.

In fiction-writing (at uni) we've been discussing unreliable narrators, such as the murderer in Poe's 'Tell Tale Heart'. I quite like the idea of the narrator telling you one story, when in actuality something entirely different is happening, and the reader has to piece that together for him/herself. We did an exercise in class in which we had to write a short piece told by an unreliable narrator that was slightly kookoo. I handed it in at the end of class but should get it back on Monday, and if I do I will post it up on here. It's only very short - had barely 15 minutes to write it. Nevertheless I was quite happy with it. It started with, "Today my name is Harry." Which was inspired by someone stealing my name badge at Coles, and me being 'Justin' for the last few days.

Well, that's about it for things on my mind at the moment. Yes, it's an exciting place my headspace. Very echoey. :)

Sorry for the break in posts. And thanks for your research into the Latin language Luke. Maybe you could find out what the words for 'Nag', 'Pester' and 'Bother' are. I might need an array of Latin words to describe someone's behaviour of late. :P

Dale.

MC = V

Now I ask that you keep an open mind, kind readers. My theory is not the most outlandish in the theory-sphere, but nor is it easy to come to accept. It is something that I have been considering for a while now, and I have yet to come across any evidence to disprove it:

Mariah Carey is a vampire.

My research at this stage is somewhat limited, nevertheless I feel it is grounded in enough semi-logical fun facts that I can pose it to you all without ramifications.

First of all, why is it that Mariah seems to never age? Plastic surgery is what everyone automatically assumes, but it is just too convenient an alibi. I would pose that it is the lifeblood of her victims that gives her the flawless complexion and curvy sexiness for which she is famous.

Secondly, Mariah has that ridiculously high vocal range. It doesn't just verge on sonar-like levels, I believe she is capable of communicating with bats - because she can transform into one! I am yet to enter a bat-filled cave armed with garlic and crosses and a recording of "Butterfly" to test this theory, but I'm betting that when I do... Well, I might just end up needing a tetanus shot or something.

And the nail in the coffin - so to speak - lies within the very lyrics of one of her own songs. She thought she could slip it in there without anyone noticing, but she didn't count on the likes of me! The song, "We Belong Together". The line, 'who's gonna talk to me until the sun comes up.'

Aha! She doesn't sleep at night, which means she must sleep during the day because she can't go out in the sunlight!

I reckon that if you have a close look at some of her other songs you will find more hints. Her "wanting a little taste" of people and stuff.

Now if something should happen to me, or if a post comes up on here dismissing this theory, then they will have gotten to me and it is up to you all to get the truth out there. If this is the case, I'd be wary of any invitations from me wanting to "catch up" in the evening time...

Compelling, yes? 

Dale. :)

3 days

Wanted to keep track of everything we did in Thailand but my resolve only lasted three days.

Thursday, April 9.

Dale had haircut and packed.

Mum and Dad drive us to airport.

Check-in, customs, duty-free (cameras, booze).

Board at 11:00pm, play with tvs, take off!

Friday, April 10.

Hard to sleep on plane!

Long, long flight.

Brenton beats (a sleep deprived) Dale at trivia.

Arrive Bangkok 5:30am, (8:30am AEST)

Buildings/signs confusing.

Strange smoking rooms.

Dale's bag soaked by exploding Jim Beam bottle.

Dale's bag abandoned, Brenton not impressed.

Ellie constantly hiccuping.

Dale smelling like an alco.

Board Phuket flight 7:00am.

Crazy lady gets her boob out.

Arrive Phuket, Dale buys more Beam.

Transfer to hotel scary, driver got close to things.

No seatbelts, beautiful scenery, poverty.

Arrive Merlin Beach 10:30am.

First impressions, fancy, humid.

Big bug on floor.

Sat down by Thai lady, cold towels to refresh.

Ogled pool, greenery, prospect of sleep.

Dinner on hill restaurant, overlooking beach

Food awesome! (seafood especially)

Retired to rooms and slept deeply.

Saturday, April 11.

Wake at 9:00.

Buffet breakfast from heaven - gorged on everything.

Collected pool towels and swam.

Pool bar - wedges and drinks.

Caught shuttle to Patong, people everywhere.

Dale hugged by nice-smelling Thai massage lady.

Shops!

Different beach restaurant for dinner, waves lapping, peaceful.

Massive swing, Dale tripped over a rope in the dark.

Started a crossword.

Hung out in sports bar.

Read and slept.

Those are the things I chose to write down at the time. It really was my favourite holiday ever! And we did do lots more stuff over the remainder of our time there.

This is more of a "so I don't forget" blog, sorry if it was boring.

Stay tuned for my MC=V theory, up next.

Dale.

Coincidence or a Sign?

The Brand New song  "Welcome to Bangkok" comes on my ipod (which is on shuffle) as our plane starts its descent to Bangkok airport.

The Other Stuff...

Culture, scenery, adventures, weather, food, hotels. I could prattle on about all of these things from the time I spent in Thailand as they amounted to an incredible experience. But instead I want to share some of the more unexpected sights and sounds that have stuck with me.

First, the serious.

There was a young elephant in Phuket, named "Mr Phuket", who could dance and play the harmonica at the same time. It was cute but somewhat disconcerting as well; not that an 

elephant was showing me up, but in terms of my presence contributing to his way of life and familiarity with being chained to a post. Never really been an animal welfare advocate, but I don't know. Guess I was kind of marvelling at the freedom I had in my life (to be able to go to an exotic place like Thailand), and it made me wonder if Mr Phuket would have been happier journeying through life in a herd of elephants, and without a name.

Thailand's population is something like 90% Buddhist. (As far as religion goes, Buddhism seems like a very noble one. At the Grand Palace in Bangkok, which is also the home of the Emerald Buddha, we learned that Buddhists follow six principles that preach things like acceptance, honesty, and offering. So it's not surprising that it is one of the most peaceful and responsible religions humanity has seen.) Anyway, I saw a boy wearing a santa hat. He was playing in the street with other children in one of the poorer areas that we were driving past. It was just unexpected. I guess he might have known about Santa Claus, the people in Phuket have become quite wise to Western culture - necessarily so, I guess, as tourism drives their economy and there's so much competition amongst themselves to sell similar goods that anything that gives one merchant an edge could make all the difference. The image of this young Thai child in the santa hat who seemed to be living in near-poverty just shook me. Another experience that made me appreciate my circumstances more.

And now, the not so serious.

I noted several amusing translations from Thai to English that didn't quite work. One that was on the funnier side was the name and description of a fairly nice beachfront group of apartments. 

"SLEEPWITHME"

Flashy Serviced Apartments

It was definitely eye-catching. I think there might have even been a smiley face after the 'ME'. I guess the fact that an apartment complex could have such carnal desires amused me most, followed by the word 'Flashy'. It seemed like an unusual choice of adjective, and perpetuated that the apartments were all show. :)

While wandering the streets of Patong you become accustomed to hearing incomprehensible Thai and lots of broken English (adopting which I found to be a really fun way to aggravate my fellow-holidayers). You don't expect to hear a full on British accent. Let alone one that was addressing you. Let alone from an older man with grey hair. Let alone one that is asking you:

"'av you 'eard about the part-ee at Rock Cit-ee t'night?"

I think I just looked at him, "huh?" written on my face. I didn't stop walking though. Later I wondered if he really was English or the accent was just a gimmick. Then I wondered why he'd be spruiking like that. Then I realised I was thinking about it too much - which I'm still doing apparently. Who would respond to an old Englishman's request to come party with him? Sure a few people might but... come on! I've decided that it would be cool if he'd actually been a once-very-famous rock star in his youth who was now trying to recapture his glory days.

Well, that's "The Other Stuff" from my trip to Thailand. 

Thank you for listen to me. You my friend. See later ok! 

T-shirt for you sir?

Dale. :)

Looking without looking

The second glance - the one you take when when you think you've just seen something out of the corner of your eye - is too dismissive. You see nothing is there, or it's just a tree/bird/commonplace event, and think nothing of it. What made you think you saw something? What made you think you saw what you saw? And why does it always warrant a second glance?

Why does it happen when it does?

There's something there...

The figure that just dashed across the window or door behind you. The familiar face you recognise in a complete stranger. The unusual thing that seems not to exist when you look properly.

What if there was something truthful to the images you saw before you looked again? Something that kicks the second glance filter into gear and eradicates plausibility. Maybe there are lessons to be learned about oneself...

Or maybe something's being hidden.

But how can you search for answers when the only way to find them is looking without looking?

Dale.

'The Rules of Attraction' & Me

I watched Roger Avery's screenplay of a novel by Bret Easton Ellis, "The Rules of Attraction" today. Released in 2002, it stars a very recognisable cast, including James van der Beek, Jessica Biel, Kate Bosworth and "Boone" from Lost (Ian Somerhalder - who plays the gay character pretty well) to name a few. I enjoyed its unconventional style and reflexive technique. It didn't have a beginning/middle/end as such, or a linear story progression, it just unfolded and refolded onto itself, and it worked. It seemed to me Avery was really trying to subvert the structure of the traditional plot, and by doing so he achieved something very interesting.


A snapshot of a time in one character's life can be an interesting stand-alone story, but when you add snapshots from the other interconnected characters as well, it provides for a lot of resonance. Duh, right? Well this film made me look at the omniescent perspective in a different way (hehe). There really wasn't a narrator, essentially the film was a series of independant stories from each of the characters that, put together, made an overall story. Again, duh, yeah? There was just something about this film's techniques that mixed up the conventional... You might have to watch to see what I mean.

Sure, it's chock-full of sex and drugs and college-ness, but Avery uses each of these devices expertly to intimate a tone or a mood or realisation for a particular scene. The film (I haven't read the book) brings up some interesting points about how anyone can truly know another person; sounds depressing but is quite thought-provoking. Especially when wanting to know/love a certain someone is all that you really desire.

The film starts mid-sentence and it ends mid-sentence. I've never felt how I did after watching a movie than after this one.

The film summed up in 3 words? Unique/Confronting/Raw
The themes summed up in 5? Desire/False Hope/Rejection/Despondency.
Dale's rating? 4 out of 5 - for how much it got me thinking.

Would like to know if anyone else has seen it and whether reactions were similar... or very opposite!

Dale.

Imagination

So I haven’t blogged for a while now. I’ve been trying to channel my creative efforts into seriously doing some writing (in between uni shit). The sad thing is I haven’t actually written a lot. I’ve made a start on two projects, but I’m not very far in. I have ideas for both that excite me, but I’m having issues with form/structure. The pieces are raining down all mixed up and not falling into place, and I’m wondering if I need to approach the stories from another direction. Although as long as I’m still stimulated by my ideas I’m not worried.

I’m doing poetry this semester. And I don’t want this to alter my writing style. I’m an imitator. I tend to adopt elements of the style of writing I’m reading into my own writing. There’s this exercise that I have to do for my scriptwriting unit that’s designed to help me get some idea of who I am as a writer and why I write about the things I do; why I’m drawn to write about certain characters or ideas. So hopefully it will help me create a barrier against my writing turning all flowery and eloquent and grandiose. Notice I said the ‘S’ word in my first sentence? That might have been for this very purpose!

United States of Tara is just awesome. Thanks again, Luke! It’s not really like any other show you’ll see. It’s honest. I’m drawn to it. Sucks that the episodes only go for half an hour and that there are only twelve per season but what can I do? Use my imitation skills to write my own episodes? Not quite! To have that talent would be nothing other than extremely magnificent.

Brenton got me thinking yesterday, about how the world might be different if humans had super-vivid imaginations; the ability to imagine yourself in any kind of situation in your own mind. To create personalisable movies to live out fantasies or simply experience things you’ve always wanted to do. Would being able to envisage the otherwise unimaginable be a good or a bad thing for relationships or goals and ambitions, for example? Or would it lead to more depression and delusion? I guess it depends on how such imaginative powers were used. I wonder where I’d stop? And what would it mean for the film, tv, and book industries? And tourism? It would be very interesting to explore a world like that.

Hope everyone’s cool.

Dale.

Remember the Mexican Hijinks?

"That was some stunt you pulled Gabe, look at the papers!"

He glanced casually at the picture on the front page and thought again that he photographed well. He'd gone for "deer in the headlights" (flashlights as it had eventuated) and he'd owned it.

"What are you smiling about? The repercussions for your uncle have been massive. This does not reflect well on him, let alone us. Darn it Gabe, I can't deal with this right now. Go away, I've got a function to organise. Only God knows how I'll think of an appropriate flower arrangement now..."

That was it. No: "what in tarnation were you doing in Mexico?” No: "how in tarnation did you get to Mexico?" Nothing. He thanked whoever was responsible for giving him such self-involved parents as his mother started muttering to herself about petunias and he became invisible. Things would have been much harder without them.

The way Gabe saw things, he was born into such an influential family for a reason, and he'd be a fool to put such an opportunity to waste. Had America been a monarchy he'd have loved it; Shakespeare had given him a taste for the “in line to the thrown” stuff, but the way things were probably suited him better. He headed to his war-room. The border-crossing had been a last minute gem of inspiration. It was like a taste for his uncle, an entree of the pressure that Gabe would be putting him under. That and it was pretty fun.

He came to the door and cursed Blu-tack. “Gabez funplayland!” was enthusiastically etched into the middle of the door. He picked up the Cameron Diaz poster from the floor and pressed firmly against its corners.

The war-room could only be accessed from within Gabe’s bedroom and that suited him fine. He’d long ago told the cleaners and maids it didn’t need any attention, despite that not being entirely true... The carpet was barely visible beneath scattered pages of notes, documents, manuals and blueprints; there were chip packets, glasses and cans – some empty, some not so empty – and an apple core place strategically on top of a Jim Beam can on top of an upturned glass on top of an empty packet of Doritos. There was also dust. He had tried dusting once but it just kept resettling after a while and he saw no point in dusting all his life. But he was happy for it, it was his, and it had a mini-fridge. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took in his messy freedom.

He felt compelled to take all his clothes off.

“...Dude, what are you doing?”

An Old Fun One (OFO)

http://lifeofdale.blogspot.com/2007/01/unexplainable.html

Sometimes I look through my old blog posts and cringe. But most of the time I smile. This is one of those smile-making ones. My writing style sure has changed!

I'm off to Lakes Entrance with Kiel & Co again (like last year) tomorrow. Get back on Wednesday. I sure will miss you guys... *misty eyes* :P

If you haven't already done so, read Luke's new "Stog"! (word borrowed from Jimzip). It's wicked funny http://creepylamingtons.blogspot.com. Click the link or scary towels will possess you and inhabit your mind. :)


Dale.

Pluto Prison - Short Story

One.

Stars, blackness, stars, a falling sensation.
Before I opened my eyes I knew I was lying down, and I knew I wasn’t on a bed. There was a scratchy, scrabbly-ness to the surface beneath me. How the hell did I get here? Where was here? Why was I afraid to open my eyes?
Flash! A court. Flash! A verdict. Flash! A... space machine?
I sat up and wiped something off the side of my face. The images felt familiar. I cracked a lid.
Black sky, red dusty earth with holes, a building, something approaching.
And closed it again. Three seconds of sight told me something wasn’t right. Maybe my other senses would be more helpful.
Faint banging noises, no wind, comfortable temperature, headache, dust in my nose, about to sneeze!
A boot crashed into my chest and my head and shoulders bounced off the ground. My headache got a zillion throbby times worse, but I didn’t need to sneeze anymore.
‘Ow.’
Pain was good. Pain meant I was still alive.
‘Get up, criminal filth.’
I braved sight again. He looked like Bowser. He almost didn’t look human.
‘Take this one to barracks then put it to work.’
Bowser had minions. He nodded to them and they took my arms. He gave me a final look of contempt and retreated back to his castle, probably. Was I in real-life Mario? And would that make me Mario or Toad? Or Princess Peach?

Two.

The barracks are weird. They’re futuristic, there’s a lot of white. I have a bunkmate. She keeps looking at me intently then looking away. The beds aren’t traditional bunks, they’re V’s – one bunk angling out to the left and one to the right. They meet at the head end. I’m lying down again.
‘So I guess we’re bunkmates.’
‘In what world do these constitute bunks?’
Heh. She got me there.
‘Dunno. Sounds cooler than V-shape bed buddies though.’
‘Both versions make it sound like we have intercourse. The latter, weird kinky style.’
Heh. She got me again.
Some time passed. I thought about stuff. The terrain of this place looked alien. Dusty, craters, aridness. But a lot of stuff wasn’t right.
‘A lot of stuff isn’t right.’
She was looking at me intently again. She watched each of the words come out of my mouth.
‘Like, something is telling me I’m supposed to think I’m on Pluto. But what? And how? What is that something?’
She squinted her eyes a little. She was waiting for me to go on.
‘We’re not on Pluto. Why can we breathe? How did this building get here? How did we get here?’
‘Why do mobile phones still work?’ she added with a smile. ‘Your brain is trying to short circuit reasoning, it’s telling you that everything here just makes sense, when there are no logical associations to tell you why or answer how.’
I smile. She understands me! But she’s not smiling anymore.
‘What?’
‘Try thinking about how your thinking got screwed up.’
I couldn’t.

Three.

I was peering over the edge of a mine shaft that went straight down. I could see a guy on a harness with a pick. He was tapping away at the walls. Not surprisingly, that didn’t make much sense.
That’s what they did here, mined. There were possibly a hundred mine shafts littering the plain. I closed my eyes and opened them again. The plain suddenly wasn’t so expansive. There were boundaries, there had to be. I’m not on Pluto, I reminded myself again.
I was wearing a hard hat and had a pick of my own. I knew what to do and how to do it as if it were instinct. I think it was supposed to have been my sole instinct. There were no guards anywhere. No enforcing, no commanding. Weird.
The air got warmer and I thought fondly of sunlight. But it was breath, Bowser breath. I crashed forwards into the ground. What was with this guy and pushing?
‘Work, prisoner scum.’
I wasn’t prepared for this interaction, my brain had only just remembered the sun. I didn’t know what to say in case I wasn’t supposed to be thinking freely or at all. So I didn’t say anything. Something possessed me to bow. Of course my hard hat fell off and landed at his feet. There was an agonising moment of indecision. Bowser’s hip started to ring and he turned away, making it easier for me to pick up my stupidly necessary hat.
‘R.F.6.’ I heard Bowser confirm into the phone that was dwarfed by his hands.
‘ARE YOU STILL HERE?’ I was being roared at.
Not for much longer, I thought, as I scampered away.

Four.

A guy freakin’ died! He was working in his mine when a fireball came from nowhere and engulfed him. It was like I’d seen it happen. But I hadn’t.
They’re not big on names in this place, just initials. He was R.... Holy shit! He was R.F.! This was no accident. Pluto’s the coldest planet in the solar system for crying out loud.
‘You’re not on Pluto,’ she said.
Shit...

Five.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Did I arrive when I woke up out on the plain? Or have I been here all my life? It’s like there is no “before”. But I know things like Mario and planets and normal bunks.
‘How long have you been here?’
She just looked at me.
‘So you’ll help me then, tonight?’
She started shaking her head violently from side to side and blurted, ‘YES!!!’

Six.

‘I don’t dream in this place.’
‘I don’t eat or drink.’
‘I don’t pee.’
‘I don’t get sick.’
We were heading away from the barracks, trying to travel in a straight direction. We had our hard hats and picks. We had each other’s minds to stave away the fogginess.
‘What do you think the deal is with Bowser?’
‘Bowser?’
‘You know, big guy, affinity for pushing?’
I looked back and she was gone. After a complete 360 I started to stress. How? Dammit! How? I needed her mind...
Clink clink clink! The sound of hammer on stone. It led me to the edge of a mine shaft. I peered down into the darkness and she was there. I pulled on the pulley to raise her up again.
‘Yo, bed buddy! Clarity please!’
She looked up at me apologetically.
As I helped her up and over the edge her hammer fell. We both watched as it plunged downwards. Clunk. It landed. There was a bottom to these things... Of course there was! I watched her have the same thoughts and start to speak.
‘I’ll go down. You just sprint for all you’re worth. If there are no walls then maybe there are tunnels. It’s our best option.’
‘But the fire...’
‘...Might not be real.’
We were still holding hands. She was right. We looked at each other for a short while.
‘I don’t not get horny in this place.’
‘I don’t not have standards,’ she returned with her tongue out.

Seven.

The wind was rushing past me as I ran hard. For some reason I wanted her to see me with wind in my hair. How was she going in the mine? I started to notice the ones near me. They started pulling. No! I had to go on.
Flash! Arms reaching. Flash! Tears. Flash! A needle.
My mind couldn’t make sense of the images. I pushed on. There was a black wall ahead and I was so close.
Thwack. I collided with the wall. As I sat dazed I imagined the sounds of movement and beeping. I got up. What now? She had my pick. I looked up. It was too hard to determine how high it was or if it connected with a roof. I put my hand to it. Cool-warm-impenetrable-weak, all at once.
I pounded my fist against it but it was like brick. I kicked it – concrete. This was pointless. I sat facing it, head between my knees. Behind me I could hear heavy paw-like feet pounding the earth.
I got to my feet, but remained facing the wall. The steps stopped.
‘You.’
‘Name’s Mario.’
‘Pah! I choose your name, vermin.’
I collided with the wall again. I turned for confrontation, back against the wall. I had to stay defiant.
‘They all do this you know, you’re not special. You will soon succumb. Free will won’t even be a distant memory.’
I shook my head violently. ‘No!’
‘Oh yes,’ it smirked.
Quickly! I needed to do something quickly.
‘You know it’s funny, that you should talk about free will. What’s a day in the life for you? Push a few incapacitated souls around, answer your phone, do what you’re told. I had a life before this, I was somewhere else, and I will get back there. I had importance, purpose. You, well let’s face it, you’re nothing in the scheme of things. You can’t even shoot fireballs out of your mouth.’
He charged. All of his weight was going to crash into me and smoosh me against the wall. I tried to move at the last second but my leg buckled. It happened.
But he wasn’t heavy.

Eight.

Winded, a bad leg, and with a serious case of confusion, I tried to comprehend what had just happened and assess the situation all at once. I shook my head vigorously again. Bowser was a normal man. His outline was fuzzy, flickering. He was normal sized... And punching me.
I swung back, and got a few good ones in. He oooff’d after I connected with his stomach and I got clear. I started hobbling away from him, the wall beside me.
If my sense of size, strength, and perception weren’t right, then the wall was conquerable too.
Flash! I was blowing out candles. Flash! I was graduating high school. Flash! I was sobbing in a shower.
Each image stirred powerful emotions within me. I was feeling.
I dug my fingers into the wall, they went into it! I tore away a chunk. And then another. Then I used one to smack into non-Bowser’s head as he charged at me again. He fell to the side.
I could see through. There were desks and computers and stunned labcoats.
A hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun. And met her smile and glowing eyes. I allowed myself a beaming smile, too.
Together we climbed through the wall and ran through corridors and burst out into sunlight.
We weren't safe.
We didn't know who we were.
But we definitely weren’t on Pluto.

The End.*

Display Home Adventures

"Do you have land?"
We should have been in character.
She looked from Brenton to me.
"No not yet," I responded suppressing laughter.

I guess it was a compliment that she thought we looked like we could be land-owners - that we were of some wealth. Perhaps we had trust funds, or were former child actors, or won big at the casino, in her mind. She was pretty.

"Well then we have some great house & land package deals." She underlined a name in the display home brochure that she wouldn't let us have until she was finished talking. "Larry's the one to talk to about house & land if you have any questions."
I was getting kind of tired of nodding and feigning interest. I wanted to get to the part where I got to imagine myself living in a pretty house all of my own. Cloud bubbles from my mind sprouted a few unlikely scenarios.
One, me trying to snatch the brochure with the pretty pictures but the lady retaining a freakishly strong grip on her end, all the while I'm shouting "give it to me!" and she's snarling back "I haven't told you about the special offers of luxury inclusions yet."
Two, me leaning in close to her and pulling a 20 out of my shirt pocket, being very hush-hush and bribey, only to be slapped because she thought I propositioning her.

Neither of those situations played out because I somehow mustered another "ah, how interesting" nod and she ran out of things to point to/underline in the brochure.
It was an arduous quest but Brenton and I had finally collected all three Porter Davis Collections Catalogues! It was most satisfying.

For what it's worth the houses that had to wait for us because of blonde pretty lady were awesome. The Brampton and... my favourite which I've forgotten the name of but will consult the brochure about later. There was the most ridiculously impractical pool, but it just looked so cool! I foolishly didn't take a picture of it and my describing skills aren't up to scratch right now, but it was pretty much square, above ground with glass walls, too deep to stand up in, but not wide or long enough for anyone to swim in. It was "silly cool", maybe it's the new "shabby chic".

Next time we'll do characters. I wonder how the pretty blonde lady would react if a person in a pink bunny suit hopped along behind Brenton into her little office?
["Do you have land?"
"Nah, but he's got a nice burrow."]

Or if we were wearing "We Steal Stuff From Display Homes If We Get Hassled By Sales Agents" t-shirts. :)

Dale.