Skip to main content

School of Espionage

Last night I dreamed that I was going to school to learn how to be a spy. Instead of being given a class schedule, I was given the vague instructions, "Go find a hidden place and record the enclosed secret message." So I wandered around the hallways of the school. It was a very large campus, college-sized, but it was all indoors. Eventually I found an unmarked door that looked like a potential match. Inside the door was a narrow, carpeted room, with damask covered cushioned chairs. At first I sat down in one of the chairs, but then it dawned on me that I could very easily be seen, and that might violate the rules. Always the studious type, even while asleep, I sat on the floor, hid behind a chair, and re-read the instructions. I was pretty sure I was in the right place. There were small reel-to-reel devices on the floor for recording secret messages.

Before I could record anything, other students began to arrive. All of the students were talking, and I was pretty sure there was something in the instructions about having no background noise on your recording. At this point, I noticed that two of the students were talking to a set of narrow doors in the rear of the room. The voices coming out of these doors were strange and distressed cries, pleading for banana milkshakes (gross! Please tell me this only exists in my dreams!) The students thought this was some sort of game and were taunting whatever was behind the doors. I said, "Hey you guys, I think they're being serious. We need to go buy them milkshakes or we're not going to be able to make our recordings because they won't shut up." One of the students asked me if I needed money to buy the milkshakes, but I said I had enough cash and left.

So apparently I kind of forgot about my classmates, because the next part of my dream was this really long story about one of my Highschool teachers Mr. X (name withheld and my deepest apologies to him) who I had been spending a lot of time with while I was at this strange school. My Highschool best friend was there as well and she was mad at me for leading Mr. X on. What had I been up to? Flirting, dancing with him, hugging him, apparently I even slept in the same bed with him. Then he had asked me to date him and I turned him down. Here was my reason, "Mr. X, I don't think of you like that. When I did all those things it was because you are my beloved sensei!" (I seriously need to cut back on the manga, doesn't that sound like some weird school girl story?)

After that drama, I finally remembered I was supposed to be in class and that I had been sent to buy beverages. Apparently I didn't remember specifically what beverages, because I brought back bottled water and soda pop. And this is where my dream really starts to go off the tracks. Now we're back in that secret room, except now it's much larger, filled with plants, has an entire kitchen inside of it, as well as a large desk, and the cast of Saiyuki minus Goku. So all of the Saiyuki characters have been in this room for days, watering the plants and waiting for Goku. Goku is trying to figure out where the other guys are but is having a really hard time because someone has repainted the entire building and put a sign on the door to the secret room that says "Comic "Club" (how appropo). Goku opens the door and points out the sign which makes everyone laugh. "Who would want to go in there?" says Goijo. Sanzo doesn't say anything, and immediately starts watering what appears to be a large sand garden in a fishbowl. "The mermaid almost died," he thinks, and sure enough, there is a miniature mermaid inside the fishbowl.

Popular posts from this blog

Possibly the Last Short Story for Awhile

Something strange happened this month: I missed my 12 Short Stories deadline.   There have been many things changing in my life, and I’ve realized that there are a few things I will need to put less energy into.  That doesn’t mean I won’t write anymore, but that I may write less, or may just focus on longer pieces.  That being said, I did write something, it just didn’t meet the word count. So here is one more story.  It’s not a story about politics, it’s a story about human nature and human feelings. ——— The war is over, or at least that is what they say.  But how do you stop such a thing once it is started? Charles sighed when I asked him, “You act as if you don’t understand politics.” “I don’t,” I scratched a sliver of paint off the window with a razor, “I’m not even sure we should be doing this.” “They said we could remove the blackout paint,” Charles swiped an even curl of latex to the ground.  It fell among the budding roses, an artificial petal. “But there are still soldiers ove

Decay, Swine, and Beauty

We are staying at an estate that is like a beautiful woman with tangled hair.  Neglect is slowly wearing away at her, and you know that in ten years she will no longer be beautiful.  But right now, her unkemptness makes her eyes seem wild, and she is ablaze with a vibrancy no clipped hedge ever had. And there is a pig. I'm hoping to have a little more time to write while we're here.  The kids have attended one day of school this month thanks to the snow, and they had some fierce cabin fever.   I've been inching along with my mystery, but I really want to get sidetracked and write a little office romance for kicks.

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s