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Music streamed into the room as if through an orchestra of pinholes. She stood there, a vacant expression on her face, a pale-blue towelling bathrobe only loosely tied around her waist. She had seen it - it being the thing lying on her bed - the thing being a stranger, a strange man.
She cocked her head so as to better take in his features. Dark wavy hair, shoulder length. A nose with a kink. Small ears. A short beard flecked with grey. Eyes closed, blotto. Who on earth … who … she didn’t know what to think - what not to. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed the time, 03:33.
I must be sleepwalking, she thought. This thing is just some stray my sister has dragged in. The man groaned. Hand to mouth she backed slowly away towards the door. The man groaned again, then coughed, snift, then coughed some more. His eyelids parted.
Who the hell are you! What the hell are you doing in my house! on my bed! She wanted to say it, to shout it, to scream it, but she could only think it.
The man rubbed his face then dragged himself off the bed until (with difficulty) he stood, still (it seemed) not noticing her, even though they were only a few steps apart.
She watched as he shuffled to the window, opened the curtains, and looked out into the darkness. The music whirled around the walls and ceiling as if being churned in a tumble dryer.
Do I know you? she said.
The man turned, and scratching his chest, ran his eyes up and down her body. You know me, he said.
Do I? she said.
Yes, he said.
Who are you?
I am part of you, he said.
That’s impossible, she said.
I can prove it.
How?
The man embraced himself, raised a foot, and with a smiling wink twirled into the air and spiralled like a ghostly corkscrew into one of her bathrobe’s pockets.
-!!- With a jolt the woman sat up in bed, feeling her face - seeing pale light fusing through the curtains, seeing 07:14 on the bedside clock - click, 07:15 - the alarm beep-beeped, beep-beeped. Another day without him.
She cocked her head so as to better take in his features. Dark wavy hair, shoulder length. A nose with a kink. Small ears. A short beard flecked with grey. Eyes closed, blotto. Who on earth … who … she didn’t know what to think - what not to. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed the time, 03:33.
I must be sleepwalking, she thought. This thing is just some stray my sister has dragged in. The man groaned. Hand to mouth she backed slowly away towards the door. The man groaned again, then coughed, snift, then coughed some more. His eyelids parted.
Who the hell are you! What the hell are you doing in my house! on my bed! She wanted to say it, to shout it, to scream it, but she could only think it.
The man rubbed his face then dragged himself off the bed until (with difficulty) he stood, still (it seemed) not noticing her, even though they were only a few steps apart.
She watched as he shuffled to the window, opened the curtains, and looked out into the darkness. The music whirled around the walls and ceiling as if being churned in a tumble dryer.
Do I know you? she said.
The man turned, and scratching his chest, ran his eyes up and down her body. You know me, he said.
Do I? she said.
Yes, he said.
Who are you?
I am part of you, he said.
That’s impossible, she said.
I can prove it.
How?
The man embraced himself, raised a foot, and with a smiling wink twirled into the air and spiralled like a ghostly corkscrew into one of her bathrobe’s pockets.
-!!- With a jolt the woman sat up in bed, feeling her face - seeing pale light fusing through the curtains, seeing 07:14 on the bedside clock - click, 07:15 - the alarm beep-beeped, beep-beeped. Another day without him.
I am Mimodrama.
Sibelius wrote:
> A little piece of subtle genius. But seeing as you is me and I
> is you, you're disqualified
I don't get it.
All I see this as is I have a very good chance.
Please forget pb.
> A little piece of subtle genius. But seeing as you is me and I
> is you, you're disqualified
I don't get it.
All I see this as is I have a very good chance.
Please forget pb.
A little piece of subtle genius. But seeing as you is me and I is you, you're disqualified.
Shanty Claws wrote:
> Unless you're
> writing another story, nothing.
> Unless you're
> writing another story, nothing.
Whether it's crap or whatever, I think you're wrong to say it's not a story. It's the story of a woman's dream, and dreams are (more often than not) strange things.
The last line "Another day without him" suggests that the man in the woman's dream is someone she was close to, but who now has left her (ie. he has died). Whether it works or not I'll let others decide.
And besides, I'm only writing very short things. Just enough room to express little situations, memories, feelings.
The last line "Another day without him" suggests that the man in the woman's dream is someone she was close to, but who now has left her (ie. he has died). Whether it works or not I'll let others decide.
And besides, I'm only writing very short things. Just enough room to express little situations, memories, feelings.
To be honest, I really don't see a story there. Basically, a sleep-walker came up to a man, with some sort of music playing, and he said "I am you." and jumped into her pocket. Then she woke up and the time was 7:15, having been 3:33 when she went to sleep. Lots of nice english, but, unless you're writing another story, nothing.
Music streamed into the room as if through an orchestra of pinholes. She stood there, a vacant expression on her face, a pale-blue towelling bathrobe only loosely tied around her waist. She had seen it - it being the thing lying on her bed - the thing being a stranger, a strange man.
She cocked her head so as to better take in his features. Dark wavy hair, shoulder length. A nose with a kink. Small ears. A short beard flecked with grey. Eyes closed, blotto. Who on earth … who … she didn’t know what to think - what not to. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed the time, 03:33.
I must be sleepwalking, she thought. This thing is just some stray my sister has dragged in. The man groaned. Hand to mouth she backed slowly away towards the door. The man groaned again, then coughed, snift, then coughed some more. His eyelids parted.
Who the hell are you! What the hell are you doing in my house! on my bed! She wanted to say it, to shout it, to scream it, but she could only think it.
The man rubbed his face then dragged himself off the bed until (with difficulty) he stood, still (it seemed) not noticing her, even though they were only a few steps apart.
She watched as he shuffled to the window, opened the curtains, and looked out into the darkness. The music whirled around the walls and ceiling as if being churned in a tumble dryer.
Do I know you? she said.
The man turned, and scratching his chest, ran his eyes up and down her body. You know me, he said.
Do I? she said.
Yes, he said.
Who are you?
I am part of you, he said.
That’s impossible, she said.
I can prove it.
How?
The man embraced himself, raised a foot, and with a smiling wink twirled into the air and spiralled like a ghostly corkscrew into one of her bathrobe’s pockets.
-!!- With a jolt the woman sat up in bed, feeling her face - seeing pale light fusing through the curtains, seeing 07:14 on the bedside clock - click, 07:15 - the alarm beep-beeped, beep-beeped. Another day without him.
She cocked her head so as to better take in his features. Dark wavy hair, shoulder length. A nose with a kink. Small ears. A short beard flecked with grey. Eyes closed, blotto. Who on earth … who … she didn’t know what to think - what not to. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed the time, 03:33.
I must be sleepwalking, she thought. This thing is just some stray my sister has dragged in. The man groaned. Hand to mouth she backed slowly away towards the door. The man groaned again, then coughed, snift, then coughed some more. His eyelids parted.
Who the hell are you! What the hell are you doing in my house! on my bed! She wanted to say it, to shout it, to scream it, but she could only think it.
The man rubbed his face then dragged himself off the bed until (with difficulty) he stood, still (it seemed) not noticing her, even though they were only a few steps apart.
She watched as he shuffled to the window, opened the curtains, and looked out into the darkness. The music whirled around the walls and ceiling as if being churned in a tumble dryer.
Do I know you? she said.
The man turned, and scratching his chest, ran his eyes up and down her body. You know me, he said.
Do I? she said.
Yes, he said.
Who are you?
I am part of you, he said.
That’s impossible, she said.
I can prove it.
How?
The man embraced himself, raised a foot, and with a smiling wink twirled into the air and spiralled like a ghostly corkscrew into one of her bathrobe’s pockets.
-!!- With a jolt the woman sat up in bed, feeling her face - seeing pale light fusing through the curtains, seeing 07:14 on the bedside clock - click, 07:15 - the alarm beep-beeped, beep-beeped. Another day without him.