Strange Dreams

“Strange dreams, invade my sleep at night

Strange dreams they make me feel all right”

Well, they got that song half right. Strange dreams are most definitely invading my sleep at night. They do not, however, make me feel all right.

No sir.

Some of them are interesting to say the least but they all keep leading back to this really REALLY messed up recurring dream. And the really weird thing about this dream is that it isn’t the same thing over and over, it’s like it keeps picking up where it left off last. I’ve had that happen a few times before but most of those dreams were pleasant.

In this dream, and it’s been going on for so many nights that I don’t even know how it started, I have been witness to an unintended murder by a close friend. (That is to say, a close friend killed a stranger in the heat of the moment.) Then, the friend freaks out and decides to hide the body instead of telling anyone what happened. I think it might have even been self defense that started the whole thing. So the friend goes and hides the body behind an abandoned radio station out in the middle of nowhere. (I say a friend because sometimes it is a person I know and sometimes it is characters in the books I’ve been reading lately. They keep switching.) So then there are missing persons reports going out for the person who was killed. And here I am, caught in between telling someone what happened and saving my friends skin. If this happened in real life you can bet your ass I’d tell someone what happened ASAP. In the dream, though, I can’t seem to bring myself to do it, and it starts eating away at me. I know that there are clues leading straight to my friend, because they were seen with the person who was killed the night he went missing. I try to tell this to the friend but they assure me that they’ve got everything under control. Then, in the most recent set, someone is getting close to figuring out what happened and ends up finding ANOTHER dead body somewhere else. That’s where it ended most recently. It’s pretty incredibly messed up and I don’t want to have it anymore. At the same time, though, I kind of just want to have it once more and have everything be resolved, like realize that I’m dreaming IN my dream so that none of it was real and I can stop having it.

I don’t know if you know this, but having troublesome dreams doesn’t lead to the most restful night sleep you’ve ever had, and I just want a peaceful night sleep for once.

I’ve been having other really odd dreams beside that one, too. Chances are, if I’ve had more than a 3 minute conversation with someone in the past 2 months, they have made an appearance in my dreams. Really, really strange dreams.

Other dreams include all my teeth falling out, and losing my hair, but it’s more like I’ve been scalped than I’m going bald. I think I figured that one out, though. I wake up in the middle of the night and I find my cat sitting on my pillow and chewing on the hair on the top of my head. (Why, I have absolutely no idea.) But that’s probably related. Soooo strange though.

Novel: Excerpt

The novel this excerpt was taken from is a work in progress. Any feedback is much appreciated. Please keep in mind that this is taken out of context so some details may not be clear)

(The Following Excerpt contains material some readers may not find suitable.

Reader Discretion is Advised)

Jeff took me out to celebrate the end of my first semester and our fourth anniversary. We were both 20, young, happy, healthy, in love.
After dinner, he drove us to the beach and laid out a blanket.
“I want to look at the stars with you,” he said.
“I’d like that,” I whispered back.
The night was going well, perfect even. The moonlight danced playfully on the water of the Pacific Ocean while the stars dotted the night sky.
“This is a perfect night,” I said to Jeff as we both lay on the blanket, hands intertwined.
He sat up, then, and looked deeply into my eyes for a moment.
“You’re a perfect girl, woman. You don’t deserve anything less,” he said.
I just smiled back, unable to find the right words to say in return.
“Can I ask you something?” Jeff said after a moment.
“Anything.”
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
“Yeah, almost as much as I love you,” I told him.
“I love you more than anything in the world, Bailey. I don’t know what I would do without you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not going to question it.”
“Good, because I love you more than anything in the world too. You know, ‘I love you too’ never sounds as real as ‘I love you,’” I told him.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s like, around Christmas, someone gives you a really great present, but all you got them was a pair of socks.”
He laughed then.
“You’re my favorite pair of socks,” he said and smiled.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Hey, I have another question for you,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Will you marry me?” he said.
I laughed. “Of course I’ll marry you, Jeff. You know that.”
“No, Bailey, I mean it,” he said and pulled a small black velvet box out of his pocket.
I gasped.
“Bailey,” he said as he opened the box. “Will you wear this ring? Will you be my wife?”
Tears started to well up in my eyes. I blinked them away.
“Oh Jeff,” I said. “It’s beautiful, and yes, yes, yes! Of course I’ll be your wife,” I exclaimed.
He took the ring out of the box and slipped it on my finger.
“Fits perfectly,” he said.
I held my hand out in admiration.
The band was gold. There was a single diamond in the center and two smaller diamonds on either side. It sparkled in the moonlight, much the same way the stars did.
I kissed Jeff ever so gently on the lips.
He kissed me back, only with more pressure.
Our kisses continued. They became deeper, longer, and more passionate.
He began undressing me. He did it in such a way that I felt like my clothes were simply melting off of my body. In each place that clothing had covered, he kissed me. And when I was ready for him, really, truly ready, he just held me close.
“Is this what you want, Bailey?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I whispered breathlessly.
He began kissing my neck, touching my warmth, caressing me. Then we became one. We melted into one another. We moved with the rhythm of the waves crashing on the shore. Each movement brought me closer and closer until finally I could last no longer. I felt the warmth of his release at the same moment that I let go.
For a while after that we just clung to each other. We whispered plans for our new life together; we told the sand, the stars, the moon, the ocean.

___________________________

Kelly MacIntyre © 2009 All Rights Reserved

Is this funny, or mean?

So, I was at the mall yesterday with my wife, her mom, and her step sister.

While her mom and her step sister were getting pictures printed, my wife and I decided to walk around Target for a while. We came across the magazine aisle, and I picked up the latest Cosmo to read while we were waiting. I carried it around with me, and we eventually met back up with the rest of our party. Then, we were trying on hats and beach bags… it was quite fun.

We were talking about promise rings, and I started telling a story about one of my experiences…

As I was talking, magazine in hand, I swung my right arm out for emphasis, effectively smacking a woman (who was innocently walking by) in the face with the magazine. She made a dramatic, umph, noise, and I gasped and covered my mouth, exclaiming how sorry I was. She shook her head and kept walking.

Everything got super quiet for a moment, and then we all burst out laughing. My wifes step sister had to run to the bathroom, lest she pee her pants. It was that funny.

Really, it was hilarious. But, at the same time, I felt like such a jerk.

I never knew I was a hand talker before yesterday.

Life as a Bitch

Beginning of a short story….not sure if it’s worth continuing.  Feedback please : ]

Carole never had any siblings. She never had anyone competing with her for her parents’ attention. Her bedroom was full of the best toys money could buy, and still she was never satisfied. Her father was the heir to an oil fortune, so she got whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.
Carole was officious. She had plenty of playmates as a child, but never any real friends. The girls she played with only liked her for her toys.
As she grew older, she found no one with whom she could share her secrets. She knew the other girls only pretended to like her and whispered mean things about her behind her back. She began to grow bitter.
When Carole reached adulthood she had no real friendships. Her father arranged several male callers but none of them ever took a real interest in Carole; they only cared about the fortune she would one day inherit.
Being spoiled in her childhood turned Carole into a bitch. She disliked anyone who did not agree with her opinions. She couldn’t keep a job for more than a few months because she couldn’t follow directions. She found that if it wasn’t her way, it wasn’t right.
She never moved out of her parents’ house but was rarely there. She went out each night to a different bar and got drunk. On a good night someone would call a cab to take her to the nearest hotel to sleep it off. Most nights, however, one desperate man or another who “really felt connected to her” would pick her up. He would take her to his apartment (never a house), and they would have sex.
She rarely remembered the events due to her level of intoxication. Twice she had contracted gonorrhea, and even became pregnant once. She decided to keep the baby but miscarried during the second month.
Losing her unborn child only served to make her more bitter. She stopped trying to find a job and stayed in bed for most of the day. Her parents tried expressing their concerns but she lashed out at them.
“Honey, we’re really worried about you. You’ve been staying in bed all day and staying out all night. You haven’t had a job for months. Is everything okay?”
“Why don’t you just mind your own damn business” she bit back.
Finally, after three months of sulking, she decided it was time for a change. She bought a plane ticket to Las Vegas and announced to her parents that she would be going away for a few weeks.
“Where are you going, honey?” they asked.
“Away. It doesn’t matter where I am. I just need to get out of this damn place. I need to sort some things out. I don’t know exactly when I’ll be back, so don’t ask.” She responded.
“What if we need to get a hold of you?” they asked.
“You won’t.”
She left the following morning with only a wallet full of debit and credit cards. She figured she would buy whatever she needed when she got there.
The flight was long and she spent the majority of it arguing with the stewardess and man in the seat next to her.
“This man smells putrid, move him immediately” she ordered the stewardess.
“You little bitch. Who do you think you are?” the man responded.
“I think I’m a high paying customer who doesn’t wish to smell B.O. and fish for six hours.”
“I’m sorry miss, but there are no other seats available. You’ll just have to make due. Is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable?” the stewardess asked.

A Novel Idea

Okay, so I’m in the process of writing two novels, have the introduction to a third (which you can read here)… and a series of childrens books.

A large undertaking and I have none of them anywhere near finished, which is unfortunate….

Below, is Chapter 7 of the novel I’ve been writing since 2006. It’s one of the more intense (and violent) parts of the book, a flashback to the past of the main character. The book alternates between the present time and flashbacks to the past. Each flashback reveals a little more about the main character, and is typically pretty short. I need to re-work it because I feel that it is lacking something. Any input/feedback/ideas would be wonderful.

(My apologies for the centering, it defines the paragraphs more clearly than left justify)
Chapter 7

Peter was sitting at the bar, six drinks into his binge. He had become a raving lunatic, loudly declaring for the entire bar to hear, that he was leaving his “bitch of a girlfriend.”

“Five months pregnant and doesn’t say a fucking word about it.” He slurred loudly.
He ordered another drink but the bar tender told him that he’d been cut off. In a fit of rage, he threw an empty bottle across the bar. That got him kicked out.

He stumbled back to the apartment around 3:20 AM. Lacey was asleep.

“Fuck her,” he thought to himself. “I don’t want to have a kid anyway, especially not with her. If she thinks I’m paying child support, she’s nuts!”

It was then that his plan erupted. Of course it was completely crazy, but he was drunk; what did he care?

Lacey awoke to loud banging. She knew it was Peter, and she knew he had to be drunk.

She heard him come into the bedroom so she pretended to be asleep. She didn’t want to fight with him anymore. He was mumbling obscene things under his breath and she felt him drawing closer and closer to her body.

The next thing she knew, he impaled her stomach with a something sharp. She screamed out in pain as he ripped it out of her stomach, out of her baby.

Blood was everywhere. He was ready to stab her again. She kicked him, knocking him into the wardrobe. She got up, piercing pain throughout her stomach. Everything was starting to go black. She was losing so much blood.

He stood up.

She was terrified. She pushed him.

His balance was terrible due to his state of intoxication. He hit the full-length mirror and it shattered. Now, he too was bleeding.

After that, everything went black.

Follow the Journey…

I had to do a “Photo Story” in my photography class. At the time of the assignment, my Meme was just starting her downward spiral. We had spent the week in the hospital with her and then they decided to move her back to the nursing home. I started the Photo Story right after she returned to the nursing home. It ended this past Saturday with her burial.

You can view it [Here]… but I have to tell you, these pictures do no justice to how much love is actually present. AND, I would have had more pictures, but I accidentally deleted them off my camera before I saved them.

Reminiscent of an old lover

Parts of a short story. Wherever (Piece Removed) appears, I have taken out a part of the story. I’m not ready to share those parts yet.

_____________

I think the reason I like reading the work of Chuck Palahniuk so much is because it reminds me of an old lover. Not Chuck himself, but the way he writes. The way he tells his stories. I can hear his voice when I read, and it is deep and soothing, much like the voice of the man I used to love.
He was a writer, too. He still is, actually.
I’m a writer. I was a writer before him. Not before he was a writer, but before he came into my life. He inspired me to write more.
I wrote some of my very best pieces thanks to his inspiration. (Piece Removed)
That’s what he did for me. He made me good. He made me FEEL.

…..

Ours was a whirlwind romance. The kind that happens so suddenly it’s almost too good to be true.
We knew each other only as far as we chose to know each other. Not a bit farther.
But we were deep together. We would write and then we would read what we wrote, each the other’s work. Then we would respond to it, often telling each other our very favorite parts and what we THOUGHT it meant.
We said “I love you” often. I don’t know that I even really knew what love was then. But I knew I loved him.
He said he’d never break my heart.
He lied.
Even so, he still inspired me. Instead of writing about our love, I wrote about his lie. How he took my heart and destroyed it.
I was a wreck. That was not the first heartbreak I had ever experienced, but it was the first that I was old enough to understand. And I was still so young.
We still spoke every day. Still shared our work, except I was more selective in the pieces I chose to share. He still has yet to read everything I’ve written for him, about him. Some are awfully mean and I’d never subject anyone I care about to such cruelty.
Yes, I care about him.
He came around, eventually. Told me he knew in his head that I was wonderful, amazing, the perfect one, but his heart was just too confused to accept it. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Then his heart suddenly became not so confused and he wanted to give it another shot. I was for it; I still loved him.
But something changed because I started to fall in love with someone else. (Piece Removed)
We did not suddenly fall in love; it was a gradual process that took several years of close friendship. When we finally realized we loved each other, I was on the cusp resurrecting my relationship with the heart breaker.
(Piece Removed)
I think he hated me for a while for saying I’d get back with him and then choosing someone else instead. I felt awful about it, but I already gave him his second chance.
Even so, he is someone I think about from time to time. I read his new work whenever he feels it is good enough to share with the world. And each time I read, I am reminded of why I loved him.
He still inspires me, and I find that most of the time I can still write with ease when he is the topic.
He is in a serious relationship with someone else now. I’ve only seen one picture of her, but she looks beautiful as far as I can tell. I’m happy for him. I’m happy for me too.
(Piece Removed)
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the way I felt when I was with him. Even the way he broke my heart, I miss that sometimes.
(Piece Removed)
That is why I enjoy reading Chuck Palahniuk. It is the closest I will ever come to having that old life. And I don’t always miss it, just sometimes.
And here’s the real kicker, only two days ago, I found out that the heart breaker thoroughly enjoys the work of dear old Chuck. This may be a sign of something; maybe it’s why I’m writing this.
But hey, what do I know?

Sonja in My Secret Place

Creative Writing Excercise prompted by author Allan Hunter. (Had me on the verge of tears while writing)

I continued walking along the banks of the river. The flowers were in full bloom and the aroma was sweet enough to put a smile on my face. The trickle of water combined with the warm breeze was lulling me into sleep.
It was then that I noticed someone walking along the banks too. No one had ever been here before. No one knew about this place but me. They were wearing a light blue t-shirt and frayed jean shorts.
I tried to catch up but a mother duck and her ducklings crossed my path on their way to the river. They were cute and on any other day I would have stopped to enjoy their innocence. Not today though, today I needed to find out who this person was, this person in my secret place.
Finally as the last duckling waddled by, I continued my stride, faster now until I saw them again. She, it was a she, was looking at me now. She was smiling, the happiest I’d ever seen her, and I hadn’t seen her in a long time.
“Sonja?” I cried, literally, cried. “Is that you?”
“Hello Koo-Koo-Nut” she said to me. Nobody had called me Koo-Koo-Nut in a long time, not since Sonja had left, not since she had been killed.
“How are you here?” I asked her.
She didn’t respond, instead she reached down, into a large brown cloth bag. She fumbled around for a few moments and then began pulling out objects. First, the photo album she had made for me before she moved away; The one that documented our lives together. Me as a baby; her holding me, hugging me, loving me. Next, the blanket I had used each afternoon for my nap in her bed. My Special Blanket. My Sonja Blanket.
Finally, she reached into the bag but pulled out nothing. She held her arms out for me, anticipating a hug. I gladly responded.
The sun started to settle in for the evening and the light began to fade. The birds chirped, a sound I was familiar with as the “leaving sound”. This place didn’t exist in the darkness; it was time for me to go.
“I’m glad you found me. I’ve missed you so much.” I gently wept as I clung fast to the woman who made me who I am.
“I’ve been with you every moment of you life. I want you to know how proud I am of you. You’ve done well. I love you,” she said.
I let go of the hug and turned away for a moment to wipe away my tears. When I turned back, she was gone. Gone as quickly as she had come. I wasn’t sure it was even real, except I was holding a blanket, and an album documenting the love we shared.
“Goodbye, my angel,” I whispered as the sun continued to fade. I gathered my things and headed home.

A Ring

A short story.

A Ring

I’ve been dating my boyfriend for several years. We’ve been best friends since we were 12. Pretty much everyone (family, friends, etc) asks us if we’re engaged yet. The answer is still “not yet”; but I do have a ring on “that finger” and people always grab my hand to check it out.
It’s a silver ring with three hearts. The two outer hearts are hollow and the middle heart is slightly larger with a pearly stone in the middle. It is a ring both my best friend and I wear. We bought them in Maine on Spring Break last year when we decided to “get married”.

It would be easy enough to tell those who care enough to ask that it’s a friendship ring. A bond shared between the best of friends. It would be much easier than explaining our mock marriage. But that’s what we do. Every question about “that ring” is answered by “I married my friend on Spring Break”.
Weird? Sure, but it was fun and we got some great pictures of the “proposal” and the wedding ceremony. Our honeymoon consisted of bikini’s on the beach in the below freezing Maine air.

Until the day comes for me to wear “the real thing”, I will continue to wear my “wedding ring”, continue to get my hand grabbed, and continue to explain how I married my friend on Spring Break.

Sleepless Beauty

Brief Fiction. But so close to the story of my life.

“Shit” I thought as I tried to open my eyes. “I must have fallen asleep.” I had been awake for the past 56 hours working on a project. Last I knew I was reviewing the storyboard. That was around 2:50 AM. It was 4:30 AM when my alarm went off, a precaution I had decided to take when my bed began calling to me 15 hours earlier. I had been asleep just long enough for my contacts to become glued to my eyeballs. I stumbled toward the bathroom and attempted to scrape them out of my eyes without making my retinas bleed. I squeezed half a bottle of Visine into each bloodshot eye and put on my glasses. “I’ve got to get this project finished.” I said out loud before going back to work.