He swung hard and missed. A similar sensation to stepping off a porch and a next step you expect isn't there. He gave it his best shot. Being practiced at falling he just continued through the shattered dream and rolled.
When he awoke the sun was shining through the drapes in a narrow band, across his forehead, over his right eye, down the right side of his body and across the inside of his right heel. These days his right foot always turned out; the result of his motorcycle crash.
He had dreamed of a party. It wasn't his first such dream. Maybe his fourth or fifth. The problem with dreams is they get complex. At his third dream there were so many guests he couldn't remember who had been at the next table when he awoke.
Clearly his life had become populated enough so seating at the fifth party required a second room. He hated rooms not big enough for all. He hated sitting at multiple tables in one room. What was the point?
Writing everything down was no help. His words lacked the power to bring clarity. He had read writing by others that might do, but how could someone else write words for him when even he was not sure what they were?
“You went into the corner too hot.” His friends said about his motorcycle crash. The crash which resulted in his permanently turned-out ankle.
"Too hot? You have no idea what hot is," he thought. "I go into everything too hot. It's why I'm so good at rolling."
The twisted, frozen ankle made it hard for him to dance. He talked to a girl at a dance who wasn't dancing and discovered she was legally blind. She was also very intelligent, attractively shaped. He felt comfortable knowing she couldn't see him very clearly. An indistinct image was good. He did not consider himself anything much to look at. They connected synaptically however, went to his place and went to bed. He drove.
Before long he knew she was the one with the words. He was the one with all the rest. Together they worked on an outline for dream six. After they formulated a basic plot statement they got busy on implementation.
Talk about Hot.
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Concerning inspiration and writing.
I like this but had to read it a couple times to get the most out of it; that's a good thing.
This was great: "He felt comfortable knowing she couldn't see him very clearly. An indistinct image was good." That kind of says it all about being vague and dreamlike. Nice stuff.
Thanks. Whenever I should be working on something longer, and more difficult, things like this come to me.
The writing strong, liked the refrain of hotness. A dream turning into something uncomfortable.