Wednesday 30 April 2014

Gifts from Sleep




                  


                                                  A dream has power to poison sleep


                                                              Mutability, Percy Bysshe Shelley






                         
        
                             There's always an impossible puzzle.



And each night I have from the time I arrive until the balloon pops to solve it. Every night they are getting more difficult. I think in a few week's time I will probably have to re-enact world war one using hand gestures or design a new form of communication for the humble house fly.



And what is it with the wooden fences? I am beginning to think that my dreams are sponsored by  Ronseal. I smell them all the time now. When I'm awake that is. I smell them when I'm eating my Corn Flakes. I smell them when I'm driving to work. One hand on the steering wheel and the other trying to wipe away the smell of wood. I sneeze and bits of wood come out.


And I can never quite remember any of them. Stupid, ridiculous, over the top dreams. But there's always my reward waiting for me when I wake up. Sometimes it's curled up in my fist or it's on the floor and sometimes I find it in the bathroom cabinet.




My prize. My reward for solving another impossible, annoying puzzle, from dreams that disappear down a plug hole in the centre of the universe. Dreams where I'm running around, blood pumping, heart thumping, nights of frustration and terror. Long nights where every second I am crawling through tunnels, banging on impossible to open doors and running. Running from somebody or something until finally the balloon pops. It's usually a red balloon but sometimes it's inexplicably a novelty balloon. A poodle, a swan, a pair of tits.




It's been going on for weeks. I'm exhausted. Sometimes I try to stay awake, hoping the curse will be broken but sleep always catches up with me and grabs me by the ankles and drags me under. I will have to pack in work soon, it's getting too much. I spend all day worrying about them. The balloons, the fences, the doors, but most of all I worry about my little rewards waiting at home in the cellar. I have put them in shoe boxes because that is my line of work. Lots of shoe boxes.


Boxes meant for shoes, not body parts.





                                                                  

                                                                                   (C) Ally Atherton 2014

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This is written for the Light And Shade Challenge


An exciting new challenge where prompts are posted weekly. Go and take a look and join in if you like. It looks like a great opportunity to have fun writing and also an opportunity to meet some new creative friends.










9 comments:

  1. That last sentence was a killer, even though the rest of it is utterly amazing the last sentence nails it. Thank you for joining in and thank you for sharing. LM x

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    1. Thank you, the challenge is great, it's great to be a part of it :)

      Ally

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  2. I must agree with Lyssa - a splendid piece throughout and then that final moment of sudden impact. Fantastic.

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    1. Thanks Thomas, it's good that some of the Trifecta folk can still keep in touch and have fun with these challenges as well as others.

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  3. A very chilling ending. I like that you don't really describe the dreams and let the reader fill in the blanks.

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    1. Thanks Tara :) I appreciate your kind comments

      Ally :)

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  4. Love this, Ally! I really like how the dreams and 'reality' mix it up - sneezing wood! - and the last three lines are brilliant. Shoe boxes. Ha!

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    1. Thanks Kymm :)

      Glad you enjoyed


      Ally :)

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  5. You had me at re-enacting the great war using hand gestures. This is a well-paced, crisply-written piece, and I adore that final sentence.

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