[LNHY/ACRA] The Daily Super Short-Short Story #23
saxon.brenton at uts.edu.au
Thu Sep 30 01:25:45 PDT 2004
The Daily Super Short-Short Story #23
A Devil Came Down to Georgia 5
Last Time: Damian the wondersock established his base of operations.
Delroy bounded up, shot, and scored. He collected the basketball
and threw a look at Martin. "You are so off your game today," Delroy
said, and bounced the ball back to his companion.
"I hadn't realised I was feeling so out of it."
"And here I thought you said you wanted to play some ball because
you were feeling too out of it to study," Delroy jibed.
Martin squinted as he prepared to shoot a basket. "I did. But it
looks like I'm too out of it to do anything right just now." He lobbed
the ball, which hit the edge of the basket and bounced back. "See? I
should just go back to bed," he complained.
"Ha!" went Shane from the sideline as he looked up from a wad
of papers that he'd been going over with a red pen. "You should have
thought of that last night when you were up watching DVDs rather than
getting some sleep."
"Hey, I didn't watch *anything* last night," countered Martin as
he collected the ball. "*I* sat up just long enough to finish off my
literary ethics essay and then I went to bed by 11:30, unlike *some*
people who are still desperately scrabbling to get their act together."
"Yeah yeah," grumbled Shane, and returned to what would hopefully
be the final draft of his work. Then all he had to do was a final
printout and have it handed in by 5pm.
"So, what, have you been stressing too much over your workload to
get proper rest?" asked Delroy as he intercepted the ball from Martin.
"Don't think so," replied Martin as he futilely tried to get the
ball back. "I've just been having some strange dreams."
"And this contradicts my theory, how?" asked Delroy.
"Well for a start I haven't been having any anxiety dreams about
turning up in class naked, or missing any exams, or having to perform
Mass but being totally unprepared and screwing the whole thing up
catastrophically, or anything."
Delroy chuckled. "Turning up naked. Lewd exhibitionism. They'd
scream about paedophilia and you'd never be let near a choir ever again."
"Oh shut up, Del," said Martin. "Don't even joke about things
Delroy shut up for long enough to successfully shoot another
basket, then changed the subject back. "So what type of dreams *have*
you been having?"
"Oh. I've been standing on the edge of a huge lake or ocean or
something. I can't see the other side, but I know I have to get to the
other side to do... something or other. There a whole lot of other
people who I can't see properly who are crossing without any problem."
Delroy looked at him. "And you say that's not an anxiety dream?"
Matin shrugged. "Maybe it's just more heavily laden with symbolism
than usual," he admitted.
"Why didn't you try to fly across?" asked Shane.
"What do you mean, 'fly across'?" countered Martin.
"Well, it's a dream, isn't it? Just tell yourself to up-up-and-away."
"No it's not. I do it fairly often," Shane said. Then he shrugged.
"Obviously you never read enough comic books as a kid to get a proper
mode of thought where you could do the impossible if you really wanted
to. I've been flying since I was about seven. Mind you, I'm not a very
good at it. It's more like swimming, I'm not very fast, and my altitude
Delroy smirked. "So your solution is supposed to be a help?"
Shane shrugged again. "These days I'd use teleporting, actually.
Early on, I'd 'teleport' by turning invisible and walking to where I
wanted to be, passing through walls if I needed to. But in the past few
years my dream teleporting is more like visualising what it would look
and feel like to be somewhere else, and then I'd instantly be there."
He matched Delroy smirk for smirk. "The moral of the story is that you
get better at these things if you practise."
"It hasn't helped your flying," Delroy said.
Shane wasn't perturbed. "Fine. Usually it'll get better if you
Then Martin, who'd only been an observer in that exchange, asked:
"And you do this all the time?"
"No. Most of the time it doesn't occur to me to use those sort of
tricks. That's the main reason why I don't think it's a form of lucid
dreaming; I don't think 'ah, I'm dreaming, so I can do anything' type
metalogic or anything like that. I'm still using dream logic, but I
suspect it's because I think in comic book symbolism so much that the
type of things I can do in dreams sometimes relate back to comic book
"Well, I don't think in comic book terms," said Martin.
"Then think in terms of sci fi or anime," said Shane. "You watch
enough of the stuff. Use the Force or something. Or if that embarrasses
you, think in terms of asking God for help. You're training to be a
priest, you should be thinking along those lines professionally as
well as privately."
Martin raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that asking God for the
ability to fly is the type of theme that I could get working in my
subconscious and influencing my dreams. It's not the sort of thing
that turns up in the scriptures."
"There are a few saints who could fly. Saint Joseph of Cupertino,
for example," Shane pointed out.
"And who were a *small* number of very pious exceptions to a more
general human condition," Martin countered. "I still don't think it's
a chain of thought that would be of much use to me," he repeated. Shane
gave him a playful grin but said nothing more.
"Whatever," said Martin. He ran his fingers through his short
black curls and then stretched. "I think I'll go get some rest and see
if I can get into the swing of things later this afternoon..."
"Excuse me," said a young man in delivery boy uniform. "Can you
tell me where Building 14 is?"
"Sure," said Delroy. "It's that big red brick building over there
behind the auditorium.
"Thanks," said the youth with a scar on his cheek, and wandered off.
After he had rested Martin got up and went to the bathroom to
freshen himself up. He went to the sink and splashed water over his
face, and was surprised by a quite large zit on his cheek. He sighed
and took a closer look at it, only to discover that it was a small
piece of metal in his skin. Bwah? Had he slept on something and gotten
it embedded in his face? What a nasty thought; it could have gotten
into his eye.
He pulled it out, wincing in pain as he discovering that it was
in deep. He wiped at the trickle of blood, which persisted. He got a
bandaid and covered the wound, then examined the piece of metal, but
couldn't identify what it could be.
.oO( Just a piece of scrap, ) he concluded, then threw it in the
trash didn't think of it anymore.
Tomorrow: Martin's life gets more complicated.
The Daily Super Short-Short Story series created by Arthur Spitzer, and
used with belated permission.
Saxon Brenton University of Technology, city library, Sydney Australia
saxon.brenton at uts.edu.au
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