Progress

As anyone who looks at the last post date might observe, I have been rather diligently avoiding writing. This has secretly been an attempt at channeling some unspent productivity towards more pressing work and even more secretly been the result of laziness/forgetfulness.

NO MORE! I intend to post something (though most likely not part of the ongoing story) everyday. This content will instead consist of my dreams. After all, if my brain is kind enough to come up with a plot and write dialogue in my sleep, then I may as well put it to some use.

Without further ado....

Dream Log 1:

Hitler was climbing over a fence. More accurately, a man in a brown uniform, with a tiny patch of mustache and a name tag identifying him as Mr. Hilter was tying to jump a fence. Why? I haven't the foggiest. And apparently, neither did my Dreamself. It decided that this set up was too confusing and thus converted the live action into a photograph, which I found myself staring at while traveling on a bus to ancient Mayan ruins during the full Moon. Oddly specific? Perhaps.

My classmates and I got out of the bus and encountered a man ready to teach us about Mayan voting procedure. This consisted of taking a ten foot pole, laying it across everyone's laps, and forcing everyone to notch the pole once for yes and twice for no. When I notched the pole, I accidentally put in an extra notch. Have you ever tried to unnotch wood with a pocketknife? It doesn't work in dreams either.

After the demonstration, we moved into a pavilion to discuss protocol before going into the ruins. I got into a conversation with another student in which I spoke German and he spoke Portuguese (which, by the way, is clearly a dead language because obviously, Portugal was destroyed by nuclear fall out in the pie wars.)

Having completely missed the orientation, we proceeded to the ruins. However, I decided instead to log onto my laptop and attempt to make a ghost program run properly. And by ghost program, I mean my computer was haunted. Shortly after setting up the program, the computer began to zip around on legs it spontaneously sprouted, trying to kill me by eating my toes with the USB ports. Holding my feet in the air while lying on my back kept the demon hardware at bay while I waited for the rest of the group to return.

After an hour of this, the computer and I became rather friendly. I was almost sad to leave it when the teacher came back and informed me that we had to go prevent a man from losing his mind do to an evil item in his possession.

As the other agents and myself approached the nearly mad man (because fighting evil items automatically makes us agents of some sort), I saw a sharpened hook in one of his hands and a red silk headband wrapped around his head. He sneered as he saw us and sprouted Shakespeare quotes. Unfortunately, I can't recall them, but I know for a fact, that every sentence he uttered made my stomach drop. He made it quite clear that he intended to kill his wife, who was the one that had contacted us, and that we didn't have much time. Finally, we determined that a bag full of sparkles was it, and we destroyed it. As soon as we did, the man broke out into a joyous grin, swinging the hook about. I grabbed a broom and let the hook catch and dig into it to stop him, afraid he was going into a murderous rage. However, the opposite was true. He had broken free of his blood lust and compulsive Shakespeare quoting. He thanked us profusely and led us out after offering us milk and cookies to celebrate.

The agents and I returned to our base, where I was happy to talk to the demon computer a bit more. Then, a few days later, the madman called us up. Instead of seeing this section of the dream from my avatar's perspective, I saw the man sprawled on his back on a futon, his hook bonded to his arm, dripping blood, his crimson head band tied firmly over his eyes. All he quoted, before I woke up fully: "Not a mouse stirring."