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Old 02-05-2009, 09:30 AM   #11
Brynn
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Join Date: Feb 2005
Location: in the labyrinth of shared happiness
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John was very angry at the restaurant, because although he was surrounded by people who had gotten their food quite readily, he had been ignored completely. All attempts to get the wait staff's attention were fruitless. Forty-five minutes went by. He was very hungry and still had not ordered.

Gradually, the restaurant emptied. Waiters, stressed, were cleaning up and getting ready for the evening rush. John was personally affronted. He pounded on the tables, feeling outraged. He yelled, but they were oblivious.

Finally, completely frustrated, he flung a plastic plate at the back of a waiter, which surprised the man. It bounced off his arm and took out some glasses on a shelf. The waiter looked around, laughed nervously and just began cleaning up the broken glass.

"I've had it with this place!" John screamed. "I will make sure no one comes back to this rathole!"

He thundered out of the restaurant, slamming the door and fuming. He could not locate his car in the parking lot. In fact, he could not locate even the parking lot itself on the huge property. He cursed when his nice leather shoes sunk deep into long soggy grass as he found himself striding through a field towards an old shed. He'd been drawn to the rustic atmosphere of the restaurant, but this was ridiculous. He began to wonder where in the world his car was, for he couldn't remember.

What the hell - why not check the shed, he thought - perhaps the parking valet had parked it out of sight, but he couldn't for the life of him remember using the service. No. Here were his keys.

Suddenly, a young woman he had not noticed before slipped up beside him and took him politely by the arm. Had she come out of the restaurant? he was confused.

"Sir, we're very sorry to have upset you for whatever reason, but we have to ask you to please not go into the shed - it's very dangerous, and customers often do not realize just how dangerous it actually is. No one goes in there, as a matter of fact. Look, I won't go any further and I strongly advise you to do the same."

"Oh, now you're worried about me, after I sat in that restaurant for over an hour..." He strode into the shed defiantly just to show her how angry he was.
He paused briefly just inside the doorway as bright sunshine poured in on some early model cars that had been there a long while.
Someone or something else was in there. There was no odor exactly, beyond the smell of closed up, dusty air - but it still reminded him of something.It was not good.

The hair at the nape of his neck prickled. He became aware of a sickening sort of wave of something very heavily and very palpably evil - something that was even more enraged than he was. He suddenly felt exposed as if flayed open.
He tried to look around in the half-dark, but he realized quickly that it was not worth it. Nothing was. He backed out the door as it continued to wash over him.
"Run sir. I told you. Please hurry." She was muttering prayers, pleading the blood of Jesus as he turned.
She grabbed his arm and dragged him across the field. As they struggled to get footing in the mud, something inexplicable happened. John suddenly felt every single cell in his body tingle in a way that was more than alive. The malevolence briefly passed through them both on its way out into the void of clean air. They looked at each other, shocked. He found himself gripping both her wrists.

She said "See? You're not the worst poltergeist we have to deal with. not by far. Now go back to where you came from and please don't come back."

At that, he found himself flat on his back in his bed, eyes open and still angry. He looked at the familiar crack in the window, the tiled squares on the ceiling, and began to wake up, although not entirely sure he had been asleep at all.

He recounted how no one had acknowledged him, and how shamefully he had acted, what with the throwing of objects and making a mess and driving the other customers out with his rage.

Acting exactly like, well - the woman had called him a - he thought back to the the nervous, frightened look on the waiter's face as the plate John hurled in a tantrum had clipped the man and whizzed past into the glassware.
Was it possible that in his dream life, his soul had been wandering around without anchor? Had it busied itself haunting the lives of strangers in another setting while he slept? No wonder they didn't see him! The chronic rage burning inside him - the secret resentments and grudges that he thought that only he knew about - was it making others miserable elsewhere?

He got a drink of water, and wondered about that thing that was lurking, then flying around invisible, that thing that was even angrier and stronger than he was. He found himself thinking about Aboriginal beliefs about dreamtime. He thought about that weird animated movie, "Waking Life."

And then he wondered about all the dreams he had ever had, all suspect now.
Then he shook his head and snorted out a cynical burst of a chuckle. It was too silly, too lurid to be possible. He simply refused to believe it. He got up, got dressed, and gave it no more thought for the rest of the day.
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3. Your foot will change direction.
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