In honor of New Year's Eve.

Just a piece of flash-fiction that I wrote, but I think it fits in well for this holiday.
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Hey, Supah Freak! Kiss the Dandelion King, but watch out fo’ his mane. Then groove on through a liquid sky. Careful tho’, you don’t wanna leave yo’ boots stuck in the clouds. Know what I mean, Silver Screen?

I wake up blinking in the darkness of my bedroom. Heart racing. Good thing the dim shapes of my dresser and desk are there, reassuring me. If they could speak, they’d tell me it was just a dream; everything is back to normal. Then the light clicks on and my dresser laughs, sounding for all the world like it’s been possessed by Pee-Wee Herman.

“I wouldn’t sell my bike for all the money in the world. Not for a hundred million, trillion, billion dollars!” my Pee-Wee Dresser says.

Realizing I’m still dreaming—actually, hoping and praying that I’m still dreaming—I decide to humor my dresser. “Then you’re crazy!”

“I know you are but what am I?” it replies, like clockwork.

“You’re a nerd!” I shoot back, starting to get into it.

“I know you are but . . . someone is going to knock on the door.”

“Wait! That’s not the next line, you stupid piece of—“ There’s a heavy knocking at the bedroom door.

“Have a nice day,” my dresser quips, then goes silent.

I hop out of bed and realize that my dream-bedroom has really plush carpeting. In fact, it has neon-green plush carpeting. It’s so soft—compared to the fake wooden floor of my real bedroom—that I can almost lose myself in it. And I would have too, but there’s that knocking again.

For God’s sake, it sounds like Andre the Giant is pounding on my door with a rocket-powered sledgehammer. So I run to the door and throw it open with an angry flair, and my bottom jaw bounces off the plush carpeting. My dream-time caller is either Jabba the Hutt in drag, or his fat sister that didn’t make it into any of the movies. I can’t decide. Then he/she grabs me and pulls me closer for a big, sweaty smooch.

Surprise, surprise, I wake up blinking in the darkness of my bedroom again. This time though, I’m pretty sure that I’m really awake, because the room is spinning like a hyperactive Tilt-A-Whirl, and my dresser remains mum. I roll out of bed and stumble my way toward the bathroom, since it is overly evident that I’m going to be really sick in the very near future. The fake wooden floor is cold under my feet, and I manage to stub my toe on the desk as I go. Ouch! Finally, I position myself before the porcelain god and swear that I will never, ever drink that much tequila again.

Holy **** man, what kind of beer have you been drinking?

Someone needs treatment

Hehe, I wrote that a year or two ago, and I think I was sober when I wrote it. However, I definitely wasn't earlier today when I decided to post it here for some reason.

I'm just wondering if you would have gotten lost in the carpet or if you would have to get lost in the carpet. Like at some later time. Is there a plan to escape into the carpet, I mean?

I like it! Is there more to it? Regards, GF.

Zul'jin said:

I'm just wondering if you would have gotten lost in the carpet or if you would have to get lost in the carpet. Like at some later time. Is there a plan to escape into the carpet, I mean?

Click to expand...

That's a very good question, Zul'jin. Perhaps if the dream-time caller hadn't knocked a second time, the allure of the neon-green carpeting would have drawn the dreamer further into the dream state, leading him who knows where. With that in mind, I'm currently assembling a crack team of NASA scientists and inebriated space-monkeys to wargame scenarios for both "escaping into" and "escaping out of" the carpeting. I will keep you apprised of any developments.


GF: Glad you enjoyed it. And this is all there was to it.

I wanna know where I can buy some of dat ****...

LOL nice one chudz