(no subject)
Funhouse
Jessica Sanchez
I’m in the fourth grade, again, and it’s recess. I’m on the blacktop playing basketball with my best friend, Siri. It’s a normal day, boring as usual, and Siri and I are just wasting time until her mom comes to pick us up. I am just about to shoot the ball when the bell rings and everyone is rushing off the court, but Siri and I lag behind. When we are the only two people left on the blacktop, the ground starts to shake. We try to move but both of us are paralyzed with fear. The blacktop splits under our feet, and we only have time to let out a little whimper before we are sent hurtling down into the crevice below.
Suddenly I feel as light as a feather. I’ve fallen into something soft and bouncy, but every time I move I hear a squeak. I yell for Siri, but I feel like someone has stuck wax in my ears; I can’t even hear myself. I faintly hear a voice, which could only be Siri’s somewhere in front and to the right of me. Lights burst on above us, and the sight around me is something to behold. Siri and I are lying in a sea of teddy bears and dolls! We struggle to get to the top of the mass of plush and fuzz, but it proves to be very strenuous. When we finally reach one another, we decide that we need to work together to find a way out. Diving down into the spaces between the toys, we search for a door, but to no avail. Above us, an intercom whistles and a muffled voice can be heard. We scramble to the top, but before we get there all goes black again.
When the lights return, Siri and I are standing in a white room with no corners, and full of clocks. Each clock is a different shape, color and type. Floating and whizzing about our heads, we have to constantly duck to avoid being hit. Despite the danger, I go to touch one that I find particularly amusing, because it reminds me of a clock I’d seen before. I grasp it and all at one the ticking stops. The clocks are still. I frantically look around and in my haste I drop the clock; it shatters on the floor. As if I alarmed them, the clocks all begin to chime in loud discordant tones. Little cuckoos are shout out of the doors and the clocks are swirling faster than before! Siri falls to the ground; I think she has been struck. I crouch over her and both of us strain to shut out the noise. Then it all stops. I look up, and the clocks are gone save for the one I broke. I stare at it for a while, then go to pick it up, but before I can, a trap door springs open from below us and we are sent hurtling down for a second time.
It’s a short fall, but this time we land on a marble floor. Siri and I are a tangled mess and our long hair is stringing over our eyes. When we finally unravel ourselves, we see a spotlight shining down on us and dark shadows outside of the protective circle of light. The immense shadows make me want to cry out, but I can’t. Something is coming into sight. I point it out to Siri, but she doesn’t say anything, however I know we are thinking the same thing: it’s a box. When it gets closer more boxes start to appear all around us. Then I realize that each of them has a question mark on the front, each of different penmanship or color, only one, however, has a crank on the side. I rush over and turn the crank furiously, and a face pops out of the top, just as a jack-in-the-box, but there is no sweet-soothing music. Then all of the boxes send forth a face, and none of whose names I know. I look at Siri, and she is as puzzled as I am. We’re falling again.
This time we are settled gently in a theatre and there is a man, or woman (I can’t tell) standing on a ball in center stage. The person is dressed like a jester and wearing an oddly feathered hat. They are facing away from Siri and me, and I can’t see their face. They are between a large oak door and us. I try to speak, but find that I can’t utter one word and I start to panic. The person on the stage murmurs something but I can’t hear it. They start to turn and I strain to see their face, but where a face should be there is only… nothing. I wake up.
I don’t know why I am still having this dream. Every time it happens, though, something in the scene changes, like a face or a clock. Siri is always there, as is the strange being at the end of our path. I hope that one day I’ll be able to travel through the door or at least talk to the jester. Until then, I will be waking up to clammy hands, and a puzzled brain that is unable to solve itself.
Jessica Sanchez
I’m in the fourth grade, again, and it’s recess. I’m on the blacktop playing basketball with my best friend, Siri. It’s a normal day, boring as usual, and Siri and I are just wasting time until her mom comes to pick us up. I am just about to shoot the ball when the bell rings and everyone is rushing off the court, but Siri and I lag behind. When we are the only two people left on the blacktop, the ground starts to shake. We try to move but both of us are paralyzed with fear. The blacktop splits under our feet, and we only have time to let out a little whimper before we are sent hurtling down into the crevice below.
Suddenly I feel as light as a feather. I’ve fallen into something soft and bouncy, but every time I move I hear a squeak. I yell for Siri, but I feel like someone has stuck wax in my ears; I can’t even hear myself. I faintly hear a voice, which could only be Siri’s somewhere in front and to the right of me. Lights burst on above us, and the sight around me is something to behold. Siri and I are lying in a sea of teddy bears and dolls! We struggle to get to the top of the mass of plush and fuzz, but it proves to be very strenuous. When we finally reach one another, we decide that we need to work together to find a way out. Diving down into the spaces between the toys, we search for a door, but to no avail. Above us, an intercom whistles and a muffled voice can be heard. We scramble to the top, but before we get there all goes black again.
When the lights return, Siri and I are standing in a white room with no corners, and full of clocks. Each clock is a different shape, color and type. Floating and whizzing about our heads, we have to constantly duck to avoid being hit. Despite the danger, I go to touch one that I find particularly amusing, because it reminds me of a clock I’d seen before. I grasp it and all at one the ticking stops. The clocks are still. I frantically look around and in my haste I drop the clock; it shatters on the floor. As if I alarmed them, the clocks all begin to chime in loud discordant tones. Little cuckoos are shout out of the doors and the clocks are swirling faster than before! Siri falls to the ground; I think she has been struck. I crouch over her and both of us strain to shut out the noise. Then it all stops. I look up, and the clocks are gone save for the one I broke. I stare at it for a while, then go to pick it up, but before I can, a trap door springs open from below us and we are sent hurtling down for a second time.
It’s a short fall, but this time we land on a marble floor. Siri and I are a tangled mess and our long hair is stringing over our eyes. When we finally unravel ourselves, we see a spotlight shining down on us and dark shadows outside of the protective circle of light. The immense shadows make me want to cry out, but I can’t. Something is coming into sight. I point it out to Siri, but she doesn’t say anything, however I know we are thinking the same thing: it’s a box. When it gets closer more boxes start to appear all around us. Then I realize that each of them has a question mark on the front, each of different penmanship or color, only one, however, has a crank on the side. I rush over and turn the crank furiously, and a face pops out of the top, just as a jack-in-the-box, but there is no sweet-soothing music. Then all of the boxes send forth a face, and none of whose names I know. I look at Siri, and she is as puzzled as I am. We’re falling again.
This time we are settled gently in a theatre and there is a man, or woman (I can’t tell) standing on a ball in center stage. The person is dressed like a jester and wearing an oddly feathered hat. They are facing away from Siri and me, and I can’t see their face. They are between a large oak door and us. I try to speak, but find that I can’t utter one word and I start to panic. The person on the stage murmurs something but I can’t hear it. They start to turn and I strain to see their face, but where a face should be there is only… nothing. I wake up.
I don’t know why I am still having this dream. Every time it happens, though, something in the scene changes, like a face or a clock. Siri is always there, as is the strange being at the end of our path. I hope that one day I’ll be able to travel through the door or at least talk to the jester. Until then, I will be waking up to clammy hands, and a puzzled brain that is unable to solve itself.