Dream: Assassins and Puttanesca
Sunday morning:
beltramgregor stood sleepily, a noose of pale thread around his neck. His sister stood beside him in the tiny dorm single, trying to keep him comfortable and awake. They couldn't remove the noose or give him anything to stand or sit on. We knew the line would jerk taut if he moved or fell, and he'd be electrocuted. His sister watched and fretted until he drifted into a standing sleep, then she grinned and crept out. I saw her drinking tea with the heavily-armed assassin that had set the noose in the first place. I knew she was fake, I thought. His real sister must be somewhere else.
I freed beltramgregor from the trap and lead him through the concourse to the lobby of the science building. That place is glass all the way up, like a terrarium in the day, but only the meager light bollards broke the darkness outside that night. We cleared the lobby and ran out across the quad. I had to get him far enough across campus without being spotted that they wouldn't know where to start looking. We cut across the lawn between Mac's Student Center and the chapel, loping awkwardly to avoid the notice of nearby students.
I strolled through the clay fields along the edge of campus late the following afternoon. It's beautiful down there, all reds and oranges washing back and forth through the strata. The ground still glistened with the morning rains. I crouched playfully under a hanging shelf of clay excavated by the gully. This'd be a great place for pictures. Not a very safe one, though. I reluctantly slipped out from beneath several hundred pounds of clay ceiling and kept walking.
I should get a photo of that ear-looking spot on the pinnacle. And that wall of rain holes... it's practically Swiss cheese. That ear's still the best, though. Hey, there's a whole face. That can be the nose, and... oh. The Chinese boy on the pinnacle cocked his head to the side, his attentive stare revealing nothing. Another flicker of movement down the valley caught my eye, and I noticed a furry white monkey with dark gray paws and face. It clung to the wall and watched me. A gray squirrel ran out along the ridge and stopped just in front of the monkey, and I reached for my camera. This is too perfect. Even before I pressed the power button, I remembered I hadn't recharged the battery.
Someone cooked puttanesca that night, which was a dish from Eastern Europe. It's mostly thin, narrow noodles which are half-cooked then battered and lightly fried. I'm sure there's onion and some other vegetable scraps in there, cabbage and maybe beets, damn them. A little vinegar, a lot of butter. My mom used to make it at home, but she always used sliced newspaper instead of noodles. (Money was tight when I was younger.) I sat on the steps and sliced noodles while beltramgregor dealt with the vegetables.
beltramgregor stood sleepily, a noose of pale thread around his neck. His sister stood beside him in the tiny dorm single, trying to keep him comfortable and awake. They couldn't remove the noose or give him anything to stand or sit on. We knew the line would jerk taut if he moved or fell, and he'd be electrocuted. His sister watched and fretted until he drifted into a standing sleep, then she grinned and crept out. I saw her drinking tea with the heavily-armed assassin that had set the noose in the first place. I knew she was fake, I thought. His real sister must be somewhere else.
I freed beltramgregor from the trap and lead him through the concourse to the lobby of the science building. That place is glass all the way up, like a terrarium in the day, but only the meager light bollards broke the darkness outside that night. We cleared the lobby and ran out across the quad. I had to get him far enough across campus without being spotted that they wouldn't know where to start looking. We cut across the lawn between Mac's Student Center and the chapel, loping awkwardly to avoid the notice of nearby students.
I strolled through the clay fields along the edge of campus late the following afternoon. It's beautiful down there, all reds and oranges washing back and forth through the strata. The ground still glistened with the morning rains. I crouched playfully under a hanging shelf of clay excavated by the gully. This'd be a great place for pictures. Not a very safe one, though. I reluctantly slipped out from beneath several hundred pounds of clay ceiling and kept walking.
I should get a photo of that ear-looking spot on the pinnacle. And that wall of rain holes... it's practically Swiss cheese. That ear's still the best, though. Hey, there's a whole face. That can be the nose, and... oh. The Chinese boy on the pinnacle cocked his head to the side, his attentive stare revealing nothing. Another flicker of movement down the valley caught my eye, and I noticed a furry white monkey with dark gray paws and face. It clung to the wall and watched me. A gray squirrel ran out along the ridge and stopped just in front of the monkey, and I reached for my camera. This is too perfect. Even before I pressed the power button, I remembered I hadn't recharged the battery.
Someone cooked puttanesca that night, which was a dish from Eastern Europe. It's mostly thin, narrow noodles which are half-cooked then battered and lightly fried. I'm sure there's onion and some other vegetable scraps in there, cabbage and maybe beets, damn them. A little vinegar, a lot of butter. My mom used to make it at home, but she always used sliced newspaper instead of noodles. (Money was tight when I was younger.) I sat on the steps and sliced noodles while beltramgregor dealt with the vegetables.