Writing Prompts, Part II
(See my previous post for a spot of context. This particular piece came from the prompt "Someone has a dream, then wakes up to find their dream coming true in an odd way." I blame this on my recently reading some works by Haruki Murakami.)
"What??"
"Hmm?"
"Hello? Yes, you. You looked at least a million miles away. Are you all right?"
My wife and I were sitting across from each other at the small table in the breakfast nook, just like we did most mornings. I reined in a powerful yawn and answered.
"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. It's just...I had the most bizarre, most vivid dream last night; it's...I can't stop thinking about it," I said, trailing off.
After a few seconds, she cleared her throat in a very suggestive way. "Well, are you just going to keep it to yourself?"
What the hell, I thought casually. Why not?
"Okay: what makes it so weird is that it started out with the two of us sitting right here, having breakfast. Sure, that's not so unusual, but you have you admit, it's a little disorienting, to have the morning start out the same way the--"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," my wife interjected, either irritable or just impatient. "Try skipping over the commentary and just tell me what happened already."
I briefly closed my eyes, then resumed. "Okay, so we're just sitting here, and the phone rings."
Just then, the cordless phone on the counter between the breakfast nook and the kitchen interrupted my retelling of the dream. Eyeing me oddly, my wife scooted her chair back and leaned over to pick it up.
"It was a wrong number," I said, getting back to the dream.
She listened for just a moment, then said into the phone -- all the while staring at me -- "I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number."
An eerie moment of silence passed between us after she clicked the phone off and set it down in front of her. Eventually she cleared her throat again.
"Go on."
"So you sat down the phone -- in the dream, I mean. Then some time passed. Or maybe it just skipped ahead a bit. Anyway, the phone rang again, and --"
The phone rang again.
This time, however, neither of us moved to answer it. Not taking my eyes off it, I spoke above the sound of its chirping, "Yeah, in the dream we didn't answer it either. Eventually it stopped, after about ten rings."
And so it went. Neither my wife nor I was eager to resume the retelling of the dream right away, so we continued our breakfast in silence. The rest of the morning, though, something or other would stir this ominous feeling of deja vu in me, and I would say to my wife, for example, "Then the doorbell rang," or "Then these two cats got into a fight just outside the back door." You get the picture.
Visibly anxious, after about three such predictions, my wife gathered her car keys and a jacket. "I have to go to the store," she said slowly, in a low tone. "I will see you later," she continued, her voice trailing upward, turning the statement into a question.
"I knew you were going to say that," I said to the door after she'd backed out through it.
I'm going to miss her.
"What??"
"Hmm?"
"Hello? Yes, you. You looked at least a million miles away. Are you all right?"
My wife and I were sitting across from each other at the small table in the breakfast nook, just like we did most mornings. I reined in a powerful yawn and answered.
"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. It's just...I had the most bizarre, most vivid dream last night; it's...I can't stop thinking about it," I said, trailing off.
After a few seconds, she cleared her throat in a very suggestive way. "Well, are you just going to keep it to yourself?"
What the hell, I thought casually. Why not?
"Okay: what makes it so weird is that it started out with the two of us sitting right here, having breakfast. Sure, that's not so unusual, but you have you admit, it's a little disorienting, to have the morning start out the same way the--"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," my wife interjected, either irritable or just impatient. "Try skipping over the commentary and just tell me what happened already."
I briefly closed my eyes, then resumed. "Okay, so we're just sitting here, and the phone rings."
Just then, the cordless phone on the counter between the breakfast nook and the kitchen interrupted my retelling of the dream. Eyeing me oddly, my wife scooted her chair back and leaned over to pick it up.
"It was a wrong number," I said, getting back to the dream.
She listened for just a moment, then said into the phone -- all the while staring at me -- "I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number."
An eerie moment of silence passed between us after she clicked the phone off and set it down in front of her. Eventually she cleared her throat again.
"Go on."
"So you sat down the phone -- in the dream, I mean. Then some time passed. Or maybe it just skipped ahead a bit. Anyway, the phone rang again, and --"
The phone rang again.
This time, however, neither of us moved to answer it. Not taking my eyes off it, I spoke above the sound of its chirping, "Yeah, in the dream we didn't answer it either. Eventually it stopped, after about ten rings."
And so it went. Neither my wife nor I was eager to resume the retelling of the dream right away, so we continued our breakfast in silence. The rest of the morning, though, something or other would stir this ominous feeling of deja vu in me, and I would say to my wife, for example, "Then the doorbell rang," or "Then these two cats got into a fight just outside the back door." You get the picture.
Visibly anxious, after about three such predictions, my wife gathered her car keys and a jacket. "I have to go to the store," she said slowly, in a low tone. "I will see you later," she continued, her voice trailing upward, turning the statement into a question.
"I knew you were going to say that," I said to the door after she'd backed out through it.
I'm going to miss her.