sugar
Here is a tiny part* of a story** that I wrote from a dream that was very much like a novel. I was thinking last night on the problem of wanting things (especially the sort of things you are unlikely to ever have). And that led me to thinking about the problem of scarcity. And that led to an allegorical dream about futuristic communistic societies where everyone lives underground in concrete and steel bunkers.
Also a note that sugar here actually refers to plain old white cane sugar. I realized after I had typed all of this out that sugar here sounds like some kind of drug. :/
(Only of course, since this is vaguely apocalyptic, sugar is now extremely rare. So maybe it is sort of like a drug.)
Anyway...
*approximately 1/1000.
**Whether this is a slice of a written story, or the transcribing of a dream, I haven't a clue. To be honest I'm not sure what the difference would be.
//
I was walking around proudly, a big smile plastered on my face. Not very subtle, but subtlety as a kid is wasted on adults. Walking around past a large guy in the middle of working, seated at something that looked vaguely like a sewing machine. Working on things for the community no doubt.
He paused at his workbench, his hands in mid air and peered up at me.
"You got something there." It wasn't quite a question as it was a demanding statement.
"Just some sugar . . ." I said, matter-of-factly with a hint of slyness. "I found it. It's mine."
The trap was baited.
He looked up from his machinery bench.
"Is that right," he said slowly, in a tone that indicated something was definitely not right.
He rose to his feet with a slow gravitas. Like Poseidon emerging from the waves. Walking slowly and cautiously, like someone who doesn't want to spook a wild animal. He held out a hand, palm up. I saw a tension in his stance I didn't like.
“Give it,” he said commandingly.
Perfect, I thought to myself. Then I bolted, heading straight up the clanging dusty red metal stairs. He immediately pounded after me.
"Give it here!" he yelled. He had an expression like a man gone mad, possessed for the want of something.
Would he let me get away? I thought. No he would never stop. Not while I was alive. Unless . . .
I pulled myself over the railing and leaped to the bare floor waiting below.
//
When I came to, he was kneeling on the cold floor, holding my curled up and aching form to his chest. He was talking to himself softly, sort of muttering.
"Boy didn't even have that much sugar on him," he said.
"I went through his pockets and he barely had any."
I doubted he even noticed I was awake.
"I can't believe the kid jumped," he went on.
"I wouldn't have hurt him... he just had to give me what he got."
"He just had to give me . . ." He trailed off.
There was quite a sizable little pile of sugar on the ground before him. My sugar. It was partially mixed in with little bits of dirt. I doubted that it made any difference to him.
He looked down. I looked back up at him blearily.
He said something about how he thought I wasn't going to wake up again.
"I figure you're hurt now," he continued.
"I got you though, you're safe."
"I'll take care of you . . . we can be a family, you and me . . ."
He was clutching me hard now, looking off into the distance. Seeing something unseen to mortal eyes. All the tiny muscles in my body ached fiercely.
Then again he was dragging his fingers, slowly grinding his smooth worn fingertips into the shiny gray concrete. Back and forth, back and forth, gathering up the sugar.
Also a note that sugar here actually refers to plain old white cane sugar. I realized after I had typed all of this out that sugar here sounds like some kind of drug. :/
(Only of course, since this is vaguely apocalyptic, sugar is now extremely rare. So maybe it is sort of like a drug.)
Anyway...
*approximately 1/1000.
**Whether this is a slice of a written story, or the transcribing of a dream, I haven't a clue. To be honest I'm not sure what the difference would be.
//
I was walking around proudly, a big smile plastered on my face. Not very subtle, but subtlety as a kid is wasted on adults. Walking around past a large guy in the middle of working, seated at something that looked vaguely like a sewing machine. Working on things for the community no doubt.
He paused at his workbench, his hands in mid air and peered up at me.
"You got something there." It wasn't quite a question as it was a demanding statement.
"Just some sugar . . ." I said, matter-of-factly with a hint of slyness. "I found it. It's mine."
The trap was baited.
He looked up from his machinery bench.
"Is that right," he said slowly, in a tone that indicated something was definitely not right.
He rose to his feet with a slow gravitas. Like Poseidon emerging from the waves. Walking slowly and cautiously, like someone who doesn't want to spook a wild animal. He held out a hand, palm up. I saw a tension in his stance I didn't like.
“Give it,” he said commandingly.
Perfect, I thought to myself. Then I bolted, heading straight up the clanging dusty red metal stairs. He immediately pounded after me.
"Give it here!" he yelled. He had an expression like a man gone mad, possessed for the want of something.
Would he let me get away? I thought. No he would never stop. Not while I was alive. Unless . . .
I pulled myself over the railing and leaped to the bare floor waiting below.
//
When I came to, he was kneeling on the cold floor, holding my curled up and aching form to his chest. He was talking to himself softly, sort of muttering.
"Boy didn't even have that much sugar on him," he said.
"I went through his pockets and he barely had any."
I doubted he even noticed I was awake.
"I can't believe the kid jumped," he went on.
"I wouldn't have hurt him... he just had to give me what he got."
"He just had to give me . . ." He trailed off.
There was quite a sizable little pile of sugar on the ground before him. My sugar. It was partially mixed in with little bits of dirt. I doubted that it made any difference to him.
He looked down. I looked back up at him blearily.
He said something about how he thought I wasn't going to wake up again.
"I figure you're hurt now," he continued.
"I got you though, you're safe."
"I'll take care of you . . . we can be a family, you and me . . ."
He was clutching me hard now, looking off into the distance. Seeing something unseen to mortal eyes. All the tiny muscles in my body ached fiercely.
Then again he was dragging his fingers, slowly grinding his smooth worn fingertips into the shiny gray concrete. Back and forth, back and forth, gathering up the sugar.