Dexter Morgan | Dexter (books) | 3/3slayerpreferredMarch 1 2011, 05:06:05 UTC
Writing sample: Children. Marriage. Honeymoon.
Dexter of the digital era does not compute. What could this mean? Surely, a ring and tax write-offs do not make Dexter the demented any less ... demented.
So what did it mean? Delving deep into the far corners of Dexter's mental mineshaft did not produce more worthy answers.
And so here I was, again. In a dream not my own. It couldn't be mine because I do not dream. It would seem monsters are not capable of thoughts such as sugarplums dancing above their horned heads. But when sleep was so kind to claim me as its nightly victim, I found myself dreaming.
I could not begin to register the properly profound feeling most people take away from their mundane to even murderous night picture show. I felt no such thing as I watched myself roam along dream streets and talk to dream residents. It inspired as much numbness in me as life did, and more still because I knew nothing I might do would have impact when I awoke.
The morning was a welcome reprieve from this endless dreaming, and Rita's pancakes still, a reminder of married life. But they were real and warm as the Sun on my face.
My dreary drive to a day of dull paper-pushing called up memories of my dreaming self. The Dark Passenger did find something so deeply amusing about me, Dexter, dreaming like a dutiful drone. But his laughter did not enlighten me, and he didn't feel like sharing. He so rarely did, these days. Hadn't his mother taught him any manners?
The chuckle grew stronger at my mutinous musings. No, he hadn't been taught manners because The Dark Passenger had no mother. Harry had been his mother and his father, his shape waiting to take form. And though he operated quite independently from my dearly deceased dad, Harry's imprint rang true. The imprint of a chickling waiting to hatch, taking in the world for the first time.
Perhaps my beast within found this dreamscape of interest because it was there he would truly be able to unfurl his wings. To fly without kitestrings; to be as free as only a Shadow could be.
Dexter of the digital era does not compute. What could this mean? Surely, a ring and tax write-offs do not make Dexter the demented any less ... demented.
So what did it mean? Delving deep into the far corners of Dexter's mental mineshaft did not produce more worthy answers.
And so here I was, again. In a dream not my own. It couldn't be mine because I do not dream. It would seem monsters are not capable of thoughts such as sugarplums dancing above their horned heads. But when sleep was so kind to claim me as its nightly victim, I found myself dreaming.
I could not begin to register the properly profound feeling most people take away from their mundane to even murderous night picture show. I felt no such thing as I watched myself roam along dream streets and talk to dream residents. It inspired as much numbness in me as life did, and more still because I knew nothing I might do would have impact when I awoke.
The morning was a welcome reprieve from this endless dreaming, and Rita's pancakes still, a reminder of married life. But they were real and warm as the Sun on my face.
My dreary drive to a day of dull paper-pushing called up memories of my dreaming self. The Dark Passenger did find something so deeply amusing about me, Dexter, dreaming like a dutiful drone. But his laughter did not enlighten me, and he didn't feel like sharing. He so rarely did, these days. Hadn't his mother taught him any manners?
The chuckle grew stronger at my mutinous musings. No, he hadn't been taught manners because The Dark Passenger had no mother. Harry had been his mother and his father, his shape waiting to take form. And though he operated quite independently from my dearly deceased dad, Harry's imprint rang true. The imprint of a chickling waiting to hatch, taking in the world for the first time.
Perhaps my beast within found this dreamscape of interest because it was there he would truly be able to unfurl his wings. To fly without kitestrings; to be as free as only a Shadow could be.
Voice sample: http://the-human-thing.livejournal.com/4630.html ; http://community.livejournal.com/triple_d_events/30338.html?thread=6878338#t6878338
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