Workings from the sand behind my eyes

[thedarksiren2]

I had just parked Fairuza next to a dumpster in a fairly vacant parking lot on what seemed to be w25th, but I knew in my mind it was not. There was a large, beautiful pastel yellow house at the Western-most end of the lot, with white shingles and hanging flower-baskets hanging from it's vast porch. I could not smell anything but the trash, however.

I closed my door and walked towards a parking garage a few blocks down. All of the blocks were more parking lots with random cars, garbage dumpsters on the southern-end of each of them, which was the direction I was walking. And each can had a more powerful stench than the last, the final one having maggots pouring out of the orange and brown oxydized holes in the dark-blue metal.

I gagged as I walked by that one, my eyes burning, right hand instinctively covering my mouth to stop the possibility of vomit.

The parking garage was about four stories high, no walls, just blue-gray columns holding it high. As I looked up to the top level, I noticed a caucasian man, whose face was painted black, execpt for around his eyes - they had red circles painted there - in a dark reddish-brown suit and fedora (thanx for the influence BTW, sharpshinyclaws) walking along the edges, almost balancing on them. He just kept placing one foot in front of the other, bouncing with each exchange, a cigarette going between his lips as his right foot hit the surface, coming out with a bluish stream of smoke as his left foot touched down, the butt of it blackened by his make-up. I took this to mean a piece of him had escaped, and noticed he was walking counter-clockwise. I looked down to feel a breeze blow my long red hair (my hair was down to my bum in this dream)wildly around my body. When it settled, I looked up again to see the man in another rotation, but this time he was wlking just beyond the outer-edge, his finger tracing the column he was passing. I caught my breath in amazement, and he stopped; his neck stretched immeasurably towrds me from up there, his face stopping right before mine, and he smiled a clown's smile. I smiled back, not knowing whether to laugh or to scream. Just then his left brow raised, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets, turning into balloons as he spoke the word, almost in a whisper, "BOO!"

And then he was simply a memory, and I was walking into the first level of the garage. There were fires in cans, and dirty-faced boys tormenting the stray animals of the neighborhood with sticks and water-guns. There was what seemed to be an office at the southern-most part of the garage, although there were still no walls, and the wind was getting to be annoying as my hair whipped me in my eyes and tickled my nose.

I wrapped my arms around me and sat down on a couch in the *office*, and noticed that I had my duffel bag with me, and it was overflowing with stuff I didn't want inside of it. I began to go through the bag, pulling out mostly scraps of paper and old bendy straws - one blue, one neon green, the third purple. I would take everything out, somehow fitting it into my box, a container half the size of the bag, and stickerless in this place of garbage-funk.

People had come and gone in the minutes that had passed while I fumbled with my things. It seemd they were both making appointments and buying things. It was like a travel-agency with a flea-market and auction. But I didn't notice anyone until I stood to walk south again.

A little Hispanic boy was standing on the other side of the coffee table that suddenly appeared. He couldn't have been more than three or four, his hair black and curly, his skin golden. I noticed his eyes were the same vibrant turquoise that my car is painted, and his pudgy cheeks grew rosy as he realized I had noticed him. He giggled gleefully, showing his full mouth of ivroy teeth, and he ran to his mother's side as she stood at the desk, burying his face in her dark brown skirt.

I saw her from his perspective now.
She was tall, thin, her hair long and black, easily as long as mine if not longer. Her skin was also golden-colored, but I noticed that her nose was different than the boy's...she was Indian. And she looked down at him (me?) and sang a prayer to his ears.

Snapped back into my body, now standing and watching the mother and child again, I realized that they had turned to walk south like me. As they walked out into the open air, the wind whipped her hair across her face, and she accepted it like a veil. The boy was walking double-time to the footfalls of his mother, getting frustrated as he tried to keep up. She would randomly turn to sing another prayer to him, and after about the third time, he tugged on her skirt and pointed to me. I was walking about three feet behind them when the rain began to fall.

She smiled at me and asked me something about my bag...I was still carrying it and my box, although the bag had nothing but crumbs, dust, and sniblets of paper left inside, the drama mask on the front bleeding black as the water hit it. Almost looked like it was crying.

Just then I smelled roses. The little boy, whose belly seemed full of milk to me as the flesh peeked out from under his dirty t-shirt, giggled and showed his teeth again to me, only this time, there was blood dribbling down his chin. I was shocked, but the mother patted him gently on the head, singing yet another prayer, and they walked to her white Geo-tracker.

As I walked further, I noticed that none of us had been touched by the rain. Just then the sun shone down more brightly, and I wished for my sunglasses. When my head rose from looking down at the black pavement of the lot upon which I was standing, I realized that I was back where I had begun, standing about ten feet from Fairuza. Her paint glimmered beneath the water-droplets left over from the rain, and the house in the distance had bright green grass growing in it's yard. I could smell it, damp and warm and sweet.

The Indian woman and her Hispanic child drove up in their Geo, and she asked me if I still played Bingo (this is particularly funny IRL, considering I have only ever played the game once, and that was twelve years ago). I said I wouldn't mind, and she smiled happily, pointing to the yellow house.

"It's there, every Saturday. Bring your prayer book too," she said.

I looked puzzled, and said i did not have a prayer book.
The little boy laughed a fake laugh just to irritate his mother, and I could hear the motor of their vehicle like a percussive instrument to the music of his laughter. There was also an oil leak that I could hear dripping beneath the vehicle, but I did not tell her.

She said to come anyway, and drove away, taking the wind with her.
And a stretchy-necked man's head wooshed behind her car like a tail, and he said, "Swoop!"

And then I woke up.

Comments

wow

[laneybee.livejournal.com]

How very vivid. I Love when I see dreams that clearly, usually I gets snippets throughout the day when something I or someone else has done triggers them, although that is at most times pleasant as well. I love when you enter these types of journals, I spend it seems quite a bit of time musing on them.