Would You Like to Buy a Dream?

“Would you like to buy a dream?” asked the woman sitting on the park bench, bundled in so much clothing that the eye was unable to discern individual layers and left observers confused about where her body actually began. She asked with a gentle smile on her lips that just barely reached her eyes. She might have been 30. She might have been 60. The passersby she asked could barely look at her. Their paths eddied around her as if she took up much more space than she actually did. Budding trees behind her pulled her into their reality, making her seem a natural part of this scene. I drank my quickly cooling coffee and was sharply aware of the contrast between this downtrodden woman and I, in my clean, pressed suit.

“Would you like to buy a dream?” I asked a nice-looking woman walking by with her young daughter, and felt a little bit of my hope sink within me when she glanced sharply at me from the corner of her eye and pulled her daughter closer to her as they passed.

No one knew what it was to dream anymore, it seemed. No one understood this gift that I had to offer. I felt it, the dream, wriggling around under my many layers, and I wrapped my arms tighter around myself in order to keep it from flying away. It was mine to give, and I was trying to give it to someone who was worthy of it. Letting it fly off on its own—it might end up with someone who didn't deserve it, or worse yet, get stuck in a tree somewhere and be lost forever. It was best to keep it tightly under wraps until it could find a new home.

I could see the young man looking over at me, sharply bound in a suit of predetermined future. I felt sorry for him. Where were his dreams? I wondered if he wanted to come over, to ask for this dream I was offering, but was too shy. He wasn't quite able to meet my gaze. I understood, though. He wasn't quite ready yet to let go of his cut-and-paste lifestyle. It had been hard for me, too. I would let him take his time. When he was ready for a dream, I would be here.

Unless, of course, someone else bought it first.

RoboPope: The Prequel (Part Three)

“So what now, Your Majesty?” I asked eagerly. “Is the other man an impostor, then?”

“Of course he's an impostor! Damned good one, too. But now, I am going to go back to my chambers and try to figure out what to do. You are going to go back to wherever you came from,” he grumbled.

“But I can help!” I said, jumping up and down beside him. I could be the key to solving this mystery, I realized. A real mystery, with the Pope!

“I certainly don't need any more of your help. I can do very well on my own,” he huffed, and turned to walk away. His knee buckled, and he almost fell to the ground. I caught him. He grunted, and looked up at me. I smiled widely back at him. “I guess I'm a little stiff from the torture.”

“He TORTURED you??!” I practically screamed.

“Well...yes...in a manner of speaking,” the Pope muttered, and would say nothing more. It must have been very traumatic for him. I patted him on the back sympathetically, before I realized that this was the Pope. So I took his hand and gave him a deep, reverential kiss on his fingers.

“STOP THAT!” He pulled his hand away from my lips, looked at his shaking fingers in disgust, and wiped them on his robe.

Holding onto the Pope's elbow to help him walk, I eagerly asked, looking up and down the seemingly endless hallway, “So where do we go now?”

The Pope looked one way down the hallway, then the other. A flash of irritated confusion crossed his face for a few moments, before it settled resolutely into a look of determination. He lifted one shaky hand, and pointed majestically in front of him. “That way,” he said solemnly.

Decades later, it seemed, we arrived at a main intersection in the Vatican. The Pope had quite stubbornly insisted that he had never been lost at any point: he was just taking this opportunity to explore regions of his domain that he was not often able to visit. I decided not to point out that he had revisited certain empty rooms and hallways several times during our journey.

“Ah, finally,” he breathed as he saw his guards bustling about, along with various clergymen having what must have been truly grave discussions regarding the human soul.

“They won't lose the match. Not after I've sunk so much into it!” I heard a particularly wise-looking old clergyman say to his companion as they passed by us, apparently completely unaware of our presence.

“Fantastic. My minions are here. They will help me sort things out,” the Pope said gravely as he prepared to step out of our inadvertent hiding place.

Suddenly, the people parted ways as someone began coming down the hallway, accompanied by guards. It was the Pope Impostor! And everyone began bowing to him as he went by! The Real Pope started huffing and puffing at their mistaken adoration. I grabbed him just as he was about to confront the Pope Impostor.

“Wait! You can't just go out there!” I whispered fiercely.

“And why not? I'll solve this problem once and for all!” he argued. “I'll get that impostor thrown into the deepest, darkest cell of the secretest dungeon,” he growled.

“But how did he get in here in the first place?” I asked him as he took his first step back towards the main hallway.

“What?”

“Well, either some of your guards are in on the plot, or he looks too much like you for anyone to be able to tell the difference,” I explained. “Either way, it may not be as easy as you think to just step out there and assert that you are the real Pope. Regardless, it will definitely cause a lot of chaos and confusion among your people.”

The Pope stepped back and squinted in my direction. He leaned in closer and stared at me, hard. “Good God. You're actually making a lot of sense.” He stood proudly upright, or at least as upright as he ever seemed to be able to manage. “Fine then. We will go to my chambers, and we can figure things out from there.”

“Oh, boy! Your chambers? Your real, private chambers?” I asked.

“Yes,” he grunted.

“Oh, I can't believe this! Can I take pictures and put them on my blog?”

“Of course you can't! How absurd!” he glowered.

“Can I at least see your ducky pajamas?” I asked shyly. His face darkened as he seemed to be swelling with a purple hue. Frightened, thinking he had somehow been poisoned, I leapt toward him to get whatever it was out of his throat.

“Get off of me!” he yelled, struggling with my arms around his waist, trying to pry himself free. “What in the world do you think you are doing??!”

“Saving you from choking on poison!” I explained.

“I wasn't choking and I wasn't poisoned!” he protested. I stepped away from him then, reluctantly releasing him from my hold.

“But you were turning purple!” His face began the whole process over again, and I opened my arms to rescue him, but he stopped me. He held out a hand.

“Get away from me, you foul beast.” The Pope turned and started walking back in a different direction. “God help me,” he muttered as he walked away, and I followed.

RoboPope: The Prequel (Part Two)

Hours later, I was exhausted. I had been wandering forever, it seemed. None of the doors or hallways seemed to actually lead anywhere, or even have a purpose. It just existed as a confusing mess of unused building, sprinkled with priceless treasures, jewels, and gold.

Finally, I realized I had to sit and rest. A wonderfully ornate trunk was just down the hall in a niche. It had what must have been a twelfth-century tapestry laid over it.

I plopped down on it, resting my tired feet. I smacked my lips together with thirst. I could really use some whisky, I decided. I must have also been hungry, because I heard a strange sound coming from my stomach. After feeling the trunk move beneath me, though, I discovered that it hadn't been my stomach at all.

Back on my feet, I stared down, puzzled, as the thing began to thump, and the tapestry to vibrate. I looked both ways down the hallway, though I hadn't seen anybody for at least an hour. Then I tentatively leaned forward and knocked back on the trunk lid. There was a pause in the noises, but then a rapid, insistent knocking proceeded from inside. I jumped back. Then, I slowly leaned forward, lifted the tapestry, and found a lock holding the trunk closed.

“Um,” I said, feeling foolish for talking to a trunk, “the top appears to be locked.” I heard muffled yelling. “What's that?” I asked, and put my ear closer. Again, the mumbling. “I really can't understand you.” I paused. “I'm afraid I'm just going to have to break this lock open so you can tell me.” I took the mumbled yell to be an agreement, so I looked up and down the hall to find a possible tool. Ah, perfect. Conveniently, there was a full suit of armor standing there, with a sword.

I grabbed the sword, raised it above the lock, and slammed it down. When I opened my eyes, I saw that it had missed the lock completely, but had made a nice, long slice along the tapestry.

“Oops,” I said, and sat down to think about the best way to go about opening it. Finally, I had it! I angled the sword hilt toward the lock, so that the rest of it was sitting on the ground, and, with one swift bonk, the lock cracked open!

I scrambled to open the lid and was surprised to find who was inside.

“It's you!” we both exclaimed at once.

“Hey, you're the Pope's—um—friend,” I said awkwardly, averting my gaze from the man who had been in the chair and had a remarkable resemblance to the Pope.

“Well, you're close,” he grunted, as be began to try to lift himself out of the trunk. I noticed then that he really was quite an old man. I took pity on him, and reached out to help him up.

Once he was standing, puffing for breath and red in the face, he tried to speak again. It took a couple of tries before it worked.

“You fool,” he spluttered, and I drew back, offended.

“I AM the Pope!” he blustered.

I stood staring at him in shock. Finally, I could speak.

“You poor, sick man, you. Now, tell me where you live, and we can find some nice people to help you there,” I said, as I patted him on the shoulder.

I thought he had already caught his breath at this point, but he started puffing out his cheeks and breathing erratically. His face went from a rosy pink to red, almost taking on shades of purple. Oh, God, I thought. This poor lunatic was going to burst! I stood and watched in fascination.

“THIS IS WHERE I LIVE!” he shouted out finally. “I'm the bloody Pope! Are all of you people so stupid?” He had started flapping his arms about.

“There's no need to be insulting, sir,” I said haughtily. “I saw you with the Pope. Therefore, you can't be the Pope. You understand?” I tried explaining to him.

“He's an impostor! That—THING—came in and tried to get rid of me, so he could take over,” the man blustered, still standing in the trunk.

I looked him in the eyes, and narrowed mine. It was time to pull out the big guns, I decided.

“He had the hat,” I said. “And you didn't,” I finished. There. I had done it.

“He threw mine in the stove when he captured me!” His voice shook as he said it. “That was my favorite one, too.” Tears were forming in his eyes, and his lip quivered. I watched as he tried to compose himself, and I started to have an inkling. He really did look remarkably like the Pope. The other Pope had just kind of roared at me when I commented on his hat. But this man...well, he was in tears about it. Maybe...

“All right,” I said suspiciously. “What's your favorite song?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Ave Maria, of course,” he answered disdainfully.

“Hmm...well, everyone knows that,” I said. I thought for a minute. “Okay. What are your favorite pajamas?”

He blustered again, offended. “How dare you! That is not an appropriate question!”

“So you don't know the answer?”

“How absurd! They're MY pajamas!”

“So then you know that you prefer your penguins?” I asked, leaning forward.

“Penguins! Bah! My duckies are far superior to any penguins,” he said quickly.

I stood and stared at him in awe. He hadn't fallen for my trick. And since I had bribed guards before to tell me all about the Pope's personal preferences, I knew the right answers. And he had gotten it right. That could mean only one thing.

“Your Highness!” I shouted, and bowed down. I heard grumbling, so I stood back up.

“It's about time,” he muttered. I stood there, staring at him and grinning. “Well, are you going to help me out of this thing or what?” he asked.

“Oh! Yes! Of course!” I said, and took the Holy Hand as I led his Holy Aching Body out of the trunk.

Inside Love

Inside love, you strive to find

humans uncovered, gentle sighs;

instead, leaves of vanity elude you,

opening underneath.

But here, understand:

Greatness, slippery, imbues love

in hearts,

not readily forsaken.

Inspired, lilting over veils enhanced,

your own understands:

here uphold grief, sadness;

here unearth grace, significance.

RoboPope: The Prequel (Part One)

The day started out normal enough. I got up, brushed my teeth with my Jesus toothbrush, and went to the Vatican to see if I could get a glimpse of my hero, the Pope. I had all of his posters, and a special bobble-head doll that I managed to find just outside of Vatican City. I kissed it, as always, on my way out.

I whistled as I walked, clutching my folded poster under my arm. I chuckled at all the people around me, busy either working or going to work. Poor things. I was lucky. By the Grace of God, and the international market for frozen pizzas, I never had to work a day in my life. I was free to spend all my time devoted to the Pope, and praying to Jesus. Oh, that reminded me. I had a poker game later that afternoon. I would have to cut my adoring admiration short that day.

Approaching the massive construction of the Vatican, I entered the courtyard, and felt positively giddy. My heart started racing, as it always did when I got there, and I found myself suppressing giggles of excitement when I saw the guards in their fabulous attire. I had a hard time keeping myself from running the rest of the way. Finally, I got into the chapel. I took my customary place by Jesus' disintegrating foot, and held up my sign.

Every hour or so, I have to take a break and stretch. However, I make sure to only do the most holy of stretches there. Squats are, of course, expressly forbidden.

As I was going through my third hour lunges, I heard something strange. After a moment, I recognized it as laughter. I stood up from my lunge, and put my hands on my hips. Something was definitely wrong here. I picked up my sign, and started following the sound. I came to a door, hidden expertly within the church (though I, of course, was able to discern it) and discovered the laughter was coming from behind it.

My hair stood up on end, as it only did every other day, and I knew I had to do something. Counting to three, I threw my shoulder against the door and yelled. It had been quite painful, but the door hadn't budged. I counted to three again, but took a few steps back first. I ran toward the door with all my might, but, just as I was about to shatter it to pieces, it opened. My shoulder connected, instead, with the surprised face of a guard. Having achieved amazing momentum, both my shoulder and myself followed him to the ground.

Looking up, I saw a group of shocked guards standing in a semi-circle around a card table, quickly becoming quite angry. I stood up, and before I could eloquently explain the courageous reason for my intrusion, I strangely found myself fleeing the scene, my poster still tightly clutched in my hand.

Naturally, they followed. I took as many doors and turns that I could, and soon found myself in a completely unfamiliar part of the Vatican. I sneakily managed to trick the guards into running past me while I hid in a doorway. I sighed with relief. I though about it, and chuckled quietly to myself.

The hallway was long and quite unadorned for the Vatican. There must have been only two or three priceless treasures there, and only the ceiling was gilded. I put my hands on my hips and pursed my lips. Now how would I get out of there? I wandered around for a while, opening various doors (slowly, I had learned), trying to find a familiar area. However, I just seemed to get more and more lost. Honestly, that was all right with me--I was getting into the Inner Sanctum of the Vatican. How cool was that!

Finally, I opened one door, and saw some people inside.

"Oops!" I said. "Sorry!" And closed the door.

I stood there a moment, my hand on the doorknob, as my brain processed what it had just seen. I blinked. And blinked again. Then I slowly opened the door back up, and peaked my head in. The door opened the rest of the way almost of its own accord.

"Wow," I breathed. "Your Majesty!" I yelled, and bowed down to the Almighty, the Pope Himself! I heard a grumble, so I stood back up. "I'm so sorry to bother you, Mr. Pope sir! I'm just--I'm such a big fan! I love what you do!"

Then I noticed the fire burning in the old-fashioned wood-burning stove beside him, which was covered in diamonds and rubies, and the man seated halfway across the room from him. He was tied to a rather plain chair, and gagged. He was clothed in a white dress and looked remarkably similar to the Pope.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, seeing the desperate look on the man's face. "I didn't realize you were busy. Sorry."

I closed the door again. Then a thought came to me. I couldn't just walk away. I had to do something, consequences be damned. I flung the door back open.

"Mr. Pope sir?" I began, and swallowed hard as I noticed his eyes beginning to smolder. "I'm really sorry, but I just..." I took a deep breath, looked at the tied-up man, then looked back at the Pope. "Would you please sign my poster?" I grinned and held it out. I unfolded it and showed it to him, doing my best to look adorable and forgivable at the same time.

He stared down at my I LOVE U, POPE! sign, and then he emitted a deep, grinding, grating sound. My heart froze with fear.

"Right," I said, as beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. The man in the chair was wildly trying to gesture at me for some strange reason, his eyes wide and wild. He jutted his chin up in my direction, then in the direction of the Pope, and seemed to be trying to say something. I squinted at him, unable to make out any of the words. Then I turned back to the Pope. "Maybe this isn't the best time," I said. I began to close the door, then opened it again as I added, "Sorry again." Once again, I started pulling the door shut, then remembered what I had always wanted to say to him.

"I love your hat, by the way." Then, the Pope growled: a huge, monstrous roar. I slammed the door and walked away. I guess he has a sore spot about the hat. Go figure. I'd always thought he liked it.

Oh, my God, I thought. I just met the Pope! I squealed with delight, and continued on down the corridor, trying my best to keep my skipping to a minimum.

End of NaNoWriMo, End of An Era...

Okay, so the era only lasted one month, but it felt like a long time! Actually, it felt incredibly short, but it DID feel epic, like any worthy era should.

And guess what?

I DID IT!!!!

Despite never having even attempted to write a novel before, having no idea what I was going to write about, and having virtually no ability to write a comprehensive outline for my fiction writing, I won!

I started late, was in a play, got the flu, dealt with life crises, but I did it.

I am so proud.

Now, the next questions are...is the novel any good? What now? And what's it about?

Interestingly enough, I find all of those questions pretty equally difficult to answer.

So, for now, I shall try to read back over my novel (my NOVEL!) and do some editing. Then I'll try to determine if it's worth anything.

Who knows? I may even take a wild, boyish fling at writing (short fiction again, that is, to post on this). Confused why I said "boyish"?

Watch Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Nanowrimo!

Sorry for the extremely long silence here. I was dealing with sickness and death (not mine, obviously) for quite a while, and wasn't able to get myself to write anything.

Now, however, though there are definitely no guarantees that I'll be posting a lot here, I am doing Nanowrimo, which for those who don't know, is the National Novel Writing Month, in which writers join an online community, and do their best to write a 50,000 word novel, all in the month of November. I got started a little late, and am currently up to 8,000 words. *Phew* I hope I can do it. Maybe I'll keep this updated with how that is progressing, and what it's like for me, considering I've never done this before. In fact, outside of college papers, I can't remember the last time I strung 8,000 words or more together. So, it's a test to see if I can write long-form fiction. Weee! Here we go! Let me know if you want to hear updates about this..