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Rated: E · Prose · Fantasy · #1588923
Not stories, just scenarios that defy definition.
                                                                                Scene I

    I found myself on a darkened stage. It must have been a stage. There were people dressed like dancers from the ballet set of Oklahoma, full skirts for the women to whirl around, men in cowboy outfits flexible for modern dance. The solid colors were bright, even in the darkly lit scene, yellows, and tans, greens, and blues. A thin mist rose up around us all. No one spoke. There was no music. Only hushed quick movements could be noticed.


I was afraid. The floor was wooden, so footsteps could be heard swishing, but not clicking. Then I realized the devil was there. He was dressed all in black, just a long sleeve shirt and pants, maybe leather. He was very skinny, and the clothes fit closely. He had a gun and wore a black mask like Zoro. His hat was flat on top and the brim was small. I don’t know how I knew his identity, but everyone knew it was him and gave him a wide berth. He began to chase after me, and I ran.

    I ran as only a non-runner could, ineptly. My heart beat fast. I could hardly breathe. I felt I was about to die from fear. I turned to the left to dart away but fell to the floor. I landed on my left hip and elbow, my right hand also on the ground, my face having stopped short of the floor. I, too, was wearing a full skirt, like the other women, but not a solid, bright color. Maybe a print with a white background or a very pale pastel. I didn’t know where the others  had gone, or the men. I was too afraid to wonder. I was alone and desperate. My left knee was bent under me; my temples pulsed; my breathing stopped. I turned my head to look behind me.

    It was one of those slow motion moments that only take a few seconds. The eerie light in the darkness allowed me to see the skinny man in black, a would-be cowboy in black boots. His face was expressionless, but I could not make out his features around the mask. He could have been a robot or had no face at all; I couldn’t tell. He quickly raised his hand and pointed the black gun at me. I knew he would get me at point blank range.

    I raised my right hand before my face, like that was going to help. And I cried out in anguish, believing these to be the last words of my mortal life. “Oh, God, help me.”


    Instantly a big white, thick thing came down from above like a dove and spread out smoothly over me. It wasn’t a dove, but more like a thick white downy comforter that covered me completely, including my head. A comforter would not save from a bullet, but I was transported somewhere else as it landed on me. Just like that, I was no longer on that misty, dark stage with all the faceless people in stark colors and the devil in black.


    But where was I now? I was lying flat on my back, up on a raised surface, not a bed but like a display case. Was I dead? The floor was still wooden, but not like the stage. It was more like an old country store with a floor that was highly waxed and polished and clean. The area around me was empty, which made the floor so obvious. No one was with me. The room was pristine. All around the periphery were objects, maybe museum pieces, maybe wares for sale. But I was warm and comfy and feeling no need to explore.


    Then I noticed the smell of yeast, like rising bread. And cinnamon. I was warm and safe and comfortable right where I was. The only thing that came from the first scene to this one was the white comforter all snug about me. I didn’t understand what had just happened, but I was okay with it.

                                                                                  Scene II


    I was in the country. I couldn’t tell you now why I was there or where it was exactly. But I parked in a parking area off a three way intersection. The most striking thing I noticed, and which I still remember, was the color yellow. It was everywhere. Not a bright, sunny yellow, but a subdued, tannish yellow with faint undertones of light green/brown.


    There may have been another car there, but nobody greeted me. I wanted to be at the end of that road to the left. So I thought that it would be a nice walk. I can't remember, after the turn of events, if I had meant to meet someone there or was just exploring. There were trees everywhere. It was a veritable woods with a few hard packed dirt roads through them. No houses were visible from where I parked, but I believed there was an old building, a barn or shed somewhere ahead.

      The wind was mild, but the leaves fell from those yellow trees.  It must have been autumn; my memory fails me now. The trees were still full of leaves, or it appeared so to me, despite the abundance of yellow on the ground. There was no undergrowth at all, so it was easy to see through the trunks of the trees. It was beautiful; it was peaceful and quiet. Yet there was some other-worldly quality to the setting all about me.

    As I stepped into the road, a beautiful rug in designs of browns and gold and ivory settled beside me on the road. I know that sounds odd, but at the time it seemed, well, natural. I stepped onto it and braced myself. It moved just like a vehicle down the road, stirring up the yellow leaves as we went past. We traveled with my feet maybe six inches, maybe eight, above the ground. I could feel the coolness of the wind against my cheeks, but I didn’t fall or stumble. Quickly, the rug came to where the road ended in a tee, and stopped for me to disembark.

    I don’t know why I was there. Maybe I just needed to experience nature again. I was alone. I milled around but didn’t go off into the woods. If felt special, like maybe Jesus had been there. But maybe He hadn’t. When the time was up, I got back on the rug. I think I really wanted to ride it again.

    I never said a word. I planted my feet surely, and the rug rose up and flew straight to the parking area. As we went along, a little faster this time, the wind made my eyes blink and tossed back my shoulder length hair. Yellow leaves whooshed higher this time, falling to the ground again as quietly as before. My flying rug stopped next to my car this time. I stepped off, and it left. I didn’t even watch to see where it went, but it lifted up high as soon as I got off. When I turned around, it was out of sight.

    I looked around at the straightness of the trees, at the fullness of leaves on the boughs, at the plentitude of yellow leaves on the ground, not in decay. There was plenty of light, but no sunshine. The air was clean, and the temperature was mild. But my face was cold to the touch from the windy ride. I needed to warm up, so I got in my car to go home.

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