Thursday, August 26, 2004

Airport Gameboy Plane Crash Birth Drama

I’m in a movie theater, sitting alone, watching a film.

In the film, there is an airplane, full of people.

Richard Dryfuss, Ellen Burnstein and their small child sit in the airplane. They're arguing about the trip they're making; the small boy ignores them, playing with a Gameboy.

Cut to the plane exterior. There's some kind of short or spark or something. The airplane's engine catches fire.

Richard notices it out the window.

"Look!" he says.

They stop arguing.

The fire gets worse and the engine stalls. The airplane starts going out of control.

The oxygen masks come down, the passengers prepare for a crash.

The plane starts going in a free-fall, straight for the ocean.

Cut to the interior of an airport.

Richard, Ellen and the kid are sitting in chairs at what looks like a concourse.

The boy is still playing with the Gameboy -- Richard and Ellen are just waking up.

They both talk about the dream they just had about their airplane crashing.

Richard and Ellen continue to argue with each other about the trip for a few moments.

Then, Richard notices that something's weird in the airport.

There's strange Muzak playing in the concourse, but no announcements. No airplanes are taking off or landing, everyone is eerily quiet.

Richard talks to one of the staff, asking them why things are so strange.

The staff are calm, cool, and friendly, but almost completely emotionless. They are evasive and do not answer his questions.

Richard and Ellen make their way around the airport, trying to ask different staff members what is going on.

They tell the boy to sit down and wait for them to come back.

They argue ­ Richard thinks something is wrong, but Ellen doesn’t.

They get no answers from the airport staff.

Richard and Ellen go back to their chairs and notice the boy is gone. They look around for him, but he is nowhere to be found. They ask passersby if they’ve seen him. No one has.

They turn around and there he is again, just popping up out of nowhere, still playing with the Gameboy.

They’re relieved and tell him to sit down.

Twice more, they argue, talk to staff and loose the boy. The third time, he doesn’t reappear.

They go to a security guard for help.

"Come with me, please," guard says.

They're led to a back room that looks like a surgery theater in a hospital. A doctor and nurse are there.

"Get on the table, please," the doctor says.

Ellen argues, but the doctor is firm and calm. She gets on the table.

"I'm afraid you'll have to go through the whole thing again," the doctor says.

Stirrups pop up on the table and Ellen is strapped into place; another nurse appears from a nearby room to calm down Richard.

Ellen's stomach begins to grow huge.

She gives birth to her son all over again.

He emerges from her vagina, fully clothed, Gameboy in hand, the same size and age he was before.

Richard and Ellen are again on the concourse, sitting in their chairs. They look at the child, then at each other. They wonder aloud if what just happened really happened.

Richard finally seems to understand.

“We’re not in an airport,” he says. “This is purgatory.”

Then I woke up.

Saturday, May 8, 2004

Technicolor Hostage Cereal Gangster

I am alone in a huge movie theater.

I am watching a movie.

It looks like a bright, vibrant Technicolor movie from the 1930's. But the film is one of those Warner Brothers gangster movies, which were all done in stark black and white.

A gangster is holding a woman captive on some kind of road trip. With them, they have a Black cook, a young girl.

The man resembles George Raft; the woman reminds me of Loretta Young.

The house they're staying in is dark, with high contrast shadows all around.

The clothes the characters wear or objects in the room are vibrant reds, greens, yellows and blues, standing out from everything there.

They’re about to have breakfast. The gangster sits at the table in the dining room, reading a newspaper. He talks about the cops not being able to find them.

The woman tries to figure out how to get away. She nervously drinks coffee and spreads some jam on a piece of toast.

The woman says something about checking on breakfast and goes into the kitchen.

The cook is there. The woman starts yelling at the cook and the cook recoils.

She leans in close to the cook and whispers in her ear.

“He’s trying to kill me. Just play along.”

The woman takes a stack of brightly colored dishes and throws them to the floor. She yells at the cook, asking her why she has to be so clumsy.

The woman leans in and whispers in the cook’s ear again.

“Run away and get help.”

The woman crashes some more dishes against the wall and yells at the cook again.

The cook seems like she’s in a state of shock and doesn’t know what to do.

The woman pointss at the door. She pleads with the cook, motioning with her hands.

The cook quickly and quietly scurries off.

The woman regains her composure. She picks up a tray that has some food and dishes on it, along with two boxes of cereal.

The woman carries the tray into the dining room.

"What was that about?" the man asks.

"I just fired the cook - she’s so incompetent,” she says, trying to remain calm.

The woman moves the tray towards the table.

Two boxes of Life cereal are on the tray -- the kind of boxes they had in the 1960's with "Life" spelled out in brightly colored letters.

As she sits the tray on the table, some of the letters on the cereal boxes float away into the air, forming the word "Lie".
Then I woke up.

Thursday, January 1, 2004

Alien Blowfish Duck Lamp Sacrifice

I am a lamp.

I am a common, everyday lamp. One that would sit in a typical American home in the 1970's. I have a tapered ceramic base in some strange orange and burnt umber colors, a 60 watt bulb for my head, and a head covering consisting of a paper lampshade.

An obese man sits in a Lazy Boy recliner in his t-shirt. He takes a drink from a can of Budweiser and sits it down on the table beside me. He is watching a large 70's era console television set.

There is shag carpet on the floor, a sickly yellow and brown color. The room has plain wooden paneling. The lighting is subdued. It is night.

Sitting next to the television, near a window, is a toilet. The bowl of the toilet is filled with flowers, as if someone is using it as a decorative planter.

I hear someone in the hallway next to the living room.

It is an elderly woman. She is plainly dressed, her face wrinkled. She reminds me of a character actor one might see on a 70's British sitcom.

Her face begins to look distorted, almost like a blowfish when it's beginning to expand.

"Perhaps I should go upstairs," she says, apologetically, in a stoic, very British voice, "If the aliens are really here and taking over people, it might be best to just get them out of the way where they won't disturb anyone."

The man in the recliner stares at the television and seems to ignore what she is saying. His chair faces away from the hallway towards the television and he cannot see her.

Her face and head distort even more, growing larger and looking more like a blowfish.

Strange noises start coming from her body.

"Quick! Hurry!" I hear my friend Stuart say, "You have to be a sacrifice for the alien!"

I turn to see legs and arms sprouting from the toilet, like an anthropomorphic character from a tv commercial. It stands up.

"You have to be a sacrifice for the alien!" the toilet says in Stuart's voice, moving it's seat like a mouth.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say, somewhat concerned.

Suddenly, I see a log in front of the television with an ax in it. The man rises from the chair and grabs the ax.

I feel funny.

I look down and see that I am now a duck, standing on the table.

The man grabs me by the throat; I flap my wings and feathers fly as he moves me towards the log.

"It's the only way," Stuart the Toilet says, "You must be a sacrifice for the alien!"

The woman's head grows larger and more distorted. Her body begins to shake.

"No!" I scream and squawk, "You be the sacrifice - not me!"

The man firmly places me on the log, his hand around my neck. He holds the ax high above his head.

"No!" I squawk, "There's got to be another way!"

"You must be the sacrifice!" Stuart the Toilet intones.

I see the blade of the ax coming closer towards my head. I struggle and squawk, but can't break free.

Everything goes black.

My head feels strange, as if part of the top center of my brain is empty, missing.

Then, something like a rush of electricity or bolt of lightning surges through the hole in my brain.

I open my eyes.

I am still a duck.

I am standing in a room all by myself. The floor is black tile. All of the walls of the room and the ceiling are covered with mirrors.

"Damn," I squawk, "what the hell happens now?"

Then I woke up.