A Story Part Three

A Story

Part Three.

            Cityscapes are a beautiful thing especially in the dark and also in your head. City planner of the year. I’d like to thank my dad or mom or whatever. People are walking around its streets. They don’t have jobs because it’s too dark to do work. There’s a church in the middle of the town and no one goes because there are no good bus routes or something. The bus that goes there smells like piss and the bus is always late and the driver is angry because he has to drive the piss-bus all day. Poor guy. “Fucking piss-bus” he’d say after doing his third consecutive rolling stop.

            The church has these weird books about a flying goldfish that looms over Tendark, and it’s uh, pretty big (both the book and the fish). The fish has giant slits in the side of it that spew out a thick dark fog and we all just watch the fish as it swims in the skyline. It wears sunglasses and a backwards because that’s cool. Darkness. Radical.

Sometimes, if the town is quiet enough, he’ll say something that sounds important, but people are way too lazy to think anything of it. They just get it tattooed on their legs or something. Everyone has shitty tattoos it seems like. “Hey assholes,” the fish starts, “We’re kind of all one or whatever or we’re all a bunch of different things that have existed forever. New haircuts. Same assholes.”

There’s a goldfish flying around my room. I need a fishhook. Nautical.

This is a lucid dream.

I’m a lucid dream.

I’m not lucid.

The fish comes and eats me. He swallows me in one gulp and suddenly i feel like sushi. I think about Earth and the universe as the belly of a giant goldfish. This is rubbish. I am dead inside a goldfish. My last words will probably be, “i want to know everything.” On second thought, they will be “i miss pennies”. Or “Ouch”. Maybe i’ll get tongue-tied and i won’t say a damn word. That sounds like me.

All this while i’m dead inside a stupid goldfish. There’s a conversation in my brain and it’s just familiar voices screaming my last words at my face. White-noise. Illumination. I can’t make out the voices or i don’t care maybe. I poke the goldfish walls. “Hey can you spit me out or something. I don’t want to be dead anymore.” Spit. Free-fall. I land on my bed though so i’m okay. I turn over and there’s a girl there staring at me. “Oh hey sorry.” I say.

“Why are you in my bed?” She says.

“This is my bed.”

“Oh.” She says.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” She’s still laying in my bed. I want to give her one-hundred dollars because she probably deserves it. Or maybe i just want to give her one-hundred dollars. My brain is foggy. “Sorry. We thought you were dead, I guess.”

“Oh.” I say.

“Yeah.” It’s dark. I sneak a sniff of myself to make sure i don’t smell like goldfish, or a piss-bus or something. “This place was for sale because you were dead. There was an auction but it was at the church so no one went.”

“Well, thanks for liking my house i think.”

“Yeah.” She says.

“Do you want me to leave then?” I say.

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“I don’t own any clocks.”

“Is it cold out?”

“I don’t know. I was dead or something.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah” I say.

“Okay, you can stay. But I need to do a thing first.” She gets out of the bed. She’s wearing some clothes that look good if you’re into that sort of stuff. Fashion. Radical. She leaves the room and i stare at the wall looking for a light i guess. She reappears with a giant pair of scissors and she cuts my/her bed in half.

“Do you snore?” She says.

“No. Well maybe. If i do i’m usually asleep when it happens.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“If i snore just throw stuff at me and i’ll wake up and stop being an asshole.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.” She says to me.

“My name’s not Stan,” i say.

“Me neither,” she says.

She goes to sleep and i don’t sleep the whole night because i’m scared my mouth will be a loud asshole that keeps everyone awake.