YouDream

by Edd

Annette Prescott shares her dreams. All performers do these days. Most sign up with the majors, some distribute through the smaller indies, a few post them on their websites. Little dreams–ones about flying or eating a scone–those are often free. It’s the big dreams that cost, particularly the ones about acting or dancing or singing.

Annette has a YouDream account. She gives all of her dreams away for free. Sure, they’re lo-res, but the pure thing. One where she’s young and this looming parental figure forces her to practice violin until her fingers bleed. One where she’s in a high school play and walks onstage naked by mistake. One where her voice instructor tells her she’ll never amount to anything. One from her first speaking part in a movie where she almost flubs a line but ad libs a better one and they use it. One walking down that red carpet, everybody cheering.

Dreams. Some are horrific. Some are wonderful.

I take them straight, just plug in, drop off, and daydream. I’ve watched some of them so many times that they play again and again in my own dreams at night.

I’ve seen some of the mashups, like the guy who matched the visuals from her “Riding the Blue Horse” to that song “Superstition” by Stevie Wonder. Or the one where somebody spliced together one of her dreams with one of Bambi Alexander’s, and it’s like they’re having a conversation in the bathtub. Or that sick one where somebody cut together all the nude bits with images of… never mind, I don’t even want to think about it.

Like most people, I record my dreams, too, but I don’t post them anywhere. I had this one with Annette in it last week, and I’ve reviewed it a few times since then. It’s pretty good, nice colors and it has a plotline and all. I thought about sending it to her on a chip, or posting it on her fansite’s forum. It would suck, though, if everybody thought I was a stalker, or even just one of those people everybody else laughs at.

But I can dream.

Fishermen

by JeremyT

My father wakes me before he has stoked the fire. I pull on my clothes as quickly as I can, then my boots and helmet. While my father checks the line and tackle, I put a log under the chimney and stir the coals. I have a minute or two to warm my hands before he coughs to me. I put on my gloves.

Today, we go fishing.

We walk the snaking path down the mountainside. The rising sun glints off the rapids below, dazzling me, and I nearly trip. My father steadies me with a bear paw of a hand. I feel embarrassed.

We reach the rocky banks, out of breath. We do not speak. We can barely hear our voices over water raging against the rocks. Our breath makes white clouds. I buckle my helmet and cinch my gloves tighter.

The sun rises another hand’s width into the sky before we begin. My father weaves the line through my harness, knots it. I pull away as hard as I can. His knot holds. I look out at the fast-moving water as he feeds the rope through the pulleys that hang from the pines. I plan my steps.

He gives me a nod, and I walk into the river. The cold shocks me. It numbs first my short legs, my scrotum, then my chest. My father feeds out more line. The current sweeps me from my feet, and I play out into the deep middle. I pray we don’t wait long for a bite.

Minutes pass. I dimly feel hands grasp my leg, and then I feel as warm as if I am sitting by the largest fire I can build. I shout wordlessly, and my father begins to haul on the rope. The hands walk up my leg. Thin arms wrap around my waist. We’ve hooked our catch deeply. She fights the line, but my father is stronger.

I breach the water onto the bank. The mother clings to me still. I examine the catch. She is beautiful. Sleek black hair, long graceful limbs, and cherry red lips.

“Can’t we keep her?” I ask, shouting, as I always ask.

“Ah, this one will fetch far too much at market,” my father says. As he always says. He begins to pry open her fingers, and the warmth fades. I shiver as my father dresses the mother in a simple robe and binds her to the leading line.

He shouts, “Ready?” I am already walking back into the water. Maybe he will let us keep next one.