Fiction

June 13, 2066

Scene one, act one. An office building in San Fransisco.

Jack: So you're saying that I have no reason to come here, after months and months of this, and demand an explanation? 

I looked at my phone, and a wave of shear and utter panic swept through me.
It made me jump a little.

The restaurant was small and crowded
With people waiting an hour to get their
burgers and fries.
All the outside tables were full, because it was a nice day
for a February afternoon.

She was beautiful in all of the usual ways. She had wide eyes that reflected the depths of the ocean and the heights of the sky, so when others gazed upon them they thought that they could fly.

She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.
She had long, flaming red hair 
Always tangled
Always down
She wore polka dots and stripes
At the same time
Didn't care
Didn't care

“Help! I screamed, running as fast as I could into the forest. My breath was coming in short pants as I sobbed out cries for help. “Please, someone, help me!”

 They say that when we dream, it’s caused by slow brain waves creating narratives that are a mixture of the days events and our imaginations. That these fancy imagines, designed for mental recovery, are of our own creation.