Friday, August 21, 2009

There are highways tangled as far as the eye can see, most of them elevated, looping around each other, dipping and rising and making long, wide curves. There are some cars but somehow the large group I am in is able to walk on them without too much trouble. We all carry weapons and frequently encounter other groups that we must shoot. The guns are only air rifles, though-- it hurts when you get tagged, but the majority of shots don't really put you down.

At least that's my understanding until I see a guy near me get hit in the eye with a skinny, three foot long bolt. After our group redoubles our efforts and scatters the assailants, I pick up a strange crossbow off the ground. It's very light, made of red and black plastic, and folds up very easily. The game has changed.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Big party at Thomas R's house, half older professional types and half freaky employees, not much intermingling. I am concerned with finishing four exquisite pewter masks, each which represents a different character, three of which have little smooth red orbs for eyes. The fourth has narrow slits for eyes, a large brow, and a sneaky grin. I explain each character to someone I work with: the fourth mask is Maradin, the shapeshifter. It is late, and the neighborhood outside the house is dark and silent, but people still socialize gently in various parts of the house. I put the masks on a wall above a dark purple couch, no one sees me do it, but some of my coworkers know that I am the one who made them-- no, not made them: I've only "finished them."

The older people find them and immediately hate them. In a short period of time, 7 of these people are murdered. I know that I committed the 7th murder, and still hold the razor blade I used to slash the man's throat in my pocket... but my memory is not right and I am unclear as to whether I was responsible for all of them. Well, in a way I don't feel responsible for any of them-- it has something to do with the masks, I never would have decided to kill anybody on my own. Thomas and the remaining guests suspect the masks and the murders are linked as well, and the police are called. "Don't say anything to the cops, it can only hurt you, even if you haven't done anything wrong" I tell myself. They come and look through the house-- the cops interview the older folks and ignore the rest of us for now, although none of us are allowed to leave the building. No one seems willing or ready to indicate that I have played a pivotal role in the appearance of the four masks. I decide to escape. I leave through the backyard, ducking my head wildly whenever I see movement in the windows.

I am in a car for a while. I decide that I need to go back in. Somehow, the fourth mask is suddenly in my possession. I put it on. I can look like anybody I want to. I look like somebody else, just a random face I have never seen, and go back in the house. Then I take the mask off and look like Rjyan again. A cop notices me sitting on the couch-- I'm too afraid to feel for the razor, lest the police notice. I go into another room and answer two easy questions before returning to my original strategy: "Look, shouldn't I have a lawyer here before I say anything at all to you?" The cops aren't pleased but they don't turn up the pressure.. the agree that I can have a lawyer and go to question someone else elsewhere. The fourth mask is back on the wall, but I don't remember putting it there.

Friday, August 14, 2009

I go to show after show. There's a basement show in a basement I've never seen before. Crazy Dreams Band plays and I talk with Lexie and Nate. After that, a bunch of people walk through a temperate night to get to a coffee shop with a lofted second floor. There's a new Mortal Kombat game up there that I try to play. It's after 4AM and a small crowd of people of various ages assemble to watch N*Sync play a reunion show. We look up and there seems to be no roof, there's a stage high in the air above the coffee shop. All the buildings in the area have had their roofs somehow temporarily erased and we all sit at watch the huge Jumbotron. It doesn't seem like that many people have showed up for this show. It also seems like Timberlake and "that other kinda famous one" are having a contest to see who can hold the mic farther away from their mouth, while "the other three" clutch them close like rappers. Maybe the two famous ones are trying to do the other guys a favor? I debate whether or not it's too late to have coffee and decide that if I have to walk home, it's probably fine.