Writing Mind Games

[Allamorph]

[FONT="Arial"][SIZE="3"][CENTER]Mind Games[/CENTER][/SIZE]

I’m dreaming.

It’s midday. My vision is disembodied, coasting along the warm air currents above the ground. Below me is a river, its sparkling water winding powerfully through the light jungle to either side. A wide strip of white sand banks the river to my left, and as I drift lower I begin to make out people moving on it.

A voice sounds in my head.


[I]What is the mind?[/I]


Is it my voice? I can’t tell.

Directly below me—almost behind me now—and a little to my left is a large building of white concrete; its skeletal form and the plethora of workers on it tells me that it is still under construction. The workers are dark-skinned and mostly bare-chested, and they call to each other in sounds I cannot understand.

Am I in Africa? The thought barely registers before it the breeze carrying me dissipates it.

I see my father on the beach now. His appearance is unmistakable (aside from the fact that he is white): his neatly trimmed hair is almost pure white, and yet his face and form still have yet to show any distinct signs of age. He is talking with the foreman of the project. I’m not surprised; his competence and work ethic usually land him in these positions. The foreman is listening attentively, arms akimbo and laughing occasionally, while my father makes explanatory gestures and shakes his head at intervals.

My vision spins around, the construction to my right now, and I see a tall, multilevel bridge spanning the river. It is wooden, but the wood is peculiar: it is a dark olive green in color, and I can see that its grain is thick and coarse, almost looking like wax that has melted and run down the sides of a lit candle. Such clarity of vision at this distance is strange, I think, even as I seem to bank towards my right and around again.

My father has turned, his gaze lifting upward. He is waving, but not to me…no, it [I]is[/I] me; I raise my hand and wave back as I run along one of the higher levels of the concrete construction. It is break time, and I am running alongside Kato, weaving, dodging and spinning around the other workers. He and his brother Jahari have been teaching me to freestyle between shifts, and we are heading towards Jahari now.

Kato darts left to avoid a table saw. I wall-run to the other side, kicking off to clear the steel beam being carried the other way by two more workers, my long legs easily lending me the needed height. The men we flash past laugh, calling good-natured admonitions and threats after our backs.


[I]How much do you know of it? of your own?[/I]


I am barely conscious of the voice now as we skid to a halt. Jahari has his bicycle with him. I’ve seen him using it here before; he is very good with it, but today he wants me to try. I oblige, and we head higher, where there are less people.

It is a small, inexpensive bike—at least by my standards—but it handles surprisingly well, and soon I am hopping between pillars on its front wheel and bouncing off of other obstacles that I make part of my path, while the two boys run beside or behind me and cheer me on.


[I]Can you understand what drives it?[/I]


We are running, from what or whom I don’t know. I try to steer towards the paths down, but every time a nameless terror overtakes me, and I am helpless but to swerve the other direction. Jahari is a few feet behind me; Kato managed to dive down below a while back. I can hear his panicked voice beneath us calling for help.

I am running out of room. The edge of the building is closing in on me, its open face threatening me with a plummeting death. My arms will not turn me right. To the left is more open wall, barring my escape, and I cannot go back. I try with all my might to slow down, to force myself right, to give me any amount of time more to outrun my pursuer, but instead my body speeds up, pedaling ever harder, ignoring my silent cries of impending danger.

Time grinds almost to a halt as I careen over the edge. The river is below me, now, the bridge to my left. I thrust the bicycle down, keeping it from becoming tangled with my limbs as I fall.

I hear the voice again.


[I]You are your mind. There is no separation between your mind and your body but what you place there. As you feel, so your body responds. As you learn, so your body grows, and the reverse of both is always true. Simple mastery of one or the other will gain you nothing; you must understand them both.[/I]


I will myself left, towards the bridge. Beneath me, the bike plunges into the river; I know that if I join it, the current will sweep away any control I might have left, and if I survive the passage under the bridge, I may not make it out for several miles.

Miraculously, my will power works. Time returns to normal, and my outstretched arm strikes a wood beam, my chest slamming into the harsh roughness of a walkway. Pain sears outwards, my fingers blessedly tensing into vise grips in response. A strangled groan escapes me, and I attempt to drag myself onto the bridge.

There are workers here, too. By my sense of their footfalls, they seem to be children; I am directly in their path as they carry laden baskets from one side to the other, but they seem unsurprised at my arrival, leaping lightly over me and continuing on their way.

My youngest sister is among them. She is twelve, and much quicker than our other sisters, though she doesn’t yet realize it. Her confusion is billowing off of her in sickening waves, at least to my empathy; I freeze, trying to melt myself into the coarse wood to allow her across.

She gets her right foot over me, then stops. There’s barely any room on the walkway; I know she put the wrong foot forward, and if she doesn’t push off correctly she could lose her balance and take my place in the water.

“You’re good,” I call to her, trying desperately to stay her big brother. “You got this.” I try to send courage back along my empathic sense to her, willing her to take the next step.

It seems to work. She moves slowly, but I know she’ll make it.


[I]If you cannot feel, if you cannot understand….[/I]


The wind gusts. I curse the voice with all my heart; I know what words come next.


[I]…you will fall.[/I]


In an instant I hurl myself backwards off the bridge. I kick at its frame, I streamline myself in a desperate effort to gain speed on my sister's plummeting body. Her terror is overwhelming me; my heart screams obscenities, my mind screams prayers, my mouth is screaming her name.

I break the water a second after her body plunges through. It’s not soon enough; my arm lashes out in the direction of the current, and my hand latches onto her ankle. I yank myself to her and wrap myself around her as I prepare for the wooden death trap that must follow.

Pain flares in my back, almost costing me my air…but I’m not moving. It’s the bike, pinned by both tires across the opening I would have been swept through. My right side feels like fire where the pedal must have torn across it, but I thank it anyway, and wrapping one arm tighter around my sister I fight for the surface.

My head explodes into air, and again I clutch wildly at the wood of the bridge. There is a walkway here, too; I roar with all of my lungs, more to draw attention to our plight than out of any sense of machismo. Feet pound the planks around me, hands grasp at my sister’s unconscious body, but I can see nothing for the water in my eyes. I feel her taken up and to safety, and with a final effort I throw myself onto—

—a dirt road.

[I]–Wait…what?![/I][/FONT]

[Vicky]

[size=1]Interesting, to say the least.

I got a little confused at some points but that's just me having a cold, and I thought I could at least comment on this. And there's my comment; interesting. I'm no critic at all. Your vocabulary is amazing and it was beyond a pleasure to read - though, for some readers, it's easy to get lost in the description and words. Still, it was a pleasure, and I'll have to repeat myself in saying it is indeed a very intriguing and interesting concept.

Is there anymore to this?

I might be able to come up with something constructive next time XD[/SIZE]

[Mythologicly]

I like it... Alot i got lost at some points as well but other than that i liked it.

[Allamorph]

[FONT=Arial]Thank you, guys.

Yeah, I felt lost for most of this dream as well, so don't feel like you missed anything. You saw what I saw....whatever that was.

And yes, [COLOR="DarkRed"]Vicky[/COLOR], there is more, but it takes a while to transcribe dreams, and I haven't had time enough for much of that lately. College and Devil May Cry have been owning my soul. I'm trying to get time to finish this; it gets [I]really[/I] weird after this, though a lot less action-y.[/FONT]