while we're writing about death

Word count: 23899
Project: Dark Arts

(Let's not talk about word counts.)


Had a pretty novelesque dream last night/this morning/whatever. Basically, it started out with me in a car with my ostensible family, driving home. (As usual, it wasn't really me, just first person POV.) Then a bunch of meteors crashed down in front of us and we obviously died in the fireball.

Except not, since we were ghosts. Or something. Or at least I was. Or maybe ghosts with a set amount of lives, because they flickered out pretty quickly. There was a group of crazy gunmen after us (I'm not sure who comprised the group at this point), and we kept trying to hide. And they kept shooting all of us, and I kept trying to herd whomever I was with to safety. I think the group kept changing. I kept coming back. I got very, very tired of dying and being shot, and of selfish idiots who kept thoughtlessly jeopardizing the group for their own Fudgsicles or whatever. I flat out lost it at one guy after he forgot to lock and obscure the door.

The dream moved pretty fast. After that group was mowed down, I found myself walking on a road (or floating, given ghost-hood) with a lone guy. He was pretty quiet and focused on getting himself out of the shooting sprees. I said, "I like you. I'm going to get you out of this."

He sort of shrugged. We walked into the sunset (literally). I woke up.


It was weird. Frustrating, but I liked the ending. I blame the plethora of disaster movies and Schindler's List for this one. Anyway, decent novel framework if I get bored.