Isn't It Time You Were Brainwashed?

After a graduation ceremony, all the people I know filter out of the large room and fade away into the verdant forest. I meet up with Andrew and Aaron, they look ridiculous in their caps and gowns. We clamber off the road, across a large log and onto a small mountain trail.

I am in the van with my family. We are in a hurry. I look out the window and see that much of the other people and cars are beginning to film over with a strange white substance, like they are covered in a chalky mold. When they are fully covered in the substance, they become zombies. Our van is becoming slower to respond, I can tell we are being converted, but we are nearly out of the city.
Pulling past a stoplight, we do a u-turn into a park. There is a grassy area surrounded by hills. Another family has sought refuge there and are playing frisbee, relieved. We ask if we can join them, they agree. As we begin to settle in for the night, though, the cold sets in, and we realize that we have no blankets, nor provisions. Nervously, we decide to split up. Mom journeys over the hills in search of food, while Dad and I head back to town to get blankets and sleeping bags.



Our control center is infiltrated. The lights go out. A small beam of sunlight from a crack in the ceiling illuminates the now-prolific dust motes. THe building is suddenly ancient and full of grace. As moss crawls over the stools and display panels, several phosphorescent beings flow in under the crack of the doors. Their glow illuminates the entire room. They have the appearance of land-dwelling jellyfish, without tentacles. It seems they can take any form they like. They circle the edge of the room, and as they come to rest, a small lightform presents itself in the center of the room, in the beam of sunlight. It stretches upwards, un the sunlight is refracted through it into each of the other strange beings. This signals the beginning of an intricate dance, which proves to be sometimes hesitantly mournful, sometimes blindingly violent, but always brimming with light and colors.
They finish. We are convinced they have bestowed special abilities upon us.

I encounter a blonde boy of about thirteen. He is exceedingly rude to me, but I let him continue on his way.
A little farther into the building, I literally run into the same blonde boy. He apologizes profusely. I realize that the strange beings have brought special powers to the world, but in balance - there is good, and evil - hence the two blonde boys. They appear to be the same, but have dramatically different personalities. I must bring the two of them to the room where it all began - the control room. However, it is by now an ancient ruin and getting to the center will be difficult.

Dragging the boys by their arms to my car, I am stopped by a Hispanic-looking man. He seems to think I will do the boys harm. I insist that I have magical powers and that I am on an important mission. I try to barge my way past him, but his compatriot appears. I grow Exceedingly frustrated. I try to demonstrate my powers on the car, but nothing happens. As they continue to smirk and block my way, I concentrate with all my might on my magic. I finally succeed in making the locks on the doors wriggle violently, but my aggressors do not notice. They drag the boys away from me and towards the city.
All is lost.

A Day

I am in a hurry to go somewhere, sitting on the ground, Kathryn urges me to hurry and I look for my shoes. I grab the nearest ones, which are Alex's smelly Sambas, and lace them as tight as they will go. I figure he won't mind, and then he walks in looking for his shoes. I yell that I have to borrow them and run off before he can object.

I am on my way to class behind Smith, and I spot Kris ahead locking up his bike. I quicken my pace to get a sort of running start into hug. My huge shoes flop as I run, making an echoing noise on the pavement, which catches Kris' attention. He turns around and laughs at me. The sun is very bright.

I am visiting Mt. Rainier's IB science class in Communications where I usually have French. I remember feeling disappointed that my version of the same class was taught by a professor who didn't care and never gave us interesting labs.

Two Pictures of Sunflowers

Rick tells me he isn't going to teach class any more but that I should maybe continue studying Frank O'Hara. I nod. Rick's flannel shirt is very red and he darts off. Then I stare at the lights in my living room.