An earth-shaking crash and shrieks of terror behind Delia shattered the beautiful day. She whirled to find a ten-foot, silver robot blasting buildings with the weapon attached to his arm. For a moment she stood frozen in shock. Where had this mad man come from, and what was he doing on a busy street in Halifax?
The sleek machine appeared to have no specific target; it fired at buildings, vehicles and anyone who came within it’s sights. Smoke, fire, debris and bodies quickly littered the street.
A firm tug on Delia’s hand snapped her back to her senses. She looked down at her nine-year-old son Jack who stared at her with big eyes. The movement of the robot shook the ground and propelled her into motion. She tightly gripped Jack’s hand as they raced along the sidewalk.
Delia and her son tripped over flying debris and stumbled towards an adjacent street that would take them towards the waterfront. The death cries behind her urged her forward. A blast above her head made her duck and cover her son with her body. Something heavy struck her and she went down.
Jack knelt beside his mother, shaking her shoulder to wake her, but his efforts were futile. He bent low as the gigantic machine stopped beside him. Red roaming lights settled on the woman crumpled beneath the boy. It grabbed her arm and dragged her off the sidewalk towards the street Delia had dashed for.
Jack pursued. He screamed at the robot and threw rocks at it. He grabbed hold of his mother’s leg and tried to tug it from the machine’s grip. The robot ignored him and continued to march down the side street.
In his struggle to maintain a grip on his mother’s foot, Jack dropped the wet blue facecloth he carried. The lumbering robot stopped, whirled around and roared into the air. The facecloth hitting the pavement had unleashed a hidden anger that needed to be satisfied. The manic machine released Delia’s arm and strode past her and Jack. He walked up the street and blasted the building in front of him.
The noise woke Delia, and Jack helped her to her feet. Hand in hand, they raced down the road to safety.
…and then I woke up. I don’t often dream science fiction, but one night last week, I did. What genre do you dream?
Names of individuals were changed to protect their identify.
2 thoughts on “Rambling Dreams or a Science Fiction Story in the Making?”
My dreams generally are a jumble of unrelated events with no plot, often involving celebrities and minor people in my life. I’ve never detected a genre or theme, but I have had fantastical dreams and (at least one) science fiction dream. I know a lot of writers claim their best-selling idea came with a REM cycle, but mine never make enough sense to record, let alone stretch into 70 000+ words! Daydreams are much more productive, in my opinion! 😉
Great post, Diane.
Dreams into best-selling stories? I’ll take that. I do both: night and day dream. Daydream is great for working out plots and dialogue.