ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
A college student with graduation in site. Has lived around the country. Likes people and doing new things. [December 2004]
Waking Up To Light Jessica M Brown
James never asked for anything twice. At age four, his bedtime was later than most 18 year olds; his meals were comprised of ice cream, chocolate syrup, and brownies galore. At seven, things didn’t change much. His room was a maze of GI Joes, toy cars, and video games. On his tenth birthday, he crashed his go-cart into the neighbor’s daughter and his mom blamed it on the “clumsy girl.” James’ mom sued and won. The McAlister’s always won.
At James’ High School graduation, his parent’s presented him with a fiery, red Porsche. This display not only upstaged the entire graduating class, but made it clear that James McAlister would always have whatever he wanted.
College was different. James couldn’t get his mommy or daddy to call Professor Jameson and have his chemistry grade changed from an unfortunate D- to a warranted A. There was no way James could get what he wanted now.
With this reality of life, for the first time, going through James’ mind, he took a drive in his new shiny -black Beemer with tinted windows, Xm radio, and 20 inch rims. The rain gracefully rolled off his luxury car onto the flooding country back streets.
James rolled his eyes and banged his hands on the black leather steering wheel cover. He had no idea where this drive had taken him. He stopped the car, remained still for a minute, and then began adjusting his satellite radio. Nothing good was on. He twisted the knob fast. The music stopped and James was left with no entertainment.
James pinched his right eyebrow; as he always did that when no entertainment was around. He looked around his car for something else to do. His chemistry book lay on the passenger side floor. He picked it up, lifted one eyebrow, rolled down the driver side window, and chucked it. “Slop,” as the book filled with scientific equations and basic components of the Earth landed in a muddy pile of cow manure.
It never crossed James’s mind to get out and pick up the book. He has always been above consequences. He just reclined in his seat and closed his eyes.
A dim, silent room, filled with cords and technology, held James. His flashy car was now a cube of metal and plastic. James, not aware of his situation, kept dreaming.
In his dream, people were dancing on clouds, skittles were floating, and bowls of chocolate and popcorn laid everywhere. Any movie you wanted was on the skyscraper-size screen. There were hundreds of fancy cars on display, black ones, white ones, yellow ones, pink ones. He could drive which ever he wanted. But the best part of the dream was the women. They had blond hair, brown hair, long hair, short hair, perfect bodies, long legs; every attribute a man would every want for a woman. And they all wanted him. This dream was James’ ideal dream.
It switched, just as dreams often do, to a dark, murky, place. It was James’ biggest nightmare. Being alone, without anything, stuck.
“Why can’t I move?” In frustration, James strained every muscle, pulled every tendon, but still, nothing moved. No matter how hard he concentrated, James would not wake up.
“Hi Jamie dear.”
“Mom! Oh thank . . .”
“It’s good to see you.” He felt the stroke of her hand on his forehead.
“Mom, where are you? I can’t see you; it’s too dark.
“The doctors say you aren’t looking any better and we should brace ourselves for the worst.”
“What are you talking . . .?
“This might be the last time I see you honey. We have held on . . .”
“MOM. Can you hear me?”
James’ mother, deaf to his words, kept talking. “Of course she can’t. I’m in a nightmare.” The beeping persisted.
“I’m never going to get out of this!”
The beeping stopped; only one continuous beep sounded.
“Finally, I’m waking up,” as the room got brighter.
READER'S REVIEWS (1) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Very descriptive, and entertaining. Just a 'tad' repetitive in one spot. i enjoyed it and would return to read it again for enjoyment. I would like to see more of this author's stories! Thanks for a nice piece of work!" -- J. Young, Halls, Tennessee, USA.
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