A while back I mentioned having a dream about a very strange world which I am currently trying to translate into a story. That effort is currently still in the handwritten in-a-notebook stages. I made a big deal about it because it was the first story idea that had ever been the product of a dream.
Well, it happened again last night. It was a very odd and brief flash of a scene. It creeped me out to the point where it actually stirred me awake. Upon waking, the idea seemd hazy (as most dreams tend to do), but I got the gist of it. And I was thinking to myself, “That would make a very cool beginning to a short story.”
And so this morning, before I started working, I took ten minutes to write down what I remembered about the scene before I forgot about it. Here it is, in its newborn stages. And sadly, it’s the most I’ve written all week. Here’s hoping the weekend will prove more productive!
I first knew that there was something odd going on when I heard the following broadcast over the police scanner that sits like an ancient spy atop my dresser. Some of the words might not be exact, but to the best of my recollection it went something like this:
“Hey, uh, Dispatch? Dispatch, come in.”
“This is dispatch. Is this Pagent?”
“Yeah, Officer Pagent here. I uh—,”
“What can we do for you, Officer Pagent?” By this point, the lady behind the dispatch desk has already noted a hint of fear in Pagent’s voice. Her own voice had suddenly grown light and wavering, an edge that made her sound like a monotone robot when mixed with the underlying sheet of static that runs behind every single broadcast on the old police scanner.
“We have a seventeen year old male, unconscious, possible OD. Non-responsive…um, barely breathing. I don’t know who it is, I—oh shit, I think…”
There was a pause here and God only knows how long Pagent would have gone without speaking if Dispatch hadn’t have brought him around.
“Pagent? What is it?”
“Doesn’t make any sense. None.”
“Pagent, what’s your location? We’ll send someone over there.”
“Don’t bother,” was Pagent’s reply. And then, following another brief silence there, Pagent said, “Wait ten minutes and then send someone.”
Dispatch asked him “Why?” but he never responded.
Pagent’s funeral was three days later.