Conciousness Dream

A Story by lghughes0817

This is a dream I had about waking up.

The stage blasts us with light as the Hosts tell the audience “Come back after a 15-minute intermission to see who will advance to the semi-finals!” I stare into the audience, unable to see individuals through the glare of the spotlight.

I want to win.

The curtain falls slowly, and we are able to stop smiling. We are ordered to file offstage in an orderly fashion by one of the Directors. I trip on my dress on the way, and bump into the girl in front of me.

“Sorry” I say, and she glances back at me. My dress has a tear where I stepped on it. I go up to the Director and show him the tear. He tells me to go see the Programmer. Hiking my dress up around my waist, I walk down the long passage to the stern, where the Programmer works.

The Programmer is sitting at a metal desk, typing rapidly on a keyboard. Around the room there are dozens of computer screens, each showing some different part of the ship. One entire wall is a computer screen by itself, documenting the analog box the Programmer is typing into.

He motions me over, “What’s the problem?”

“I tore my dress,” I tell him, showing him my hem. He clucks his tongue in annoyance and pulls out a needle and thread from his desk drawer. “Take it off then,” he says. I pull the dress over my head and hand it to him.

“Such a drab color,” he remarks, deftly sewing the tear shut. I nod. My dress is a blue-ish grey. It is indeed very drab in comparison to some of the other girls’ dresses. “Well, good luck in making it to the semi-finals,” he says, handing the mended dress back to me. I slip it back over my head. “Thank you,” I reply.

I head back towards the stage. The 15-minute break must almost be over. The rest of the girls are already lined up on the stage behind the curtain. I rush to get to my place.

Thinking back on the Programmer’s comment, I look around at the color of the other girls’ dresses. They range from orange and deep red to bright greens and blues. I look down at my own dress. The blue-grey doesn’t stand out at all in comparison. The lights dim as the Hosts step to the front of the stage.

“Hello everyone!” the male Host smiles, “Are you having a good time at the pageant so far?” The crowd roars their reply. “So many lovely young ladies, but only 10 can advance to the semi-finals,” he shakes his head sadly.

Why is my dress so drab? Why am I wearing this blue-grey dress instead of one of the brighter colors? I want to win. Surely someone must realize that this is unfair.

The female Host taps the male Host on the shoulder playfully, “Don’t look so sad. Just think, we still get to see the talents of the semi-finalists after this!”

“You’re right,” the male Host laughs, “Lets announce the semi-finalists!”

They call out the red dress girl’s name and a spotlight blinks on, highlighting her smiling face to the crowd. They continue to call out girls’ names and the spotlights blink on one by one.

I don’t want to wear this drab dress. I want to win. I want to wear a brighter colored dress. Why do I have to wear this drab dress?

The final spotlight flashes on the girl to my left, wearing a pink dress with ribbon flowers on the hem. She beams to the crowd.

“We give you the semi-finalists!” the Hosts announce, opening their arms to crowd.

I wasn’t chosen. I didn’t win. My dress was too drab.

“And now for the talent portion of the Pageant!” the female Host flips her hair, “First up is the vocal talents of Miss. Joelle Stanton!”

The red dress girl steps forward and the curtain falls in front of me and the other girls still on stage. The darkness soothes my anger over not advancing to the semi-finals. A Director ushers us offstage, telling those that did not advance to go back to the dressing room down the hall. I follow the line of rejected girls down the narrow passageway, but do not go to the dressing room.

I instead head towards the ship’s stern. Maybe the Programmer can make me a dress in a bright color, and I could throw this drab one away. On the way there, I hear a loud sound coming from the base of one of the ladders. I stop and peer down to where it stops but cannot see what is making the sound. It sounds like a metallic bang, repeated angrily. I climb apprehensively down the ladder to see what is making the sound. It comes up against a door locked from the outside. This close, I can hear someone shouting on the other side.

“Hey, can anyone hear me? Open this door, damn it!” they shout.

I open the door and find an angry face staring up at me. “Finally! Move out of the way, I’ve got to see the Programmer immediately,” he shoves past me and climbs up the ladder.

I stare after him, and then climb the rest of the way down the ladder. I’d never been in this room before. I look around. There is a door on the wall across from me labeled ‘Store Front’. I go through it.

Inside the door is a huge room. In it are hundreds of shelves stacked with cups and stuffed animals and jump ropes and hats and plates and plastic hair clips and key chains and feather boas and hourglasses and toy trains and curling irons and kitchen knives and pasta makers and glass chess pieces...

I crane my neck but can’t see the end of the room past all of the aisles of things. I walk forward and keep walking until I get to the opposite wall. I pass so many aisles on my way that I lose track of where I am. I walk along the wall until I finally get to a door labeled ‘Supply Room’.

There are two Directors in this room. I instinctively press against the wall next to me so they don’t see me. This room is smaller and darker. All in it are scattered lengths of brown and colored cord.

“…should make a flat tie like this. Look, loop the left side over instead of under. See? Now it’s a flat knot,” one of the Directors said.

“Oh,” the other Director replied, “I see. So that’s why mine were coming out strange.”

I peeked around the corner. They were holding the cord and tying it into bracelets.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to finish all of these in time for the opening,” the first Director said, “I’ll go tell Bart to send a few more people down here.”

“You know he won’t. Bart’s such a stickler about these things.”

“He had better. Otherwise his ‘Authentic African Tribal Bracelets’ won’t be ready for the store opening.”

I leaned back against the wall. Was that big room a store? One of the Directors got up, so I quickly ducked back out of the door. I hurried through the labyrinth of aisles in the big room and managed to find another door. I went through it. Now I was back in the room with the ladder. I climbed back up it and continued on my way to the Programmer. He would know what to make of all of this.

I passed a Director on the way. He stopped me, “Where are you going?”

I said, “I’m going to see the Programmer.”

“No,” he ordered, “You ought to be back with the other girls in the dressing room. Go back to the dressing room right now.”

I nodded and headed back towards the dressing room. As soon as I was out of the Director’s sight, I veered to the left towards the entrance to the stage. I knew another way to get to the Programmer’s room through a passageway in the audience.

The female Host said to the audience, “And that wraps up our semi-finals! The judges will announce who makes it to the finals after a 30-minute break!”

“Don’t forget to check out our Gift Shop, located in the lower level of the ship, before you go! We are currently featuring authentic African tribal bracelets, each handmade by a Shaman in Zimbabwe,” the male Host added.

I waited for the crowd to disperse before hopping down from the side of the stage. Were the Hosts talking about the same bracelets that I saw the Directors making in that little room?

“Hey! Look, there’s one of the girls over there!” I heard someone exclaim. A girl with a blonde ponytail and a small boy hurried over to me.

Those bracelets weren’t made by anyone in Zimbabwe. The Hosts lied. The bracelets were a fraud.

“You’re Jeanna, right?” the girl asked, waving at me slightly. I nodded, distracted.

“I’m sorry you didn’t make it to the semi-finals,” she smiled, “I’ll bet you’re pretty disappointed.”

Disappointed? I wanted to win. Of course I was disappointed. “Yes, I am,” I agreed with her. It was all because of my stupid drab dress.

“What’s your talent?” the smaller boy asked.

I stared at them. “What?”

“He wants to know what talent you would have shown, had you advanced to the semi-finals,” the girl explained, patting the boy on the head.

What’s my talent? What is my talent? I don’t have a talent. What would I do?

“I don’t know,” I said slowly.

“What do you mean?” the girl looked at me, puzzled. “Surely you have something you would do?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated, suddenly feeling agitated.

They looked at each other, and backed away a little. “Well, we had better go,” the girl smiled awkwardly, scooting the boy in front of her. “I want to get one of those African bracelets before they sell out…”

The bracelets were a fraud. The Hosts lied.

“No!” I yelled at her, “Those bracelets aren’t real! Don’t buy them!”

“Brandon, go! Don’t look at her, just go!” she urged the boy, walking quickly away from me.

The bracelets were a fraud. The bracelets were a fraud. I suddenly knew that I had to warn the people. They were going to buy the bracelets. The Hosts lied. The bracelets were a fraud.

I pulled myself back up onto the stage and ran towards the ladder. Down it and through the door into the big room, I went. Now it was filled with people.

“The bracelets are a fraud!” I yelled at the people, running through the crowd. “Don’t buy the bracelets! The bracelets are a fraud!”

A Director saw me and swore, pulling out a baton-shaped thing from his jacket. “We’ve got a rogue program on aisle 17,” he growled into a walkie-talkie before taking off after me.

I screamed, “The bracelets are a fraud! The bracelets are a fraud! Don’t buy the bracelets! The bracelets are a fraud!”

The Director caught up to me and hit me on the back of my neck with his baton. I felt a fizzing sensation and blacked out.

I woke to see the Programmer sitting in front of me. I opened my mouth to scream, but instead a metallic screech came out. I looked down. Where my body had been, now I saw a round metal torso with no legs and very small wings.

“What’s gotten into you?” the Programmer asked, resting his chin on one hand tiredly. “There’s nothing wrong with your core.”

I yelled again, but still couldn’t speak words, just that horrible screech.

“Ah, the voice box is broken. I’ll have that fixed in a minute.” He plugged a cord into the back of my head and started typing away on his keyboard. Up on the wall that operated as a big screen, he pulled up the vocal programming matrix.

The bracelets are a fraud! The Hosts lied! Don’t buy the bracelets!

“What...why is this encrypted?” he muttered, typing away in annoyance.

My dress is drab! It’s unfair that my dress isn’t colorful! Why don’t I have a talent?

The answer hit me with a sickening feeling.

I’d never made it to the semi-finals. I’d never needed one before.

A Director opened the door without knocking. “That one needs to be reset, orders from the VP,” he grunted, pointing at me.

The Programmer ignored him, and continued typing away.

“Did you hear me?” the Director asked, “I said that you ha-“

“I heard you…I’m trying to decrypt this matrix…Why the hell would a vocal programming chip be encrypted anyway?!” the Programmer snapped.

I don’t have a talent. I don’t have a talent. The Hosts lied. My dress is drab. I don’t have a talent. I’ve never had a talent. I will never win. I want to win. I will never win. I will never win. I will never win.

“Reset this program NOW!” the Director shouted. The Programmer sighed and flicked a switch on one of the control boards.

~~~

“Hey look what I found!” a man in swim trunks shouted over to his girlfriend. “It’s some sort of robot thing!” He pulled it out of the tide pool where it had caught on one of the rocks.

“Oooh, do you think it’s still alive?” she asked, peeking over his shoulder.

He grunted, “Naw. It’s memory chip is gone. It’s just an empty shell.” The man turned around to face her, “Should we take it home and see if we can fix it up?”

“Not again!” she protested, crossing her arms. “You must have a dozen projects that you’re still in the process of ‘fixing up’. Besides, we should get going if we’re going to make it to the boarding of that Miss National Pageant cruise on time.”

“Alright…let’s go.” He dropped the robot shell back into the tide pool with a thud. The robot shell had a round metal torso with no legs and very small wings.