Session November 5 2016

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You're solving an imaginary problem, not a real one.
by BG

Zack was the last one. All the other competitors had taken their turn. He was the only one on stage now. He had been so nervous. It had started with butterflies in his stomach last night. he could not sleep so he tossed and turned for a good six hours then decided to get up. At that point he started heaving, which lasted another several hours until he found something in the medicine chest and took a couple of tablets. The effects finally kicked in and he dozed off for an hour from exhaustion caused by his stomach ailments, but he awoke with a start, in a cold sweat, because he dreamt he arrived too late for the competition. He showered, dressed and kept on sweating as he drove over to the auditorium. 

By the time he got there he was running a fever. Of course he had to draw the last spot to compete, which made him feel worse. He just could not calm himself down. He felt like he was burning up. Suddenly he just had to do something before his turn, so he threw himself on the floor to see if he could stop his burning sensation - thinking all the while, You're solving an imaginary problem, not a real one. You're really not burning up.

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He who controls the energy, controls the people.
by RMAF

The "upper brass" know many secrets of controlling the people, one of them being, he who controls the energy, controls the people. So they devised a way of inserting electronic hypnotizing devices and classical music CDs into the swans at the park. So everybody would be calm and serene and no dismay or fights would occur.

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She hardly ever speaks and when she does, it is as though she doesn't quite understand what you say.
by TNT

A handsome buck roamed the suburbs. He had a nine point rack of antlers. He nimbly avoided vehicles and didn't even turn his head and look at the people yelling at him. Sometimes he nibbled on lawns to the astonishment of neighbors looking out picture windows. Children wanted to pet him but parents wouldn't allow them to go near the wild animal. He was majestic and noble - his eyes bright with intelligence.

It was astonishing, almost wondrous that such a being as he would deign to visit a human suburb. Nobody knew what to make of it. Some people thought they should call animal control - some macho jerks wanted to shoot "it," probably to show off to girls and other fellows. But no-one did anything. It was controversial, but no one did anything. 

But a lady who hardly ever speaks and when she does, it is as though she doesn't quite understand what you say wrote on a big sign "Watch out for deer at crossing." So people made the buck their neighborhood mascot and were proud to show him to visitors. Visitors were always speechless with amazement and awe. But they minded the sign "Watch out for deer at crossing."

No-one did anything but restrain their dogs in the presence of the creature. Dogs were intimidated if they were single - but a pack of dogs finally drove the deer back into the woods. People think he got away because there was no sign of the buck anywhere. They all hoped he got away. They missed his presence, so they made a statue of him in the park. 

Children would pet the statue and even ride it. The children remembered that deer for a very long time and will someday tell their own children about it.

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This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, she thought sadly.
by MD

When Aleda signed up for the sculpture class through the community college adult school sculpture class, it was the realization of one of her bucket list fantasies.  Ever since childhood, she’d loved the process of shaping raw objects into works of three- dimensional beauty.  From mud pies to ceramics to lost wax casting to chipping away at small rocks and large boulders, Aleda knew that sculpture was her medium.

Regrettably, when her childhood was over and the trials and tribulations of what is known as “real life” became a part of her adulthood, sculpting became a part of her past.  The closest she came to a realization of her talent was the odd occasion when her break-time from her job at McDonald’s enabled her to sculpt raw hamburger into shapes vaguely resembling Rodin’s “Thinker.”  When her boss caught her, he put an immediate stop to it and threatened her with firing, or possible reporting to the board of health.  Sadly, Aleda put aside her artistic aspirations and ceased to attempt any sculptures.

So when she spied the “Beginning Sculpture” class offered for Senior Citizens in the college brochure, she signed up immediately.  After the first class, she took home her chicken wire and papier- mache mixture and set to work.  After several attempts to recreate the Winged Samothrace (Nike) from the photos of that magnificent sculpture she’d saved from a postcard from the Louvre, she heaved a deep sigh and gave up.  “This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be,” she thought sadly. She ceased her attempts to force her materials into the shapes she had in mind and allowed her hands to work at random, in an art form she termed “automatic shaping.” 

The tyrannosaurus rex which emerged from her efforts was as much a surprise to her classmates as it was to Aleda.  Even more astonishing were the accolades she received when she became the first student in the history of the class to sell her work. It sold to a desert dinosaur exhibit, which placed her sculpture at the side of the road near the ticket booth to attract passersby tourists.  “Well, maybe this IS the way it was supposed to be,” Aleda thought to herself.  "Next I will attempt a career as a movie star.”

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He stared at the pool with its lily pads and bioluminescent fish, and felt bad.

By CC

He felt bad most all the time now that he’d joined the pet circus, but he felt especially bad at certain times:  When they fed him pellets instead of wild greens, when he had to poop through little wire squares instead of under a bush, when he had to dress up in a bonnet once a year. But today would bring one of the most poignant of bad emotions. They had travelled to the country to set up the Rabbit Steeplechase, and from this course he would have a view of his former wild haunts.

When they lifted the door to his cage and he hopped out onto the race course, he stopped to look. He stared at the pool with its lily pads and bioluminescent fish, and felt bad. Very bad. So bad that he took off hopping at a clip, causing the humans to shout “Fluffy’s running. Catch him! Stop him!”

But he would not be stopped. Over the fence he leaped, glad for once of all the steeplechase fences he’d had to jump over the past few years. He took off towards the pool with the bioluminescent fish and leaped in.

When he dragged his wet furry body out of the pond on the far side, he was exhausted. But he was gleeful: It had worked. They didn’t know where he had gone. And yes, he was truly happy now, for the first time in years. Over the next few weeks he realized that living without a paycheck was more difficult than anticipated; he missed the pellets – were they addictive, like so many carbohydrates? – and the safety of his wire cage. This was living on the edge indeed. One day, emerging from the shelter of a bush, he spied a fox across the pond and decided to leap back into the water. It worked the first time, and it worked this time. 

He eventually did it so many times that he didn’t even notice when he became bioluminescent himself. Eventually it occurred to him that he was at a disadvantage, particularly at night, when predators seemed to find him much more easily than before. But he never really knew why.

Years later, when he passed away peacefully under his favorite bush, his fur glowed for several weeks, lighting the little glade with a pink shimmer.

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“Take your time, Harry. Start at the beginning,” he said.

by RC

Harry was the CEO of an up and coming company just off Wall Street, so certainly no one expected what happened to him. But you know, life is strange and you just never know what will happen. It all started when he went—well, perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start just after Harry made an appointment with a psychologist. When they aren’t jumping of windows, psychologists can often turn up the truth about people.

“Take your time, Harry. Start at the beginning,” he said—“he” being Dr. Francois Blizzard. I’m not quite sure why he said this, because to that point Harry had simply sat in front of him, perfectly at ease, with his hands in his lap curled around a large brass bell. I got this story directly from Harry, by the way.

“Well,” Harry began, “there isn’t much to tell. I went to this Turkish bath down on Market Street. The place was totally full of steam. Couldn’t see my way around, but I attempted to reach the baths. Met a strange gentleman on the way and he directed me. We went through a door into a room where there were lots of girls—I think it was this which surprised me the most—and the pool was so warm and comfortable that I didn’t want to leave. It actually seemed that I was there for an eternity, though maybe it was only twenty or thirty years.”

“Twenty or thirty years?” Dr. Blizzard remarked, scribbling on his pad. “How can you be sure?”

“Well, I can’t, really,” Harry replied. “But when I left, people had to drive their own cars, and now no one drives anymore. We also didn’t have a colony on Mars.”

“Self-driving cars? Colony on Mars?” the psychologist replied. “What world do you think you’re living on, Harry?”

“Well, this is Earth, isn’t it?” Harry said.

“Earth? Never heard of it. We are on Xy2A in the Plutarch solar system.”

“You know, Dr.,” Harry replied, “I think you should switch seats with me. And please do take my lovely hat, which I picked up in the Turkish bath. Here, take my bell, too. One ring from this and all the girls will come running. You’ll be in paradise!”

“But, but what are you going to do?”

“Me? I’m going back to work.”