I read with great interest the many articles on daydreaming. I daresay that each observation has merit. I thought it might be fun to decide whether the character in this little story is a "daydreamer." Here then, a creative writing approach to "Daydreaming."
A MOURNFUL EXPERIENCE
OK, here goes. I have been wanting to tell someone about this for a very long time, but I just couldn't. I didn't want to be made fun of and that is exactly what would have happened if I said anything to my friends. But, when my mom saw me brooding and I wouldn't talk about it, she suggested I write. "Because," she told me, "you can write anything you want and, no one has to see it but you."
I really wish someone had been with me that day, but I was alone. Well, I was alone for part of the day, anyway. I was down by the river it's my favorite spot in the whole world. I go there all the time. But, on this day I walked farther upstream than ever before. Pretty soon, I came to a spot with giant trees all around. They blocked out the sun so that it looked like a dark tunnel. I didn't know whether or not I wanted to go in, at first. Until, that is, I saw a deer and wanted a closer look.
It was nice and cool in the shade of the giant trees. Of course, I was never very good at being quiet, so I scared the deer away. Now that I was inside, though, it didn't seem so bad. There were lots of plants here I hadn't seen before and the river sounded different, kind of closed in and muffled-like.
I decided that today, in this a special place, I would be a pirate... a pirate who was searching for hidden treasure. I picked up a wooden sword from the riverbank and began a dialogue with my "mateys."
"Hey you, first-mate," I called out. "Jist what does ya think ye's a'doin runnin' ahead o'me like that?"
Everything was going along just fine. We were about to find the hidden treasure when I heard moaning ahead. Pausing, I craned my neck in the direction of the noise. Nothing. I took a couple steps in the gravel along the riverbank and this time, felt the reverberation of the sound a low, pitiful keening as if someone were in misery or pain! I stopped, wanting to get a bearing on it. Alas, all that greeted me was silence.
I was determined to stand my ground until I could focus on the racket well enough to identify it. But, whatever or whoever caused the clamor, seemed just as determined to wait me out! Finally, after what seemed like forever, I took a slow and determined step, listening to the rocks beneath my shoe. Gradually, I took another. Nothing.
At that point, I decided the whole thing had been my "wild imagination." (That's what my mom always says about my adventures). "Son, you sure have a wild imagination," she'll say. Frankly, I was grateful I had my something to blame it on. Thinking about my mom's reaction made me feel more confident though, so I went back to seeking the treasure.
"You there!" I called out to Master Ironclaws. "Circle about til we regain our bearings. We're about to lose our way!"
All at once my mateys and me rebounded as the wailing discord barraged our senses! I stopped dead in my tracks and directed my cronies to hush and listen. We was all standing still now, tuning our ears toward the deep shadows to catch even a hint of the low-sounding tone. The leaves rustled. We heard a bird calling in the distance, but the bawling had once again ceased.
There was nothing left but for us to set camp in this very spot and ponder the situation among ourselves. Our dialogue started low and subdued, each of us having a theory about what might be plaguing our journey.
"It's j'ist the wind," Old Wobbley Legs said.
"Naw, tis the branches that rub together when the animals move about," my first-mate offered.
"I'll tell ye what it is," I called, my voice gaining strength as I summoned up courage, "It's the ghost of Old Scarface his-self, tellin' us ta stay away from his treasure!"
"Aw, there ain't no such thing, says I," Master Ironclaws argued. "We ain't been run off no treasure for the likes of no one a'fore, and ain't no ghost gonna run us off now, neither! I tell ye, there ain't no such thing!"
"Well then, let's get back to our diggin," says I.
With that we all stood, hunting through bush and upending boulders.
We hadn't progressed ten yards upstream when the horrible lament began anew! Master Ironclaws turned white and was the first to run downstream, shouting as he went, "I ain't never comin' back here NEVER!"
Right on his heels followed Old Wobbley Legs and the first-mate. There I was, alone standing on one leg so as to keep quiet.
I stood as long as I could in that position afraid that if I moved the languishing, despondent and horrifying voice would return. My leg began to tremble, and still I stood my ground. Finally, when my leg was shakier than Old Wobbley's had ever thought of being, I set it down - quiet as a feather.
When my bones stopped rattling I considered my plight. My mateys were gone and I longed to be as far downstream as they were! There were three yards of stones between me and the soft soil next to the woods where my footsteps would be quiet; perhaps assisting escape. Perhaps not! What would I find in the woods? Was the ghost waiting there to snatch me to a doomed land?
I remained still, puzzling my dilemma for a very long time. Finally, I decided that I should use the same good sense as my crew mates and beat it downstream!.
I gathered my wits and scrambled toward the edge of the trees running faster than I believed possible! I felt my heart pounding in my chest and my breath coming in great gulps, but the agonizing rumble, the despondant hullabaloo trumpeted in my ears! Closer it was, gaining on me now, pushing me harder. Faster! Harder! It finally broke off chase when I reached the sunlight!
I get chills, remembering that day. I am shaking now, writing about it. I agree with Old Ironclaws for the first time since I've known him I will never go in there again NEVER!
Where do story ideas come from? This author shared the "inspiration" for this story. It was this article about beach "stones":
BARKING SANDS BEACH
Island of Kauai
For almost every aspect of Hawaiian life, there is a legend to explain the subject, but there is not always an explanation of the legend itself. So it is with the Legend of Barking Sands. Sound-producing sand grains constitute one of nature's most puzzling and least understood physical phenomena. Exactly what governs this sounding mechanism is still an open question. Research has been hindered both by the rarity of the event and the difficulty in reproducing the sounds in a laboratory environment. Barking Sands Beach on the Hawaiian island of Kauai is known for these unusual sand grains composed of materials that, when rubbed together, vibrate and create a bark-like noise. The beach is part of Polihale State Park located on the extreme northwest side of Kauai an area known as the Mana Plain where the beginning cliffs of the Na Pali can be seen. This wild and remote 17-mile long beach is one of the most beautiful stretches of white sand in the world and a wonderful place to experience nature. Though extremely secluded, there are showers, picnic tables and restrooms.
Barking Sands Beach ARTICLE WAS FOUND AT: