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This is my entry for LJ Idol. This week's topic is "Uncanny Valley."
"So, what's going on here?" asked the tall, bland-faced being, whose main distinguishing features were a gray suit, a clipboard, and a black-and-white nametag reading "Wakefield."
Cushman squirmed and tugged on his ill-fitting bright blue blazer. "A ninja attack," he answered, waving unconvincingly at the sinewy creatures in black pajamas and cowls, crawling and prancing like second-rate Spider-Men.
"And what are they carrying?"
"Staple guns," Cushman responded, his already pink face turning crimson.
Wakefield made a notation on his clipboard and gave Cushman an inscrutable face. "Shall we continue?" he asked. But Cushman's feet felt stuck in cement.
He looked down. Nope. Marshmallow. With effort, he squished out of the tub that had materialized beneath him, no doubt left behind by a careless Dream Bee. Cushman thought he remembered someone suggesting marshmallow as a substitute for clouds in a particularly troublesome beach scene under construction. Seems the cotton candy they'd been using didn't hold the shapes the dreamer required.
Cushman's steps stuck to the floor of the production studio, making a "squick-squick" sound that he hoped escaped Wakefield's attention. But little chance of that. Wakefield had eagle eyes, right now staring keenly at a rolling deep-blue ocean.
"Is that Poseidon?" Wakefield inquired.
Cushman nodded. He was rather proud of this one, with Poseidon's swirling dark hair and sea-green eyes, as the top half of his face rose slowly out of the waves, his mouth opening in an angry snarl.
"Quite detailed," Wakefield remarked, in what could almost pass for a compliment. "What happens next?"
"Nothing," Cushman had to admit. "The dreamer is scheduled to awake just then."
Silence as Wakefield made another note on the clipboard. Cushman's heart sank. This was the first visit from a Reality Inspector since Cushman had been promoted to the head of the Dream Department. He had no idea how to read the inspector's responses.
A group of Dream Bees interrupted the tour, stepping from behind a scaffolding. All of them wore the green-and-black striped shirts that served as their uniform. (They used to be yellow-and-black shirts until an unfortunate laundry accident.) "We're out of elevator cable," one of them announced.
"What do you need that for?" Cushman asked. He didn't remember any orders for elevators.
"Our dreamer is trying to find her way around her old high school, but everything keeps changing. So, there's an elevator now. But we don't have enough cable for it to go all the way up. Can we have it go sideways instead?"
Cushman answered, "Yes, sure," then stole a look at Wakefield. What would the inspector think? The blank face gave Cushman no clues.
As they turned the new corner, Wakefield gave an audible gasp. "Oh, my! What is THIS?"
A blonde dreamer in a FedEx truck ran around a corner on two wheels, chasing down a phalanx of rodeo clowns while papier mache alligators snapped from an open manhole. "I think it speaks for itself," Cushman said, lamely. Another mark on the clipboard.
More Dream Bees awaited them down the next circuitous hallway, brandishing odd props. An inflatable gorilla, an oversized pink candy cane, a fluffy teddy bear with moving eyes. "That ain't what they mean by a guerilla," one of the Dream Bees was telling the one holding the inflatable primate.
"Too bad," the gorilla holder replied. "I like it."
Wakefield made a "hrm" sound. Cushman's face flushed.
"You see," he told the inspector confidentially, "we've been having budget cuts for years. Lots of new workers, you know. We just had a bunch of century-old deebees retire."
Scritch-scritch-scritch went the pen.
Cushman stepped in another puddle of marshmallows. Seriously, guys!
"We're doing our best," he told the inspector weakly.
"I see," Wakefield said, absent-mindedly. "Is that about it?"
Thinking of the next room, which Cushman knew contained a zoo overrun with cosplayers in white lab coats splattered with red karo syrup, he nodded meekly. "Well, unless you want to see the Inspiration Room."
Wakefield gestured broadly with one palm, indicating Cushman should lead on. He squick-squicked down the mirror-lined hallway, then opened the sparkling-clean glass door.
Inside, a gorgeous sky spanned across a lush landscape. Fantastic creatures ambled through the scene, nibbling multicolored fruitful plants. An ever-changing melody, both familiar and groundbreaking, suffused the space. Dotted throughout the spacious room, which seemed to go on forever, were the shapes of dreamers: taking photographs with misshapen cameras, painting on angular easels, and writing furiously with invisible ink on fat notebooks.
Cushman always smiled in this room, which always made him feel good inside. Accomplished. As if he'd just figured something out that was very, very important.
After staring thoughtfully for a few moments, Wakefield sussed out the truth: "They won't be able to take any of that with them."
With a sheepish shrug, Cushman had to agree. "But at least they saw it, for a moment," he offered.
As Wakefield found the nearly imperceptible doorway, masquerading as a mangrove, and stepped out of the Inspiration Room, Cushman followed with a feeling of dread. There was nothing left to show. Now was the moment of truth. Would Cushman be demoted, back to a Dream Bee? Would he be reassigned? He'd been in the Dream Department for so long he didn't even know what other departments existed.
As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light in the hallway, Cushman became aware that Wakefield was handing him something. A certificate, reading "Passed."
"You're good. Post this somewhere visible," the Reality Inspector directed.
Cushman couldn't hide his surprise. "Really? But none of this is anywhere near reality, no matter how hard we try."
"Exactly," Wakefield said, with an uncharacteristically warm vocal inflection. "We wouldn't want it too close, would we? That's just creepy." Wakefield gave a theatrical shiver, and then a smile crept slowly across the bland face.
Cushman had to agree.
~~~
Feel free to share your oddest dream moments in the comments!
"So, what's going on here?" asked the tall, bland-faced being, whose main distinguishing features were a gray suit, a clipboard, and a black-and-white nametag reading "Wakefield."
Cushman squirmed and tugged on his ill-fitting bright blue blazer. "A ninja attack," he answered, waving unconvincingly at the sinewy creatures in black pajamas and cowls, crawling and prancing like second-rate Spider-Men.
"And what are they carrying?"
"Staple guns," Cushman responded, his already pink face turning crimson.
Wakefield made a notation on his clipboard and gave Cushman an inscrutable face. "Shall we continue?" he asked. But Cushman's feet felt stuck in cement.
He looked down. Nope. Marshmallow. With effort, he squished out of the tub that had materialized beneath him, no doubt left behind by a careless Dream Bee. Cushman thought he remembered someone suggesting marshmallow as a substitute for clouds in a particularly troublesome beach scene under construction. Seems the cotton candy they'd been using didn't hold the shapes the dreamer required.
Cushman's steps stuck to the floor of the production studio, making a "squick-squick" sound that he hoped escaped Wakefield's attention. But little chance of that. Wakefield had eagle eyes, right now staring keenly at a rolling deep-blue ocean.
"Is that Poseidon?" Wakefield inquired.
Cushman nodded. He was rather proud of this one, with Poseidon's swirling dark hair and sea-green eyes, as the top half of his face rose slowly out of the waves, his mouth opening in an angry snarl.
"Quite detailed," Wakefield remarked, in what could almost pass for a compliment. "What happens next?"
"Nothing," Cushman had to admit. "The dreamer is scheduled to awake just then."
Silence as Wakefield made another note on the clipboard. Cushman's heart sank. This was the first visit from a Reality Inspector since Cushman had been promoted to the head of the Dream Department. He had no idea how to read the inspector's responses.
A group of Dream Bees interrupted the tour, stepping from behind a scaffolding. All of them wore the green-and-black striped shirts that served as their uniform. (They used to be yellow-and-black shirts until an unfortunate laundry accident.) "We're out of elevator cable," one of them announced.
"What do you need that for?" Cushman asked. He didn't remember any orders for elevators.
"Our dreamer is trying to find her way around her old high school, but everything keeps changing. So, there's an elevator now. But we don't have enough cable for it to go all the way up. Can we have it go sideways instead?"
Cushman answered, "Yes, sure," then stole a look at Wakefield. What would the inspector think? The blank face gave Cushman no clues.
As they turned the new corner, Wakefield gave an audible gasp. "Oh, my! What is THIS?"
A blonde dreamer in a FedEx truck ran around a corner on two wheels, chasing down a phalanx of rodeo clowns while papier mache alligators snapped from an open manhole. "I think it speaks for itself," Cushman said, lamely. Another mark on the clipboard.
More Dream Bees awaited them down the next circuitous hallway, brandishing odd props. An inflatable gorilla, an oversized pink candy cane, a fluffy teddy bear with moving eyes. "That ain't what they mean by a guerilla," one of the Dream Bees was telling the one holding the inflatable primate.
"Too bad," the gorilla holder replied. "I like it."
Wakefield made a "hrm" sound. Cushman's face flushed.
"You see," he told the inspector confidentially, "we've been having budget cuts for years. Lots of new workers, you know. We just had a bunch of century-old deebees retire."
Scritch-scritch-scritch went the pen.
Cushman stepped in another puddle of marshmallows. Seriously, guys!
"We're doing our best," he told the inspector weakly.
"I see," Wakefield said, absent-mindedly. "Is that about it?"
Thinking of the next room, which Cushman knew contained a zoo overrun with cosplayers in white lab coats splattered with red karo syrup, he nodded meekly. "Well, unless you want to see the Inspiration Room."
Wakefield gestured broadly with one palm, indicating Cushman should lead on. He squick-squicked down the mirror-lined hallway, then opened the sparkling-clean glass door.
Inside, a gorgeous sky spanned across a lush landscape. Fantastic creatures ambled through the scene, nibbling multicolored fruitful plants. An ever-changing melody, both familiar and groundbreaking, suffused the space. Dotted throughout the spacious room, which seemed to go on forever, were the shapes of dreamers: taking photographs with misshapen cameras, painting on angular easels, and writing furiously with invisible ink on fat notebooks.
Cushman always smiled in this room, which always made him feel good inside. Accomplished. As if he'd just figured something out that was very, very important.
After staring thoughtfully for a few moments, Wakefield sussed out the truth: "They won't be able to take any of that with them."
With a sheepish shrug, Cushman had to agree. "But at least they saw it, for a moment," he offered.
As Wakefield found the nearly imperceptible doorway, masquerading as a mangrove, and stepped out of the Inspiration Room, Cushman followed with a feeling of dread. There was nothing left to show. Now was the moment of truth. Would Cushman be demoted, back to a Dream Bee? Would he be reassigned? He'd been in the Dream Department for so long he didn't even know what other departments existed.
As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light in the hallway, Cushman became aware that Wakefield was handing him something. A certificate, reading "Passed."
"You're good. Post this somewhere visible," the Reality Inspector directed.
Cushman couldn't hide his surprise. "Really? But none of this is anywhere near reality, no matter how hard we try."
"Exactly," Wakefield said, with an uncharacteristically warm vocal inflection. "We wouldn't want it too close, would we? That's just creepy." Wakefield gave a theatrical shiver, and then a smile crept slowly across the bland face.
Cushman had to agree.
~~~
Feel free to share your oddest dream moments in the comments!
no subject
Date: 2024-07-31 09:38 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-07-31 11:53 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-07-31 11:39 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-07-31 11:54 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-08-01 01:53 am (UTC)From:Ha, this is why all my dreams are so messed up! LOL Well okay, probably not.
Your description of the Inspiration Room was awesome. They should have as many dreams as possible take place there!
Great entry!
Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-08-01 02:06 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-08-01 02:39 am (UTC)From:I liked the staple guns for the ninjas, and rodeo clowns should probably not be allowed to roam the earth any more freely than any other type of clown. :O
I have weird dreams almost every night, so it would be hard to choose. The one in which I was a frog comes to mind. And how annoying to only ever be able to croak!
no subject
Date: 2024-08-01 03:28 am (UTC)From:I rarely remember my dreams, but one was from over 30 years ago - I was in a public bathroom somewhere, and I recall noticing that I had 7 fingers on one hand and 9 on the other. Hubby and my first date was on 7/9 that year.
no subject
Date: 2024-08-01 09:25 am (UTC)From:no subject
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Date: 2024-08-02 02:11 am (UTC)From:This was really good, Alyce. I enjoyed it a lot. ❤
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Date: 2024-08-02 05:29 pm (UTC)From:no subject
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Date: 2024-08-03 03:32 pm (UTC)From:- Erulisse (one L)
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Date: 2024-08-03 10:52 pm (UTC)From: