Writing Project #10: Dreaming Star
I have little to say about this one. It "clicked" and I dashed it out in roughly 20 minutes, only to realize it simply worked.



The crowd roared with appreciation and joy, as the blond girl bowed and raised the microphone to them. "Thank you, Charlotte!" She called out into it a moment later. "Good night!" She waved, and curtsied before heading off backstage. The roar rose, and they began chanting her name. Technicians accepted her wireless headset, where she heard her music and stage prompts and also used a discrete microphone to help.

"Hey, Gen." Her manager sidled up, the older gentleman handing her a jacket. She slipped it on without thinking. "You did good out there, except that one slip. I don't think they caught it."

"No, I tried to mix it in. So I missed the note by one. They love me anyway." She grabbed a water bottle from a cart as she passed and took a long drink. That missed note bothered her, because for a second she had felt like she was somewhere else. She shook her head to clear it, a tune starting in the back of her mind.

The drive back to her hotel room was quiet, discrete. When you're a pop music singer, with as big a following as Gen Rivers, you had to take precautions. Crazy fans would do anything to get things out of you. She began to tap her foot to the tune in her head, not one of hers but it was familiar anyway. She didn't know why, but it sounded pleasant.

At the hotel room she picked up the small pile of mail by the door; they screened out her fan-mail for her to reply when she had the time. Which was not immediately after a late concert. Nevertheless, there was an envelope stuck in the midst of the bills and notices, the paper feeling thick and the front written in cursive.

"Genevieve Goldstein."

A fan-mail which slipped by, probably because of the name. How had they found out her real name? Or was it something more important? She slipped a pencil into the edge and opened it with a sharp motion, seeing a folded card inside. She took it out, plain cream-colored paper. The front was covered with an intricate weave of lines and patterns which made her pause. Tracing a fingertip along it, she felt no indentation, no furrow where a pen or stamp had put it into the paper. The inside was likewise written in a simple script, easy to read yet looking classical in many ways.

"Miss Goldstein, as a person with your best interests at heart I implore you to be careful. You are a very popular woman, and you have a wonderful life. One might say you are living the dream. But it is very easy to slip from dream to nightmare . . . or something else. Never forget how to wake up."

It wasn't signed, just a single rune or other character which resembled two single chevrons facing each other with a line down the left side. She tossed it aside, and snorted to herself. So some crazy person had her real name, she'd have to let Mac know so he could keep an eye on things. No sense leaving herself open to identity theft in this day and age.

Gen stripped down and stepped into the shower, turning on the water. She closed her eyes and began to wash up, humming the tune from the car under her breath; it sounded so good she might have to make a song out of it. A cool breeze swept over her face, and her eyes snapped open.

She was standing in a forest at night, water pouring down around her in a gentle rain as a bluish moon cast light down through the leaves. It was silent, no night birds, no wind. She looked around, and felt exposed as her hands moved to cover herself; it wasn't just the clothing, it was the strange location.

And yet it felt . . . familiar.

She took a step, feeling leaves crackle under her foot. It certainly didn't feel like a dream, it felt very real. The forest seemed to envelop her, welcome her and invite her in. The young woman walked less hesitantly, eyes searching for something to help her understand why this place seemed so familiar.

Then without warning she reached a clearing, with a stone bench sitting in the middle before a basin. In the basin there was a fire burning, but that wasn't what made her pause. Nor was it knowing the clearing had come completely unaware to her, and she hadn't seen the flame for certain. What gave her pause was the flame flickered a bright violet color, and didn't seem to cast light.

"Welcome." The voice seemed to come from behind the basin, a warm tone which seemed meant to put her at ease. It wasn't working, just making her tighten up more. "No need to fear, this is one of the few safe sanctuaries for dreamers in these troubled times."

"Where am I?"

"In a forest. In a place which is quite dangerous ordinarily. In a world which you have never set foot in, though it's been in your dreams before." Gen blinked, realizing it did sound right; she might have dreamed this place before, and that would explain the familiar feeling. But in dreams, everything seemed familiar and nothing out of place; that's what she read in an article some years ago. "Though you should be welcome to stay, it is best if you didn't." The voice broke into her thoughts again. "Things are quite . . . unbalanced here at the moment."

"What do you mean? Who are you?"

"Me? Just a guide." The voice sounded amused, and the flame flickered. "To keep the wandering dreamers from getting lost forever." A wind started to kick up, and a chill crept over Gen's body. "I'm going to send you back now. I hope you are careful to avoid coming here again. It isn't safe. As pleasant as this place feels, there is danger for you."

"What danger?!" She tried to peer through the flickering flames to see the speaker, walking forward. "What kind of danger? Someone wants to hurt me? Kidnapping? Ransom?"

"Oh they don't have a need for money, Genevieve. They have a need for that lovely voice of yours. Now, be a good girl and wake up."

Gen felt a jolt, and then she blinked her eyes a few times as ash swept into them. The world spun, and she next opened her eyes to see her shower . . . the water running barely warm over her. She reached out to turn it off, and stopped as she heard the door to the bathroom open.

"Who's there?" She called, and quickly reached for a towel through the curtain.

There was a moment, and a voice swore, sounding odd. "Oh no, not another one . . . Max was fit to kill last time." There was a snap of the shower curtains, and two pairs of blue eyes met, though they were very different. Standing there was something like a tall white dog standing on her hind legs, though with a definite feminine form, and long blond hair behind her. The voice, the eyes . . .

"Who the hell are you?" Gen felt her heart speed up, as she stood up. Just the right height . . . no, impossible.

"Who the hell am I?! I'm Eve Goldstein, who the hell are YOU?!" The canine said, sounding just as shocked. They stared for a long time at each other, and spoke softly as one.

"Genevieve Goldstein?"

Then they both fainted, one onto the floor and the other back into the shower's bottom.