Writer Unblocked

By Rachel H Grant

Bob stretched out his arms, the bed groaning as his body moved. He had dreamt of that world again, a paradise beyond the stars, a home to every new invention his mind could imagine, an intricacy of detail that his subconscious churned out night after night. Sometimes, it felt more real than his waking life.

The gardens high above the ground, steel supports lined with beautiful symbols gracefully falling to either side of silver lanes. Interactive maps within the paths, opening up when you stamp your foot, and using your foot you tap, tap and search for any destination … and then order a hovercraft to fly there.

A sun that never set in a sky of sapphire blue, alight with the heat of its rays and the harmony of the world below…

But this morning he landed back to the reality of a non-eventful, non-illustrious existence. Oh, what dreams he had had, the naive undergraduate studying history, enthusiasm for other times lighting his eyes with fire as he burned brain fuel to the small hours each morning. He would teach, he would inspire teenagers, moulding their minds with new ideas, empowering them to become the world figures of the future … reality was so dull in comparison, just keeping his pupils’ attention a battle, to ignite even the smallest interest in his subject an arduous achievement. At the end of each day he returned slowly home, wondering about his worth as a teacher, what difference he actually made. Sometimes the grades were good in exams, sometimes bad, but it did not matter, this game of numbers. The students came and went, but never did he see those flames in their eyes, that quest for knowledge that had powered him through college. Their minds were mundane.

The dream receded as he showered. But it would return. Perhaps that was all he lived for now, this other world, this fantasy place alight with all his mind could muster, a hundred histories aflame in one little world that existed just for him.

The day wound a path of pain through his head, ashes of discontent settling in his soul as the unlit fires of so many disinterested children roared in his head, as if somewhere in his brain their minds had burst in to flame, sparks of genius dancing in the wind of his dreams. Reality was so less romantic.

But romance threw flames at his heart in his nightly dreams. Her name was Jasmine, a silken haired waif with eyes on fire, dancing in a sparkling dress of fiery jewels. They walked together in the gardens that hung suspended over the city, and he confided in her all the drudgery of his real life. “But it’s not real!” she laughed. “This, here, now, is all you need.”

Then she was gone in the brutal toned sunset of a new day, the sun of his other world vanishing in front of his eyes.

He slowly opened his curtains, to be confronted by a red blaze across the sky, a timid sun finally showing its true colours after a week of rain. He smiled. The real world was not so bad, it was just … a living story of the death of his dreams.

Sighing, Bob dressed for work. Perhaps there was something new he could do, some alternative teaching style, anything to reignite an interest in history. But there was that one pupil, Paul, who had recently handed in a very thorough and accurately researched essay and, yes, baby flames of enthusiasm could be seen through the carefully handwritten words. Paul was one to keep an eye on, just one child, one spark of something special: that would make everything else worthwhile.

The day’s usual charcoal colour was brightened by Paul, his smile lighting his eyes with an inner curiosity. Bob felt the flames of excitement rekindle in his chest. What this pupil could be … the difference he, as teacher, could make, fanning the fires of intellect. Suddenly he remembered his youthful dreams, his yearning to be a teacher, his life to touch so many souls … and now here he was, making an impact on just the one, but that one worth it all.

That night, as he lay in bed, he allowed himself to dream of what Paul would do. Go to university, perhaps even to study history, a first class honours student. At Paul’s age, he could dream any dream, and still be young enough to achieve it. But, with bitterness, Bob reminded himself that Paul’s dreams belonged to Paul alone – they were not Bob’s to change.

His thoughts blurred in to an inner sunrise of joyous colour, a painter’s palette in the rain, colours running in to each other with avid abandon. Bob opened his eyes. He was in his bed in that other world, a hammock in an inside garden, plants resembling cacti stretching as high as the long windows, and a tiny fountain with its mesmerising music, a lullaby for a bedroom.

Slowly he descended, to join Jasmine where she ate fruit on their patio: pinks, purples and yellows happily married on her plate, a sunset for the appetite. “How were your dreams?” she murmured.

“Work is the same, apart from this one boy, Paul. Suddenly it is all worth it.”

“Is it really? Paul sounds like a metaphor of yourself, as you would have liked to be, as a young boy. But you have done so well. So what, that your historical novels of another world were never published, you have a fiery career, you are head teacher of the top school in the city! And it is time for these nightmares to stop. There is a solution.”

“There is?” Even though he knew he was dreaming, her words made so much sense. To stop a nightmare … from within a dream of paradise.

“This little yellow pill.” Jasmine offered it to him, smiling like the sun. “One a day. You’ll sleep, but you will not dream. I’ve secretly been taking it for years, ever since those horrible dreams about losing a baby. His name was Paul, my dream child … I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to upset you with my nightmares, but I fixed it myself. And now you will too.”

Paul looked out on a silver city kissed by radiant sunlight, pinks and oranges reflected in stained glass windows, birds singing to celebrate the new day. Slowly he took the pill.

That night, the hammock hissed as his body moved, but his mind was at peace. No more dreams.

In a far off world, a boy called Paul dreamed of the parents he never had, moving restlessly in his sleep. Then he was still, reality rearranging itself around him.

And in his dream, the sun began to rise, a dawn of red, orange and pink that set fire to his mind, freeing it forever.

By Rachel H Grant

A chill chased Melissa down to the library basement. As she flicked the light switch, shadows shunned her eyes. Century old bound journals grinned their triumph over time, kings of the archive, laughing at the long ago lives within their pages.

Melissa sighed. It was always cold in the basement. She had worked at the library for ten years, and it got colder here every year. It was unnerving being alone among the dust and the dead dreams.

One of the large bound journals fell over, the sound violent in the silent space. Melissa jumped. Why did items move or fall when she came here?

There were stories of a library ghost. Perhaps they were true.

The light flickered, sending shadows in to a spasm. Melissa shivered.

Then a hand touched her shoulder. She turned in alarm. There was no one there.

Hurriedly, Melissa filed the two large volumes in her hand, and retreated. As she turned off the light, the shadows became ominous.

Then she saw it. A glowing figure in front of her. There, but gone in a second.

Perhaps just the effect of the strange light and dark in there, shadows falling through the windows like the ugly sisters of light.

Melissa was relieved that she did not need to return to the basement in any hurry. As she climbed the stairs, the door behind her quietly clicked open. Darkness danced on the stairs, like hungry monsters trying to escape their dungeon.

Then light erased them as Melissa opened the door to the main library.

The next week, as she entered the basement, the open door behind her swung shut with a terrifying thud. This time, Melissa really jumped. The light flickered, then went out.

Her stomach writhing like a shadow, Melissa fumbled for the door. It would not open.

Then she realised she was clutching a shelf, not the door. A dim light dripped from the shaded windows. She found the door and opened it with relief.

Something touched her head.

She looked around. There was nothing there.

That night, as Melissa walked home, she kept looking behind her. She did not why. Shadows played with her heart, light and dark dancing within, a battle for belief. Believe in the shadows, acknowledge the ghost.

As she opened her front door, a hand touched her shoulder. Melissa stiffened. Her imagination was on fire, folly had stolen her mind.

That night, Melissa dreamt of sun sparkled lakes, and shadow filled forests. She turned in her sleep, a smile of surrender on her lips.

Then she heard it. A voice.

With a jolt Melissa was awake. However there was no one there. The house slumbered in peace.

Slowly she retreated once more to the shadows of sleep.

The next evening, Melissa decided to confront the shadows that were in her house and more and more in her heart. It was time for light! She decorated her stair banister with fairy lights, laughing as she did so. She did not believe in ghosts, she did not. The shadows would not haunt her. Even her own broken heart would not bewitch her, her dreams of a love years ago that could never be. No more ghosts, no meagre memories, a final goodbye to all demons as she switched on the merry lights.

That night, she turned in bed with a smile on her face. She danced with fairies in her dreams, the hunger for happiness in her heart finally satiated.

Then she rudely awoke as her body was shaken by icy fingers.

“Wake up!” The voice was real, it was there in the room with her.

Suddenly she smelt it. Smoke. Hurriedly she rose, racing down the stairs between the flames flirting with the banisters. Out of the house, she dialled the fire service. She always kept her mobile phone next to the door. Now she remembered why. She had always been afraid of fire.

Looking up, she saw a figure in her bedroom window. It waved, then was gone.

The fire service arrived quickly, and the damage to her house was not too extensive.

The ghost never returned, to her house or to the library. Melissa hoped she had found heaven. A final good deed that was the key to paradise.

She lingered in the basement at the library, seeking shadows that were gone. There was a thank you on her lips that would never be spoken. There was no one to hear. However in her heart, gratitude blossomed like a rose that could never die, a flower of forever, a thank you that had erased the shadows. It was time to dream again, the future was hers to rewrite. And as Melissa stared at the ancient journals, she decided to do just that.

Somewhere far away, a ghostly figure tended to her own roses, on the shores of the lakes of eternity. There were no shadows here, only the light of a sun that never set. A sky of reds and pinks kissed the earth, and its roses shivered in a breeze of better days. The figure looked at the sky, and smiled. She had found her forever.

By Rachel H Grant

Dedicated to my first class scientist father, thank you for igniting my love of sci-fi fiction

The planet Pyrena sparkled in the sky, a beacon of universal hope, a lighthouse in the cosmos. The planet’s scientists were the best, of anywhere, spearheading technological and medical advances that other planets would queue to buy.

Today, however, a cloud of gloom had formed over the Interplanetary Science Regulatory League building, its silver spires pointing at the sky like accusing fingers. Forensic feelings poured down their righteous rain. It was a day of reckoning.

Supreme Scientific Commander Timius regarded the assembled group with dark eyes. His translucent green skin bulged around his angry mouth.

“So it is true? You have launched a Level 3 experiment on Planet Earth with no assessment and approval from us? What has possessed you? This is an outrage, a cosmic crime!”

“But the circumstances,” protested Space Commander Meritus. “Earth is on the red list of countries capable of causing its own extinction event. We are therefore allowed to interfere without requiring approval.”

Meritus’ sea-green eyes glinted. “And we have only the best of intentions; we are there to help, not to harm.”

“Help? No harm?” stormed Timius. “Earth has a global pandemic that has killed millions and you tell me you have done no harm?”

“The casualties are very regrettable, yes. But a fraction of what would occur in a nuclear war. And we have made real and meaningful progress.”

“Meaningful progress in what, exactly? Introducing a new alien virus to a planet still too backward to be at the intercosmic table? Where is the choice and consent?”

“Our programme has involved a virus yes, but one which has no or very few symptoms in a majority. In that part of the experiment we have succeeded. The rate of transmission has ensured the success of the project. This virus – whether the carriers have symptoms or not – has and is enhancing the capacity of humans to love. It is a very powerful heart booster. The casualties, yes we regret them very much. But the experiment has worked.”

“But why choose a virus to disseminate heart energy? Why not choose a safer vehicle of transmission?”

“Because a virus is perfect. It will become endemic, every new generation will be exposed to a low degree and their hearts opened like a beautiful flower by the sun. A virus will never be suspected as alien. Earth will never know what has happened, the medicine that is at work. But the planet itself will know. As its population passionately combats climate change; as the psyche of the world is horrified at the prospect of nuclear conflict and takes all measures to stop this. Yes, each death we regret, but the bigger picture has saved Earth. This, we really believe.”

Meritus and his team continued to monitor the pandemic story on Planet Earth. Vaccines were not viewed as an obstruction: no, they were an opportunity.

“What can we add to each vaccine?” asked Meritus.

“They can be a further stage of our experiment,” suggested Nomina, a first class scientist who had mastered many breakthrough discoveries. “Each type of vaccine can be given its own ingredient: one for empathy, one for intelligence, one for reason, one for leadership, the list is endless, with every new vaccine we will introduce a new quality to boost.”

“And the persons who don’t take the vaccine?”

“They are also volunteers for our scientific experiment: they are our control group.”

Meritus nodded sagely. “It is the perfect scientific experiment. Scientific Commander Timius won’t like that we are interfering even further.”

“Then we only tell him when the results are in.” Nomina’s azure blue eyes sparkled with wisdom, like little oceans of yet to be discovered science, secrets deep in the shimmering waters.

Labs were entered and vaccine supplies were altered, all by invisible cloaked hands in the deep of night, the dark ocean time on Earth when the paranormal prowled – or, to be more exact, when intergalactic agents performed their tasks.

Data was sifted, analysed and some persons were placed on the of interest list. This was the real agenda: to find the Earth warriors, those who would change Earth’s future for the better.

A miracle child, with the intelligence boosting vaccine turned in to an adolescent genius. She was top of their list. Her name, aptly, Hope. Hope Smith.

Hope concerned herself with world peace, a small town activist as she grew up. At University, she studied bioscience. Meritus’ team were so impressed by her, they even considered first contact. That would be a historic moment, and she was the right person. However Earth was not ready yet. It would be too quick to bomb first and banter later.

Hope embarked on a PhD, studying the pineal gland and its role in spirituality and moral values. Meritus’ team were ecstatic. The human pineal gland was high on their research list, and here was a young woman carrying out this very research but without the important input of the universe’s leading minds! No, all by herself she created the pineal gland cure.

Hope dissected a pineal gland, her smile trying to reach her ears as her long ash blonde hair stroked her shoulders. This was the answer, she knew it. World peace in a gland.

She discovered that an enhanced pineal gland awarded humans with great moral and spiritual insight and premonition abilities. In short, those with a boosted pineal gland both saw the possible future, a possible global war. With their increased spirituality, they also knew how to avoid it.

Her PhD paper became a bestselling book: “The God Phenomenon: The Purpose and Presentience of the Pineal Gland.” Hope’s ambition: to give all world leaders the pineal gland boosting drug she had developed. She toured the world and gave interviews, fame circling her like wolves ready for a meal. They did not devour her, they gifted her a dream come true.

Most world leaders took the pill, and were televised and screened doing so the world over. The population began to demand it too. Soon, the whole world wished to enhance their pineal gland. And as they did so, leaders and subjects alike embraced world peace. Peace in the community, peace internationally, peace everywhere.

Hope sat still as a rock, a shadowy figure on the twilight seashore. As she gazed in to the dark depths of the ocean, she felt her heart cry with joy, burning tears like hot coals inside. Had she really achieved this? Had she lit a fire that would save them all, flames burning the old and creating a new, a better society?

“Hope.” The voice was low, the accent strange. Slowly she turned. A cloaked figure approached her, a face in shadows. However deep green eyes shone like little drops of shining ocean in the night. “I have waited a long time to meet you.”

In the still night, Hope, Earth scientist and peace activist, made silent history. First contact with an alien life. However, this time, there would be no bestselling book. This time, the secret was just for her. To the end of her life, she told no one.

Every week at nightfall, Hope visited the ocean, her favourite place. She gazed on the stars above, and smiled. One day, just one day, her friend might return, and take her away. One day, she would cruise the stars, swimming among them like a mermaid in the ocean, far from home but immersed in the impossibility and incredible depth of the cosmos. One day. For now, the sea would do, and as it gently stroked the shore, it listened to her secrets. And in the depths of the sea, secrets slept like a blessing still to be born. Because science never ends, there is always more to discover. And there is always hope, the lighthouse at the seashore that will guide us all home, a beacon of possibility in the night. Far above, the planet Pyrena sparkled in the sky. Hope sighed as a new tomorrow dawned.