Imaginary Rabbits, Part 2
Jan. 27th, 2005 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
forsythI took the bottle and shook it. "It looks like water," I said.
"Of course it does, of course it does! But only to the uninitiated! The truly discerning can see the miracle contained within. THIS," he said dramatically, "is distilled dreams!"
"Uh, okay?"
"One drop of this mixture will give you a creative rush, like unto the finest of psychoactive drugs, with none of the messy side effects! This bottle alone contains the essence of the greatest dreams dreamed by the greatest dreamers of dreams! Children, drug addicts, old people lost in the memories of the glory days that never were! All available to you with any sip of this. Sweeter than the kiss of any muse, more enlightening than months of meditation on a chilly mountaintop, and it can be yours!"
He flourished the bottle dramatically. And equally dramatically, the label peeled off and floated to the ground. "Cheap glue?" I suggested, "So, what's the catch?"
"Catch? Why would there be a catch? I am a respectable businessman, all it will costs you is a mere twenty dollars for this bottle."
"It looks like tap water," I said, "And if it's really distilled dreams, why is it so cheap? Is it past the expiration date or something?"
"I am wounded, wounded good sir! These are only the finest distilled dreams. I'm just overstocked, and need to be rid of them before they go bad. I assure you they still work."
"I'm not gonna pay you twenty bucks for a bottle of tap water, whatever you are. Bye."
He stuck his arm in the door as I tried to shut it. "First one's free, kid. Just a taste, and you'll be sure to believe it."
"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to take drinks from strangers? Mine did."
"Just a sip, see? I'll even taste it first, so you can see," he said, producing two little flattened dixie cups from a pocket that hadn't been there five seconds ago. He filled one from the bottle, lifted it, and chugged. "Well?" I said.
He wasn't looking at me any more though, he was off in his own little world. "Yes!" he exclaimed, "And then Harry Potter will take over the Black Lion, and with Drizzit's help, they'll go defeat Darth Vader! And then the Princess will fall madly in love with me, despite only having known me five minutes. And then everything will explode! It'll be unique and exciting and unlike anything else! You see?"
I shut the door quietly, while he was raving. And then ignored the insistent knocks and his calls to offer me a taste. That's one of the problems with things today, cheap generic inspiration. Let this be a lesson, only buy the real stuff, or grow your own.
Tags: Rabbithole, Writing
Obligatory link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/crisper/26562.html
"Of course it does, of course it does! But only to the uninitiated! The truly discerning can see the miracle contained within. THIS," he said dramatically, "is distilled dreams!"
"Uh, okay?"
"One drop of this mixture will give you a creative rush, like unto the finest of psychoactive drugs, with none of the messy side effects! This bottle alone contains the essence of the greatest dreams dreamed by the greatest dreamers of dreams! Children, drug addicts, old people lost in the memories of the glory days that never were! All available to you with any sip of this. Sweeter than the kiss of any muse, more enlightening than months of meditation on a chilly mountaintop, and it can be yours!"
He flourished the bottle dramatically. And equally dramatically, the label peeled off and floated to the ground. "Cheap glue?" I suggested, "So, what's the catch?"
"Catch? Why would there be a catch? I am a respectable businessman, all it will costs you is a mere twenty dollars for this bottle."
"It looks like tap water," I said, "And if it's really distilled dreams, why is it so cheap? Is it past the expiration date or something?"
"I am wounded, wounded good sir! These are only the finest distilled dreams. I'm just overstocked, and need to be rid of them before they go bad. I assure you they still work."
"I'm not gonna pay you twenty bucks for a bottle of tap water, whatever you are. Bye."
He stuck his arm in the door as I tried to shut it. "First one's free, kid. Just a taste, and you'll be sure to believe it."
"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to take drinks from strangers? Mine did."
"Just a sip, see? I'll even taste it first, so you can see," he said, producing two little flattened dixie cups from a pocket that hadn't been there five seconds ago. He filled one from the bottle, lifted it, and chugged. "Well?" I said.
He wasn't looking at me any more though, he was off in his own little world. "Yes!" he exclaimed, "And then Harry Potter will take over the Black Lion, and with Drizzit's help, they'll go defeat Darth Vader! And then the Princess will fall madly in love with me, despite only having known me five minutes. And then everything will explode! It'll be unique and exciting and unlike anything else! You see?"
I shut the door quietly, while he was raving. And then ignored the insistent knocks and his calls to offer me a taste. That's one of the problems with things today, cheap generic inspiration. Let this be a lesson, only buy the real stuff, or grow your own.
Tags: Rabbithole, Writing
Obligatory link: http://www.livejournal.com/users/crisper/26562.html
