Chatterbox: Inkwell

This is not a solo write.

I will not be accepting characters from you.

This is not a novel.

There are no chapters. It is not yet written.

This is not a Castle.

You will not be writing this story. 

More than anything else, it is a dream.

A series of scenes, jumping back and forth between locations and ideas and characters. Controlled by someone else, something else. But happening to you.

This is motavation for me to finish writing something.

This is an attempt at a different sort of writing style. 

This is a story.

This is a logic puzzle.

This is...

The Night Book

~~~

Like most dreams, this begins as we lie in our beds, all of us seperate, yet connected by a thread of consciousness. Across the world, we rest our heads on our pillows and close our eyes, blocking the blueish darkness of our rooms with a different type of blackness, the drifting of our eyelids covering our eyes. At first only drooping slightly, barely covering the top of the iris. But, eventually, as exhastion overcomes us, our pupils are overcome as well, and, at last, our eyes are closed completely.

We do not sleep immediately.

First, our mind delves through the events of the day. School, staring at the glaring computer screen. Home, doing homework, reading, eating, scanning the Chatterbox. It attempts to make sense of everything that has happened. Thoughts scurry around, keeping us somewhere between being awake and being asleep. For a moment of forever, we are everything at once.

Then is the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

We are asleep now, but our minds still continue at work, not yet ready to begin the time of dreaming. Not yet. It will happen, but for now, our ideas have not been organized yet.

On our beds, we turn over onto our sides, attempting to become comfortable. The night has barely begun.

Then, the dream begins.