Depressed that Shadow bad mouthed his novel so viciously in the previous blog entry (Editor’s Note: how’s that for continuity?), Brick fell asleep at his desk watching re-runs of Everybody Hates Chris.
After a confusing sprint through a fictional composite of Bed-Stuy and Times Square, Brick found himself on the Upper East Side where, for some reason there were medieval Scottish ruins instead of central park. He approached a small crowd and found out there was a ‘maze’ contest where contestants had to get to the center of a ruined castle and out quicker than anyone else. Intrigued, Brick signed up. The contest began and he wandered through the cracked halls of the old estate. Ancient oak doors, crumbling limestone and rusted iron chains hung from the walls as he stepped over and through the broken sculptures and archways. He reached an opening where the sun shined on an exposed patch of grass covered in smashed monuments from a long forgotten era.
Once he crossed that open area, he felt light in the head and collapsed on the stone road. He was awoken by a ringing. The second part of the contest had now begun. While he was unconscious, Brick’s dream avatar had been moved to an unknown part of the castle ruins and it was his job to make his way back to the entrance before anyone else did. He scrambled to his feet and opened the rotten wooden door and sprinted down the corridor, looking around every corner for a familiar landmark. You know how it is when you get lost, you try to find a familiar point of reference to navigate your way back. Am I repeating myself? Oh no. I’m lost in my own rhetoric. What was I saying? Oh no… I’m lost. I need to find some familiar landmark. Hmmm… Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before…
Franticly he ran, breathless and exhausted until he saw the sunlight in the cracked garden he had passed through before. His mind was racing for he didn’t see anyone else running around. Had they all finished? Were they still asleep? Were they… you know? He found the hallway that he had been in earlier that day. He opened the door, forgot about the Eagles’ 1976 album and raced across the street to the front office. He searched through the rooms and saw ornate collections of gold and onyx but no people. In one room he found a cartoonish helmet of blonde hair and tinted goggles and put it on. Suddenly, he started to see people in the rooms, which were now just ordinary offices.
“Congratulations!” they yelled. “You won.”
“Was I the first?” he asked.
“No, you were the last. But you were the best.”
He went down to the bursar’s office to redeem his prize. While waiting on line with the other contestants, Brick ran into an old classmate of his, a lovely woman with blonde hair, brown eyes and a wicked sense of humor (Editor's Note: of course you'd have to meet her to know that, since this is a dream without much dialogue so you'll just have to trust me. Us. Them?). They both joked about the ridiculousness of the contest. She told him how they both would have died had he not found that helmet lying around the front office. Caught up in a sudden realization of the fragile, fleeting nature of their directionless lives, they kissed, and what a kiss it was! (Editor’s Note: obligatory romantic ending that was tacked on to make an otherwise boring story somewhat sexier.)
Brick woke up and saw Tigerman standing next to his desk, arms crossed, tapping his foot.
“Huh?”
“You were supposed to drive me to the vet, Brick.”
“Oops. Sorry. Must have dozed off, what a dream. It wasn’t lame or poorly written in the least.”
“Slate had to take me. You know what riding a motorcycle at high speeds does to my fur?”
“No…”
“You don’t even want to know!” he said as he stormed off.
Brick sat at his desk, stunned. “I’ve got to get a job. I can’t stand these guys anymore.”
Will Brick get a job? What was Tigerman doing at the vet’s office? Will Slate continue driving a motorcycle without a license? Will Shadow’s next poetry anthology contain any new dirty limericks? And why does everyone in the band hate one another all of a sudden?
Stay tuned!
And now, I give you, Mick Ronson! Oh, and David Bowie too.
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