# November 2015 - LM - Dream Thief



## kilroy214 (Oct 31, 2015)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS
*
*Dream Thief*​
The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.  

This is a Fiction writing competition, and the prompt is 'Dream Thief.' Pick your own title, write about whatever you want, as long as it's related in some way to the prompt. 

 The Judges for this round are: *LeeC*, *midnightpoet* , *AtleanWordsmith* and *amsawtel**l*
 If you want to judge and I left you out, send me your scores by the deadline. If you're listed here and don't wish to judge, let me know at once (please).

 All entries that wish to retain their first rights should post in the LM Workshop Thread.

 All Judges scores will be PMed to *kilroy214*. 

All anonymous entries will be PMed to *kilroy214*.


*Rules*






*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum. 
*No Poetry!* Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges. Play the prose-poem game at your own risk. 
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there. 
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored. 
*Only one entry per member.* 
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.* If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word is the standard for checking this. If you are unsure of the wordcount and don't have Word, please send your story to me and I'll check it for you. 





*There are a few ways to post your entry:*






If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread. 
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *Workshop* which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted. 
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score. 



Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score. Please refrain from 'like'-ing or 'lol'-ing an entry until the scores are posted.

Judges: In the tradition of LM competitions of yore, if you could send the scores one week after deadline it will ensure a timely release of scores and minimize the overall implementation of porkforking. Please see the *Judging Guidelines* if you have questions. Following the suggested formatting will be much appreciated, too. 

*This competition will close on:*

Sunday, the 15th of November at 11:59 PM, GMT time. 

Scores would be appreciated by Wednesday , the 25th of November. 

Click here for the current time.


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## kilroy214 (Nov 5, 2015)

Anonymous entry
The Column


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## kilroy214 (Nov 8, 2015)

Anonymous Entry
Somniloquy
643 words


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## Hairball (Nov 9, 2015)

My entry:

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...LM-Dream-Thief-Workshop?p=1930036#post1930036

476 words.


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## ppsage (Nov 11, 2015)

Dream Thief


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## W.Goepner (Nov 12, 2015)

REM SLEEP (word count 646)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ief-Workshop?p=1931287&viewfull=1#post1931287


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## StephLondon (Nov 12, 2015)

http://www.writingforums.com/threads/161302-November-2015-LM-Dream-Thief-Workshop?p=1931367&viewfull=1#post1931367


Dreams Stolen
644 words


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## Darkkin (Nov 12, 2015)

*Song of a Thief*

Song of a Thief: Word Count 638

It was a face of austere planes and angles that peered between the weather hunched branches of the tree.  Patiently, she waited, eyes fixed on the scene just beyond the leaded glass.  Candlelight spilled across a bed containing a single, decidedly red-haired child.  A girl, no more than eight summers old, engrossed in a curious book.  How it had come into this particular child’s possession mattered naught, what mattered was the fact that the book had survived.  The stories were still alive.  The purge hadn’t destroyed them.

The wind picked up, spitting sleet and hail as it roared in from the north.  Huddling deeper in the scant protection of tangled branches, she tightened her grip.  There were others watching this night.  If the book had survived, it would be safe to assume that _they_ also lurked somewhere close by.  In the past, they had proven nearly impossible to destroy.  And with the dying of the light, if her suspicions were right, they would come.

The girl would have to guard the book; she would defend the girl.  
_
Dammit_!  She thought, slamming her foot against a lower bough, the noise unheard over the rising howl of the storm.  How was it she landed herself in these situations?  This was supposed to be a simple endeavor; retrieve the dreams and leave.  But she couldn’t, not with so much at stake.  The dreams of these children held the key.  If they lost even one; it could seal their fate.

The guttering of the candle drew her from her musings.  There was a soft rush of breath; the smell of smoke filled her nose.  Total darkness, their element.  

Endowed with the sensitivity of a night predator, she probed the deepest shadows, the rolls of thickening fog.  The scents were those of a winter faded garden, earthy and damp.  Only the smoke drifting from the extinguished candle tinged against her senses.  Nothing with a pulse stirred, the absence both comforting and disturbing.  They knew what she was, this Dream Thief.

The breathing of the child became measured and deep, her pulse the lone drub in the night.  The thief’s own heart was still, her oddly luminous eyes were another matter.  They flickered from one branch to the next, one rain drop to another, searching for any sign of danger.  The thief, herself, was a soul divided between the beast and the mortal.  And it was only through the songs of the beast she could harvest the dreams.

As the child slipped further into sleep, the thief’s soul began to sing, calling to memories locked away in the blood of the child.  She was Tribe, just as the thief was.  An old soul sang, the young soul answered.

Delicate and elusive as a wisp of perfume, the dreams took shape.  These memories, marvelous dreams to an innocent, were what the thief had come for.  Now, those great, predatory eyes were fixated solely on their frail, silvered prize.

Reaching into the pouch at her back, the thief drew forth an object.  A fish float.  Deftly, her thin fingers traced the smooth surface of the orb, rendering it malleable.  Her touch with the songs was that of a virtuoso, which is why she excelled at her current profession.  There was none better.

The silvery smoke began to circle in time to the thief’s beckoning call, streaming out through a small chink at the base of the window casement.  An impish smile slashed across her face as she tucked the filaments into the float.  Quickly she restored the glass to its original state, only now it glowed with the dreams.  The child slept on.

Tucking the float away, the thief delved into the night again, seeking any hint of danger.  She found it, just beyond the garden wall.  Two figures hunched in the alley.  They were here.


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## rcallaci (Nov 12, 2015)

*The Stuff of Dreams*

The Stuff of Dreams (650 Words)
(An interlude in the space opera serial ‘Androids do indeed Dream of Heaven and Hell’

Juliana Nova bolted upright from the bed that she shared with her lover, best friend and creator, Dr Barabbas Covington. Beads of artificial perspiration dripped out of her synthetic pores. She felt a sense of alarm and dread. Her dreams were being altered and transformed into nightmare. She was being hacked, but by whom?

Barabbas held her gently in his arms. He felt her trembling which was a cause for concern. These nightmares must be truly terrifying in order to cause this reaction in Juliana. There was no way that her dream sequence protocols along with her memory stems that he programmed in the hippocampus section of her artificial brain, would create nightmares such as these. Her dreams were being attacked from without, by a malicious virus that somehow entered into her neuron receptors. Somehow he needed to shut that virus down before irreparable harm was done to his beloved. 

“We need to do a complete diagnostic of your neural pathways. Something alien has infected them. I fear that this malicious virus has taken on an artificial intelligence of its own. This Dream Thief is stealing your dreams and leaving nightmares in its wake. I can turn off your dream protocols, but I fear this may affect parts of your memory as well. In the meantime you need to shut down your emotional receptors. It would be easier for us to work on this problem if you weren’t feeling this emotional pain. I also can’t bear to see you suffer like this.” 

Juliana was comforted by his touch and his great love for her made her feel truly alive. It didn’t matter to her if her feelings for him were artificial or real. She felt them all the same and that’s all that mattered. She could turn them off, but by doing so it would rob her of the joy she felt about being alive. Humans and her Cyborg counterparts live in fear every day, why not her as well? No, she needed to fight this interloper on her own terms. She needed to embrace her nightmares, learn to control her terror and get to know who and what her enemy is. She needed to know her enemy as well as herself, in order to defeat him, her, or whatever it claimed to be. She was determined to get this bug out of her head, there was only room for one entity to reside there, and she was determined that entity was going to be her.

“Don’t worry my love; I need to face my demons head on. I will not change who or what I am, for the sake of its twisted desires. I will continue with these nightmares until I’m able to control them. Then, and only then, will I strike at the beast and destroy it. To do so, I must be in possession of my entire faculties. My emotions only make me stronger, not weaker, and to give up the love I feel for you, even if it’s only for a second, is not an option that I will consider.”

They cried holding on to each other tight and fell back to an uneasy sleep. 

……….​
Juliana faced the fire breathing dragon head on. It belched out its fire, Juliana was enveloped in flames but knew that they were made only of nightmare stuff. She hacked away at the dragon with her sword and chopped it to pieces. The sliced up dragon then morphed into a dark shadowy figure. Here at last was her real enemy. Face to face they stood and to her surprise the thing bowed before her. 
It said,

“You have faced your demons and realized they are what you make of them. I am not some outside virus; I am but a part of you, the beast that lies within all living things. You are now truly alive. I am called Soul...  





The End​


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## bazz cargo (Nov 12, 2015)

*Captain Rehab And The Hunt For Moby Duck*
by
bazz cargo (341 and  half words).

_Call me Izzy._

 'Twas a dark and stormy night and the ship was close hauled by the poop when there came  a cry from the crow's nest. 'A vast behind!'  

 There,  in the wake of Iquod, a wallowing old scow was  flecking from wave to wave in an attempt to catch the cursed ducking ship. The old scow  had a mast made of broken oars and a sail sewn together out of crinoline dresses, 'cos it was the fashion in those days that ladies wore lots of crinoline.  It caught the wind just fine but the screams as it was furled would lurk in the memory for days. Maybe they should have taken the ladies out of the dresses first.  

 Captain Rehab stumped across the deck on his two wooden legs. “Who be you?” he bellowed into the wind.

 “Jehovah's  Witness, would you be interested in saving your soul?” came the faint reply.  

 “I done sold my soul to the D'eil himself,  in revenge on Moby Duck. It was from him I got these here wooden legs.”

 “I expect they looked better on the duck.”

 “Away with ye, ye milksop Bible waggers. Unless... h'a ye seen the giant mallard at all?”

 “Nay old mad man, all we seen is a flock of tinned flying fish.”

 “Well stop following us and we won't drop this bait on ye.”

 “What are you using for bait?”

 “A giant slice of white bread.”

 “Aieeee... White bread is not good for ducks.”

 The Captains glass eye gleamed with malice. “Tiz true, but he has to be here on this pond somewheres and when we lure the mighty leviaduck into the range of my harpoon, loaded with a sharpened orange, his goose will be cooked.”

 Just then, from the dark as pitch sky,  a gargantuan series of windy gusts announced the imminent arrival of a giant duck.

 A buzzing sound, the like no mortal man can hear without a chill running down his spine.  

 The bloody alarm clo....


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## Teb (Nov 12, 2015)

*Tale Of The Unexpected (650 Words)*


http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ief-Workshop?p=1931493&viewfull=1#post1931493


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## ned (Nov 13, 2015)

*Dream Thief*

*.
Dream Thief *-  (640 words - adult language) by ned.

Manchester United's training ground, Wednesday afternoon.

'That's enough, boys!' Shouts Perry, the Under 20s Coach, through slanting rain as we lap the astro-pitch.
'Grab your bibs, usual teams!'  Signals the start of our practice match, with Perry refereeing.

Halfway through, I spot a new spectator, standing in the lee of the bench shelter. The larger than life figure of the Gaffer has come by, to give us a rare once-over. Others notice, and soon tackles start flying as we ramp up the tempo.
Ritchie, my co-striker, chases a high, bouncing ball, clumsily clattering the keeper. A blatant foul, but when there’s no whistle, I instinctively slam the loose ball into the unguarded net. No exuberant celebrations on the Gaffer‘s watch.  Acting the professional, I touch hands with Ritchie and jog back to the half-way line.

Next morning, Perry pops his head into the changing room.
‘Hoody!‘ The Gaffer wants a word.’ I look up, wide-eyed. ‘Now!’ He adds, and I scurry out toward the training ground offices, my heart fluttering.

Of course, I’ve met the Gaffer a couple of times before. Once, when I first signed as  a schoolboy, and again later, when I was put on a monthly retainer - not a professional contract, but not out the door, just yet. I wonder which option the Gaffer has in mind today - holding the power to make or break my dreams.

The door is open, and I tentatively stand in the doorway while the Gaffer sits at his desk, intent on a report, before glancing up.
‘Ah, Jason, come in’ he says, standing up and holding out a hand. ‘Congratulations young man, you’re in the first-team squad for Saturday’ and I limply shake his hand in shock. ‘Perry will give you the details, now on your way son, back to training’.

Being in the squad didn’t mean being in the team or even among the substitutes, but I‘m on the first-team bus and that’s just fine, as we head for an away trip to non-league Barrow in the third round of the FA Cup. 
The mood is pretty quiet with most of the regulars missing. Playing against minnows in the cup gives managers a chance to rest their stars and let the old pros in the reserves have a run-out - and maybe, blood a youngster or two. 

When we pull up, there’s bedlam. Fans from both sides crowd around the bus, chanting over each other. The old pros look unfazed as they grab their gear and head for the exit. I follow suit and we wind through a throng of love and hate, finally reaching the sanctuary of the changing room. Looking around, I see the famous red shirts hanging-up neatly in a row and think I’ve arrived in paradise. 
‘What a fucking shit-hole!’ I hear someone else say.
John, the Assistant Manager, approaches with the team sheet, ‘Hoody, you’re on the bench, number 15’.

Five minutes to go, and the place is rocking. Barrow are one nil up and well on top, heading for one of the biggest cup shocks ever. John comes over, looking desperate. ‘Banksy, Hoody, get stripped and warmed up'.
I’m like a greyhound out of the traps, keenly stretching, trying to catch the Gaffer’s eye, and before I know it, my number’s up and I’m running on to the pitch, making my Manchester United debut.

The next day, the papers are full of it. ‘Prince of Thieves’ reads one headline. 
‘Jason Hood shattered the dreams of thousands of Barrow fans with an injury time equalizer that stole an undeserved draw for United, and a replay at Old Trafford’. 
There‘s a picture of me, swivelled and balanced, scoring the goal, and I am struck by the caption below, that simply says  -  Dream Thief.
.


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## aj47 (Nov 14, 2015)

The Meaning of Love


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## Harper J. Cole (Nov 15, 2015)

*Insider Information (638 words)**content warning*

After what seemed like hours of searching, Jackson found his golf ball. It was resting on the top of a gigantic toadstool.

How it had got there, he wasn’t sure – in fact, he couldn’t even remember taking his previous shot – but the important thing was that he could finally finish the 18[SUP]th[/SUP], go home, and change out of this pink nightgown, which was several sizes too small for him.

Checking his bag, he was annoyed to find that the only club in there was over two metres long, and made of a soft, rubbery material; just hitting the ball would enough of a challenge, let alone getting it past the elephants and onto the green.

Turning back to the toadstool, he saw his ball rolling away down the hill. It vanished into a group of his colleagues from the office.

‘Great. Excuse me, guys.’ There was something contemptuous about the way they ignored him as he wound his way through them. Perhaps because of how he was dressed? Well, who were they to talk? Every single one of them was naked, save for a duvet wrapped around his or her waist.

‘Sir, are you looking for your golf ball?’

The young woman who’d spoken was a stranger to Jackson. She was pale, with long dark hair. Her feet were just visible beneath the hem of her plain white robe.

_I hope she’s not too young,_ mused Jackson.

‘19 years old,’ she said. ‘I’m Hypnosa. We can legally have sex. I’ve checked with your wife, of course. She doesn’t mind.’

‘That was thoughtful.’

‘You just need to finish this hole first,’ said Hypnosa. She slipped nimbly onto his back, coiling her legs around his waist while her arms folded tightly over his chest. ‘Let’s find your ball. I hope it’s not under lock and key.’

He saw it further down the slope, and sure enough, it had rolled into a little metal cage, which was now closed and padlocked.

‘I hope it’s not a combination lock,’ said Hypnosa.

It was. Jackson could see a little space where you were meant to write in the correct combination. Fortunately, he had a pencil with him. But what was the code?

‘Should I just guess?’

‘Try your bank account number. That opens most cages, doesn’t it?’

Yes, now that she mentioned it, he could recall opening quite a few of them. Crouching down, he found that there was just enough room for the seven-digit number. He wrote it in.

‘5318008,’ said Hypnosa, sounding sad. ‘That’s the number.’

Jackson moved his ball two club lengths from the cage, as was his right, and began lining up his next shot. Suddenly, he became aware that Hypnosa’s grip on him had grown painfully tight. When she spoke again, her voice was the lightest whisper.

‘Please. I need your help. I’m not a part of your dream, I come from outside. They’re making me use my gift to find people’s secrets, just so they can make money. They’ve got my sister too; if I refuse then they’ll hurt her. I’ve only got a few seconds before they call me back, so listen carefully. We’re being held in a barn about two miles east of Ayr. It has a black door, and holes in the roof. Tell the police! They can …’

Her voice faded out abruptly, as did her body. This upset Jackson enough that he woke up.

_That was a strange one, _he thought, glancing with a twinge of guilt at his wife, asleep beside him. _I shouldn’t drink right before going to bed._

A few days later, Jackson’s bank rang to give him the unpleasant news that some £10,000 had been withdrawn from his account. Somehow, thieves had gotten hold of his security code.

But he’d already forgotten his dream by then.


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## chrisatola (Nov 15, 2015)

Laudanum Waves (648 words)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ief-Workshop?p=1932343&viewfull=1#post1932343


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## Sleepwriter (Nov 15, 2015)

*It's Just Business   516 words*

The butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t let Carlos sleep.   It was the night of the new moon he could barely see his hand in front of his face.   With his rolled up jacket under his head, he stared at the millions of stars that peppered the sky.


  “On your feet, it’s time to go!” a disembodied voice shouted.


Carlos looked around as nineteen shadows came to life and began rising from the ground.    


“Over here!”  the voice said.


Fifty feet away, he could see a man waving a flashlight at the ground.  It was their guide, a foul-smelling man.   


 “Listen up!  Everyone get in a line, starting here,“  he said, pointing to his feet.   


Once the line was formed, he walked up to each person and hung a glow stick on their back.  Carlos was at the end of the line.  The guide smiled when he reached him.  His mouth was full of bits of refried beans where his teeth should be.  He leaned in close to Carlos.     


“Only the bravest stand at the end.”  The words of encouragement were overpowered by his rancid breath.  Choking back vomit Carlos managed to squeak out a thank you.


“Okay.  I only have three rules; number one, no talking.  Number two, no lights.  Number three, no falling behind.  Abide by these rules and you will make it, don’t and well let’s just say I don’t give second chances.   So are there any questions?”   The guide flashed his light at the crowd.


“Yes, I have one?”  A boy who looked to be in his late teens said as he raised his hand.


The guide walked over and put his arm around the young man and squeezed him tight.  “So my friend, before I answer your question, will you answer one for me?”


“Sure.”


“I spoke clearly, no?”


“You were very clear.”


“Are you sure?  I’ve been told that I can speak a little soft and be hard to hear.”


“Oh no, I heard all the rules.  No talking, no lights and no falling behind.”


“I see.” The corners of the guide’s mouth turned down, elongating his face. “I appreciate you choosing me as your coyote.  You had many choices, but you chose me; which makes this next part so difficult.  I must take away your American dream.”


A quizzical look spread across the boy’s face.  He never saw the guide pull the revolver from his belt.   The gunshot echoed across the dunes.   The boy’s limp body fell to the ground.   


 “Any other questions?” 


There was no reply this time.


Carlos had been watching the glow sticks sway back and forth for hours as they walked.  He was hypnotized by their rhythmic pattern and almost bumped into the person in front of him when they stopped at a tall chain link fence.     

  [FONT=&quot]
“Okay muchachos, this is where I leave you.   Once you cross this fence, you will be in America.  If I have provided you with excellent customer service, please leave me positive feedback on Yell, and like me on Bookface.  If not, remember I know where your families live, adios!”[/FONT]


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## godofwine (Nov 15, 2015)

Sweet Dreams - Godofwine (650 Words)


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## kilroy214 (Nov 16, 2015)

Smith
Soothsaying
http://www.writingforums.com/thread...LM-Dream-Thief-Workshop?p=1927165#post1927165


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