Novel Excerpt: A Crazy Dream Sequence

Apologies once again for the late post. I do usually post on Sundays, but this past Sunday was Easter, after all. Busy times. Deal with it. :P

Anyway. Recently, I randomly decided to open up the novel I wrote for NaNoWriMo last November and skim through it, just for fun. Now, unfortunately, this novel turned out pretty badly — that is, most of it was really just me making up random nonsense as I went, so the whole thing just devolved into one big pile of slop. Part of this was due to lack of planning, but it was also due to my being in college for the first time.

However, as I was reading this novel, I actually found myself laughing. The dry, stream-of-consciousness tone I used a lot throughout the novel was actually making me crack up, and I had to stop reading because I was in the student union and I didn’t want to make a scene.

So, I thought I’d share the excerpt that was making me laugh, and hopefully it’ll make you laugh, too. Fair warning: this is extremely weird stuff that I was literally making up as I went along. Please do not think badly of me when you’ve finished reading it. Please.

You have been warned.

macrobringit


Ian floated along a sea of ice cream. It was really awesome. His boat was made of cream cheese, and how it managed to stay afloat above ice cream, he had no idea. It didn’t matter. Yelling with delight, he let down the anchor made of Pop Tarts and leaped out into the ice cream. Thankfully, it wasn’t soft serve, so he was able to lie on top of it. He didn’t even care about how cold it was. He dove right in, eating to his heart’s content. Mmmm. Chocolate.
He looked over to his right. There, the sun sat low in the sky, bathing all the ice cream in a savory orange glow, which was really pretty and all, but it also made it a bit more difficult to figure out what flavor was what. He thought he saw vanilla, but it was actually strawberry.
Strawberry.
He shouted, “Strawberry’s my favorite!”
And he ran across the ice cream sea to the strawberry part. After eating some, he made ice cream angels. This was way too much fun. Unfortunately, he soon felt a bit woozy. He had a really bad ice cream headache, and it wouldn’t go away.
Then he looked to the side and saw Ava standing there, for some reason dressed in a chicken suit.
“Ava, what are you doing in my dream?” he demanded. “You can’t have my ice cream! It’s mine. My own. My precious.”
“Shut up, geek,” she snapped. “I’m dressed like this because it’s Halloween. Duh.”
“No it isn’t,” Ian said. “It’s Hanukkah.”
“You don’t even celebrate Hanukkah.”
“Well, yeah, but today is Hanukkah.”
“No it’s not.”
“Prove it.”
“Okay,” Ava said. She pulled a calendar out from her suit. “Here, look. It’s the last day of October. That’s Halloween. Not Hanukkah.”
“Oh, whatever,” Ian sighed. “Just leave me alone with my ice cream.”
“Why do you love ice cream so much?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “I mean, yeah, ice cream is amazing and all, but I think you’re taking this a bit too far.”
Ian couldn’t believe his ears. Here was Ava, dressed in a chicken suit . . . a chicken suit. A CHICKEN SUIT. And she was trying to tell him that he was taking things too far. How dare she. How dare she at all. That sentence didn’t even make any sense, but you know what, we’re back to mindless padding again, so who cares anyway?
Ian stared at her. He stared long and hard. She just stood there, looking more like a chicken than ever. Finally, he decided that he could stand her no longer.
He pulled out a magic wand from his pants pocket.
“Where did you get that?” Ava asked.
He didn’t answer. He concentrated hard, and with the maaaaagical powers of imaaaaginaaaation, he brought to life a catapult. It was a really big one, too. Like really big. So big that it could launch an entire person. Well, I guess most catapults are already big enough to launch an entire person, but this one was so big that it could launch an entire person dressed in a chicken suit, like Ava was.
It was perfect. He grinned evilly at her. Then he pointed the wand at her and whispered the magic words to himself, which I will not utter in this narration, because a magician never reveals his secrets and all that stupid stuff. Then, Ava began to hover in the air. She screamed. She didn’t like it at all. She hated heights, or at least she did in this random dream sequence. Slowly, Ian raised her up even more and then brought her moving to the side, watching with delight as she kicked and flailed all the while.
“You, Ava, my nemesis, can never hope to escape the magical powers of Ian Campbell, lord of all wizards and cool stuff like that! I’m even cooler than Harry Potter! And Harry Potter is super cool, you know. He has cool friends, he went to a cool school, he had lots of cool adventures, he defeated Voldemort with cool magic stuff, and he is just so cool, you know what I’m saying? Oh, and his lightning scar is really cool, too. It’s lightning-y. I might even be cooler than Gandalf. Yeah, I am. Gandalf is cool and stuff, but I’m cooler than he is. Much, much cooler. He just wears a boring old white robe—but that is only if you are talking about when he comes back whiter than before, because otherwise he wears a boring old grey cloak. I wear cool clothes. So there.”
“Are you done rambling?” Ava shouted. “And let me down already! You’re mean. Like, so mean. Like meaner than Draco Malfoy, since you seem to be going on a Harry Potter tangent or whatever. Draco never levitated Harry, so why should you levitate me? I don’t like this. I want you to put me down NOW!”
Ian had timed things perfectly. He said, “Of course,” and he let her down.
It turns out that she had been hovering over the launching part of the catapult for the last few seconds, and Ian now seized his chance. He raised his wand, pointed it at the catapult, and using the maaaaaaagical spell of imaaaaaginaaaation, he shot Ava away somewhere across the end of the ice cream sea. He giggled like a toddler as he heard her screaming through the air.
Now that that was settled, he could get back to his ice cream. He kept eating to his heart’s content, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, there came a deer.
This was no ordinary deer. It was standing on its hind legs, giving it a freakish humanoid appearance in posture. Other than that, it did look rather normal, save one other feature: it had a long white beard a lot like Dumbledore’s. I know I just said that there was one other odd feature about the deer, but I lied. Now there is one more odd feature I want you to know about the deer: it was wearing glasses. Glasses and long beards help make people look wiser, and that was what the deer wanted to look like. Or at least I’m assuming so. The deer has never told me otherwise.
The deer looked at Ian. With a very serious expression, it asked him: “Do you love ice cream?”
Ian nodded. “Yes. I love ice cream. It’s mine. My own. My precious. I could eat it every day, every hour, every minute, every second. It’s amazingly super stupendously awesometastic and full of deliciousness and lots of cool stuff like that.”
The wise old deer nodded. “That makes perfect sense to me. Now, I have a suggestion for you.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Are you listening?”
“Of course I’m listening. Wait a minute . . . you’re not going to suggest that I share my ice cream, are you? Because yes, I know there is a lot of it—heck, it’s an entire ocean—but I’m telling you, it’s mine, and no one else can have it. At all. Goodbye. The end.”
“Well, I was not going to suggest that you share your ice cream,” the wise old deer said, wisely and endearingly. (There was a pun in that last word. Go ahead, I’ll wait for you to find it. Once you’re done, laugh. Then move on to the next pitiful paragraph.) (Hey, I’m a poet!)
“What were you going to suggest, then?” Ian asked curiously, like a curious person. Notice how I said “like a curious person.” That means that he did not ask the question like Curious George. He was not a monkey, after all, and whatever scientists said, he did not believe that he was descended from monkeys or any sort of monkey creature . . . person.
The wise old deer smiled wisely and endearingly. “Maybe you should marry ice cream since you love it so much.”
Ian positively beamed with joy at this thought. “You mean it, deer guy with a beard? You really mean it? You really think I ought to marry ice cream?”
“I think so, yes,” the wise old deer said wisely and endearingly. “You have certainly proven yourself worthy of it. Why not give it a go? Then your spouse can truly become a part of you . . . when you eat it.”
“AWESOME!” Ian shouted. He closed his eyes and made a wish on a twinkly, sparkling, shining star that was only visible to naked mole rats, but that he knew was there anyway, because a little birdie told him that a turtle told him that an eagle told him that a flamingo told him that a purple elephant told him that a platypus told him that the naked mole rats had their own star. It’s pretty sick, actually. Sick meaning cool, you know.
What was the wish on this star that Ian made? He wished that his dream wedding to ice cream would come to life right before his eyes. And so it did. There was his bride, all in white, a tub of ice cream in a lovely vanilla dress standing next to him in front of an altar constructed of a block of ice cream.
“You look so beautiful,” he told his bride.
“Thank you,” his bride said, smiling. It is impossible to describe exactly what this looked like. It’s ice cream, after all. It doesn’t exactly have a face. And last I checked it doesn’t have the ability to talk. Then again, this is a dream scene, so that doesn’t matter now, does it?
Ian stared at his bride. “No really, you look so . . . so . . . beautiful . . . almost good enough to . . . to . . .”
“To what?” she asked.
“To . . . to eat.” He licked his lips.
And before the wedding ceremony could even take place, he had eaten his bride, dress and all. Thankfully, he hadn’t invited anyone to his wedding, otherwise people may have gotten just the teensiest tiniest bit frightened.


. . . Just like everyone who makes it to the end of this post!

Hopefully I’ll have a slightly more normal post for you guys next week!