Creative Writing
from the dream backlog
I didn't recognize the building; massive and stone-hewed, it was on the outskirts of town and not attached to either of the colleges. The interior was exactly the same grey stone as the outside, lit only by multicolored neon beneath the glass blocks of the floor.
It took me a while to figure out where I was and where the class was. By the time I arrived, there were already about a dozen people sitting in the classroom. Despite the cyclopean architecture of the rest of the building, the classroom itself just looked like a classroom, complete with tiny graffiti'd desks and an overhead projector.
Complete five or more stories about any combination of the following:
Crows
The End of the World
A Secret That Shouldn't Have Been Kept
The Beginning of the World
Toshiro Meow (a Japanese Cat)
The Decline of the Presidency
Vending Machines (any kind)
"Yeah, I think everyone can get behind the ideas on their own," he said, "Actually, the reason I applied to teach here was this:" and he took a big brass ring of keys from his pocket. They were the keys to the roof, the stairs to which were in the classroom's closet.
The roof was flat and very high up, but completely planted as though it were an English garden -- hedges and all. There was even a fountain, and statuary and trellises everywhere. There were also soda machines.
"Isn't this something?" William sat down on a bench and took out a book. I looked around for a while and then went to the stairs to go back down. William stopped me:
"Hey, wait until the class leaves or they'll figure out where I went."