What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Dream - Part 2 - by Sven Pertelson

I had been lured into a sham garden and no had no way of returning home....

Time to be logical. As far as I could tell this was not a dream. What resources had I got? Not a long list. Dressing gown, dressing gown belt, some blue fluff in left dressing gown pocket, in the right pocket an envelope, probably a bill, I had picked up from the door mat as I came downstairs. If only I had paid more attention to the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy I would have had my towel with me.

I plucked a few of the sticks and paper flowers from the flower bed and carefully backtracked to where I thought I had entered the garden from my home. I needed to mark the spot, just in case.

The sticks would not penetrate the rubbery layer under the grass. I thought for a few moments and started constructing a tripod, a couple of loose threads from the hem of my only garment served to join the top together. Completed, I set my construction on the ground where its three legs gracefully slid apart and laid flat on the ground. Grrrr. Time to get three more sticks and construct a tetrahedron and sacrifice some more cotton. Success! Now I had a marker, which when adorned with a few paper flowers would be a visible marker of my starting point. Time to explore, but in what direction?

I stood for a few moments to try and find some way of gauging direction. The clouds seemed to be the best bet. They came into view behind me, passed overhead, and vanished again at the horizon. The direction did not seem to change or be related to the breeze. If the sky was as false and simply constructed as the rest of the surroundings then this might work. I set out, cloud-ward, walking with the clouds.

As I passed the first trees I began to see that the minimum of effort had been made toward realism. Only the front of the trees were painted or textured. The back of the trees were plain and supported with a couple of pieces of rough lumber. Those might come in useful if it turned cold and I could get them alight. Whoever had done the set dressing here had only meant it to be viewed from the window that had appeared in my house. The further I walked the less realistic and smaller the trees and flower beds became. The tufted grass gave way to a simple green rubbery surface. Soon the trees were shorter than I was.

I must not have been paying attention when I hit my forehead on the sky. I had reached the edge of the world, and a lot sooner than I expected. Looking behind me I could just make out my starting point. All in all just over a thousand paces, call it half a mile. So a mile in diameter, just over three miles in circumference. Small enough the make it reasonable to search for a way out, like the Truman Show.

The sky was hard and cool with a glass like feel. The clouds moved just beyond it, now I could see closely they were pixellated, so computer generated. Where the sky met the edge of the world there was a wall about four feet high painted like a horizon. I walked back a few yards and broke one of the small trees from its base. Something to mark my starting point on the rim and a stick to tap the wall with, to save my knuckles. I could have saved my effort as within a few hundred yards I found the remains of another trapped dreamer where they had fallen. All in all I found three skeletons and a few meagre belongings.

If you are reading this, you did not bother to read the notice I erected near the place where I entered this trap. Please make good use of your remaining time to help make sure no one else dies here.

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