Like being dosed with massive radiation, my teeth fell out and I was able to line them up in my hand like they belonged in my mouth. The inside of my mouth felt strange with no teeth. Someone bumped me and I dropped all my teeth among some garbage on the ground. I searched fruitlessly. Then when I woke, my shirt was gone, but my teeth were still there.

We were just standing around in our room when it hit. The loud noise was felt in our bones. We stood there with hands over ears being assaulted with sound and light. The flash went quickly, but the noise was too much. I had fallen to my knees when I heard the panicky shout. I looked out the window. Georgie stood near the trees, her short hair hanging in her face as rain drenched her. She just stood there, looking lost.

The energy I feel in the morning is often drained quickly after I rise. What I call my nightmares may not be really scary as far a frightening me, but leave me with a strange sense of uneasiness. I try to be quiet to let the others sleep, but that gets harder when, one by one, the others wake to the day, as energetic as I once felt and make the noises to wake the others, despite their urge to remain sleeping.

The miscreants

  Not much has happened since we last saw them. They did what they did, which is whatever they set their minds to do or not do. Sometimes they got drunk and sat around the fire and lied to each other, even though no one ever believed them. Other times they helped old ladies with their groceries or cut their lawns. They never asked for any pay for their help, but they also would never refuse it if offered. They preferred to be paid in wine or whiskey, but they would take cash as long as the liquor store was open. The owned nothing and spent their days wandering, picking up things others left behind, things thought useless by their previous owners. The miscreants would take these things back to their camp at night and find new uses for them, uses not thought of by the item's inventor. 

  The crab-looking guy made his way around at night usually, so he wouldn't be frightening the local people. The robot, scarred from use, never forgot his lost love. He was either drunk or busy trying to fix the broken things around the camp. The vagabond came and went farther than the others in his daily travels. Each day would take him little farther from his companions, but he always seemed to come back just when the others had stopped thinking he would. Every once in a while a lizard stopped by and stared at them as they sat around their campfire, but he never said anything.
  The lizard didn't drink like the others and was often counted on for confirmation in any disagreements. He mostly just shook his head and the others took this as deep wisdom, unfathomable by their drunken standards. The vagabond, called Hiway by some, took the lizard on his trips sometimes across the lands. Sometimes they would split up somewhere in their travels and come back to the camp separately, with a shared story that had two endings. 

Nightmares

Scary dreams keep me from saying asleep. I wake up a lot during the night to find myself clutching the pillows and maybe chewing on them. At least a little drool from mouth-breathing. I don't know if not being able to remember the dreams is a bad thing or not. The dreams leave me feeling drained, and that is not how you are supposed to feel when you wake up. I would probably sleep longer if I went to bed later, but getting up early kicks that in the butt.

I don't know what it is that goes through my mind before I sleep that gives my the night terrors and creepy dreams that wake me so early in the morning. George Takei was inconsolably upset at something he thought I said. I couldn't convince him otherwise and it left me hurt. I woke up physically shaken and my nerves are shot. It was the same feeling I had when I had that dream where my wife told me she was pregnant AGAIN with number four. I woke right up after seeing the pregnancy test and counted my kids.

Does a story have to have a conflict of some sort to be a good story? I know I have spent a greater amount of time trying to avoid conflicts myself than starting them. Most of my personal stories don't even really have a point, just a recollection of events as they happened. Now, maybe some had some conflicting aspects, but for the most part it is simple: I did this, that happened. I began to think of other stories, stories that were amusing without a conflict. I came across several authors I like to read that tell tales just as plain as they may have happened. Maybe I missed something in them, or maybe the conflict was internal to the characters involved. Who knows. I will admit that stories with conflicts can be amusing, but I feel at times they lack the depth of character I look for in reading. One is sacrificed for the other. I don't believe many of the comedy shows that people are glued to have any aspect of conflict, other than ones that are designed to elicit laughter. I wonder....