A Change in Curriculum

[Personalias]

A Change in Curriculum

 

As she did every Monday morning, Margo snuck a peek through the Little Learning Center window.  The narrow electronic ticker flashed “Vacancy” in bright green letters.  Too bad that spot wasn’t for her, she lamented. Through the window, the college sophomore glimpsed toddlers playing on the floor with blocks or cuddling stuffed animals, while still others pushed shiny colorful buttons on clunky musical toys.  She couldn’t make out any sounds, but she knew when the toys were working by the flashing lights and the kids’ big bright smiles and clumsily clapping hands.

Around the room were tiny work tables manned by seniors and grad students.  Under their watchful eyes, chubby hands colored and tiny ears were listening to stories while elsewhere little mouths learned to recite the alphabet.  An audible sigh bubbled up from her own throat; her eyes an appropriate shade of green for the warm blanket of envy that was wrapping itself around her.

The Little Learning Center was a part of the Early Childhood Education program at school.  Faculty, staff, students, and locals requiring financial aid got to send their babies and young children there for free, while Education Majors got practice interning and teaching a preschool program in a very controlled and guided setting.  Win-win.

Frustratingly enough, there was a long waiting list for internships, and being a sophomore put Margo low on the totem pole.  The “Vacancy” sign on the electronic board was referring to room for infants and toddlers, not college students.  Margo was many things: smart, stylish, and ambitious were just a few of her better qualities.  What she wasn’t was patient. She didn’t want to have to wait another two years (minimum) to start practicing what she’d already learned; she wanted to be in a classroom, any classroom, right now.

The High School valedictorian (well on her way to graduating summa cum laude) wanted to be in there with the kids instead of having to listen to the droning of some boring professor who hadn’t taught actual children in years.  For all her adult sensibilities and accomplishments, Margo might as well have been a kid looking at the puppies in the pet store window. God, she wanted in on that action. 

  On the other side of the glass, one of the seniors’ nose wrinkled.  They bent over to a nearby child and pulled back the waistband of the kid’s pants. The toddler was quickly hoisted up and carted off through a door that Margo couldn’t see into.  “Changing Room” the block letters over the doorway said.   Okay, maybe Margo didn’t want ALL the action.  In the perfect little pre-kindergarten classroom she had always imagined herself in, Margo had nothing but perfectly potty trained little tykes.  Still, “I wish I could be in there right now, with them,” she whispered wistfully. “I’d do anything.”  If diapers had to be part of the equation for her to fulfill her life’s goals and personal ambitions, so be it.

The ping of her phone broke her out of her brief daydream.  Margo pulled her phone out of her little purse and looked at the text.

[Daniel:  Want me to pick you up after class today?]

Margo considered her boyfriend’s offer.  Heels had been a bad idea to walk to class in today, in hindsight.  Even though they made her look much taller than she was, her feet were killing her today.  Ever stylish, Margo’s pride got the best of her and she chose form over function when she really could have gotten away with a good pair of sneakers.  Daniel’s offer was a welcome one.

She typed into her phone, sending her reply.

[Me: Sure.]

Almost instantly, Daniel pinged back.  [Wanna hang out later?] “Hang out” was Daniel’s little way of saying “screw”.  The boy was hornier than a chihuahua about to get its balls chopped off.

[Me: Let’s do lunch.]  She was at least going to get some actual conversation and a decent burger before she fucked his brains out and sent him into a post orgasm slumber. Privately, she referred to their frequent nooners as “Putting him down for a nap.”  He wouldn’t have liked that, had he known- but he didn’t know.

[Daniel: Ok]

And so her little guy had just scheduled himself for a nice afternoon nap.

Laughing at her own joke, Margo silenced her phone and put it away in her purse before looking at her dim reflection in the windowpane. Her beautiful dark brown hair came out in waves down to her shoulders.  She ran her fingers through it one more time before checking the time on the little electronic ticker outside the children’s area.

That was odd.  The little green letters now flashed “No Vacancy” in red. Some little rugrat on a waiting list must have just been enrolled.  No matter.  Time to get to class.

As was her habit, Margo arrived ten minutes early to class.  This wasn’t out of some misguided attempt to suck up- Professor Wellsworth was usually the last to arrive- but out of an inborn need to prepare herself for whatever lecture or group discussion awaited.  It was time to look over her notes from the previous class week, make sure any homework was in order and ready to turn in, and that she was mentally prepared for the ordeal of having to sit down and listen to the pedagogy of someone who last taught children during the first Bush administration.   The fact that she desperately wanted to sit down to relieve her aching high-heel-shod feet didn’t hurt either. 

The sophomore reached into her purse, took out her note cards, and frowned.  “The heck…?” she said to herself.  Her voice bounced off the old wood panels of the otherwise empty classroom in a not-quite echo.  In front of her, instead of her notes on Piaget’s theories of child development written in her own immaculate handwriting, was the letter “A”, both capital and lowercase…and written in crayon.  Margo flipped the card over and found a childish drawing of an apple with some scribbling above it.  Nervously, she brushed her hair away from her face and squinted.  Was that the word, “apple”?  If so, it was in such sloppy handwriting as to be indecipherable without the aid of a picture.

Margo looked at her next index card.  It read “Bb” on the front, and had a picture of a blue circle on it, its script equally jumbled and scribbled as the previous card.  Blue? No…that wasn’t right.  “Ball” was written above the blue circle.  It was supposed to be a ball.  Hurriedly, and with increasing anxiety, she flipped through the cards.

They were all there; every letter of the alphabet, written in crayon and a crude drawing and even cruder labeling to go with the latter.  “Cc” for “cake”, “Dd” for “door”, and “Ee” for “egg”, all the way through what Margo supposed was “Zz” for “Zipper”.  Where did these come from, and where were her note cards?  Margo didn’t know.

Setting the homemade alphabet flashcards down on her desk, Margo began digging through her purse.  Her anxiety started to rise to a fever pitch as she dug through the bag.  She was having trouble finding things. She never had trouble finding things, but that’s what was going on- her things were missing.  Gone was her compact and lipstick. Instead, her fingers clasped around a cardboard children’s book and a pacifier.  The pocket where she kept her tampons was now filled with pads.  Did she accidentally switch bags with someone?  Was that it?  No, that couldn’t be.  If she had switched her bags with someone, she wouldn’t have found the well-worn strip of pictures of her and Daniel from that time at the carnival photo booth.   So why had someone taken her stuff and replaced it with this junk?  The young woman repressed a shudder at the thought of a stranger rummaging through her bag, violating her personal belongings, and replacing them with what was, for the most part, baby toys.

A fire burned in Margo’s brain.  She had to…, no, she NEEDED to take inventory and sort all this nonsense out before class began.  In a rush of adrenaline and frenzy, the contents of Margo’s purse were dumped onto the tiny desk she sat in, spreading to the very edges and tumbling down to the floor.   “Shit…” she cursed, hissing under her breath.

She bit her tongue, and inhaled deeply through her nose to stop herself from losing further composure. A hint of memory wafted up her nose. What was that smell?  The scent of her sharp, womanly perfume that she regularly dabbed herself with was replaced by the softer, more juvenile aroma. It took only a moment for Margo to identify it.  Why did she smell like baby powder, and where was the scent coming from?  Certainly it wasn’t on her wrists or neck, where she had applied her Coco Chanel this morning after her shower.

The whining creek of the classroom door announced that she wasn’t alone anymore, and the rest of her class began to trickle in.  Margo’s ears pricked up at the sounds of footsteps mingled with random gossip.  Then everything went quiet. 

Margo looked up to see a flock of girls about her own age; sophomores and education majors all, though she couldn’t for the life of her remember any of their names.  They stood near the entrance, clustered together and mouths agape as if Margo were some kind of poisonous reptile that they’d stumbled upon and were now afraid she might strike.

Then Margo heard the last thing she expected to: “AWWWWWWWWWW!”  It was the annoying, high pitched motherese that seemed to erupt from young girl’s throats whenever they saw a baby, their maternal instincts suddenly triggered. Margo’s own ineptitude, the mess she’d made all over the floor, crayons and baby supplies scattering everywhere had triggered a round of mocking concern in her classmates.  Margo opted to keep her dignity and ignore the bait rather than snipe back at them.  Instead she lowered herself to the floor and began to gather up her purse’s lost contents.  Even if the rattle or the little pink blankie didn’t belong to Margo, it wouldn’t do to have them rolling and kicked around on the floor.

 

“Hi” a bright and chipper girl, about Margo’s age said, coming closer.  “Are you alone in here?”  She knelt down to make eye contact with Margo.  Margo averted her gaze, instead focusing on picking up a green crayon and a pack of baby wipes.

“Not anymore,” Margo intoned bitterly.  This elicited giggles and whispers of “so cute” from her classmates still clogging the doorway. 

The new girl seemed unfazed. “I mean, are there any other adults here?” Her tone was as if she was trying to explain something to someone not used to complicated matters.

Margo felt her blood beginning to rise. She’d spilt stuff out of her purse, that didn’t make her an idiot. “Don’t you count?” Margo replied, not even looking up as she slipped the toy cell phone back into her purse.  Where had her real cell phone gotten to? More giggles from the peanut gallery came.

“My name’s Hannah,” the girl kneeling beside her said, a bit too slowly to not come off as condescending.  “What’s yours?”

“Margo,” she replied.

“That’s a very pretty name,” the other girl, Hannah, said.  “Do you want to be friends, Margo?”  Margo humored her and gave a curt nod.  “Do you need some help cleaning up?” Again, Margo nodded.  Out of the corner of her eye, Margo saw Hannah wave the other girls over.

 More “Awwww” sounds came as the others walked closer.  They were whispering to each other, but Margo heard every “poor thing” and “so cute.”  Condescending bitches.

Margo didn’t bother to look up at them, but she did notice hands reaching for things off the floor and putting them back into her bag. At least they were helping.

 Something on her periphery caused Margo to do a double take.  Her bag? It had only now occurred to the young woman that the contents she had been putting back into her bag had not matched what had spilled out.  Her apartment keys were nowhere to be found, but a plastic set of play keys were click-clacking together as she tossed them in. The amount and size of the objects she was putting in were too big for her tiny little purse. 

Margo shook her head to clear out the cobwebs, not noticing that her hair was slapping her in the face or tied up into pigtails.  Was her purse suddenly bigger or something? She’d only been looking at it out of the corner of her eye, just enough so that she knew where to aim the clutter that had poured out of it while her classmate kept talking to her as if she were an idiot.

The college sophomore looked up to her purse and her mouth fell open.  Impossible. Where her tiny leather purse had been, was now a large pastel pink satchel; stenciled on it were the letters “M-A-R-G-O”. Margo knew instinctively that that spelled her name, but hand to God, she knew that if she had been asked to close her eyes and recite the letters, she wouldn’t have been able to do.

A stranger laid out a large folded rectangular object in between Margo and Hannah. “Where does this go?” she asked, looking at Hannah. 

Hannah looked towards what used to be Margo’s purse and pulled it to her.  “Um…Center pocket, I think.”  Margo watched in awe and confusion as her classmate opened up the bag.  Right where she had stashed the renegade sanitary pads that had replaced her tampons were now three identical rectangular folded objects, rustling and crinkling like dry paper or crisp plastic as Hannah shoved the fourth in among them.

Margo’s breath caught as she saw cartoon characters, Mickey and Minnie mouse, etch themselves onto the newly formed diapers.  Diapers.  That’s what they were. And not adult diapers, either.  These were full on baby diapers; only Margo could tell that they were far too big for any actual baby. 

 “Okay,” Margo said, the sound of her own voice drowning out the crinkling noise that was coming for her.  “The fuck is going on here?”  Her classmates looked up at her and smiled, some even nodded, but they didn’t seem to understand what she was saying.  Either that or they didn’t care.  “Has everyone gone fuckin’ crazy?” 

A wet warmth started to spread in Margo’s panties as she screamed and berated her peers.  Oh god!  Why was she feeling wet?  Was she turned on by this crazy?  Did she make herself so angry that she had somehow started her period early?

While she stood at the front of the class, the hot moisture between her legs transforming into a pleasant, but tepid squish, her classmates took their seats.  Hannah finished putting the last of the baby toys in Margo’s ex-purse.  “I see you found my little surprise for you,” Professor Wellsworth said upon entering the classroom.

The tall, broad shouldered woman walked into the classroom with ease and aplomb, her own high heeled shoes taking on a deeper hoof-like timbre than the little clicks of Margo’s heels.   With a wry smile on her lips, she looked a shocked and confused Margo in the eye.  “I know that some of you are very eager to get your turn in the Little Learning Center,” she spoke.  “There are students who would do anything to get in before their senior year.” There was a pause and Professor Wellsworth gestured to Margo.   “I can’t bring you into the Little Learning Center, so I brought the Little Learning Center to you.  Little Margo here is our volunteer.  Aren’t you Margo?”

Margo looked down at herself, and gasped in terror.  Her clothes had changed.  When and how, she couldn’t even begin to say.  It could have happened when she’d been cleaning up the contents of her (she gagged at the thought) diaper bag or happened in just the blink of an eye, but this was definitely not what she’d dressed herself in this morning.

 Instead of her conservative blouse and pencil skirt combo, Margo was wearing a pastel pink dress that matched the toy-filled satchel that had once been her purse.  Her feet no longer hurt, but that was because she was now flatfooted in plain white Velcro sneakers instead of hot red heels.   Her fully erect nipples brushing against the chest of her dress told her that she was, somehow, no longer wearing the bra that she’d pulled on this morning.  The dress itself seemed to be rather shoddy, not even fully covering the bulky padded thing that was starting to droop between her legs.

“I…I…I…” Margo said, looking down at the off-white bulk peeking out from under the hem of her newly manifested dress.  Was she wearing a diaper?  Had one of those crinkly confabulations manifested around her?  She had to know.  The college sophomore lifted up her dress and looked down.  Mickey and Minnie were smiling and waving from her padded, bulging undergarment.

Now Margo was sure.  She was diapered. And wet. And absolutely humiliated.

The girl let out a terrified squeak as she yanked her dress over the diaper, trying (and failing) to keep the infantile undergarment covered up.  As the flap of the dress came down, something else did.  Margo’s squeak was cut off by a series of staccato grunts, all coming from her. 

In little gasping breaths, tiny little masses of poop slipped out of her back side, smashing up against the warm, comfortable padding and her tender, soft backside.  It was a little like laying eggs, Margo thought, as the back of her diaper ballooned out to accommodate her mess, pushing more all the while…and enjoying it.

 

 Without even thinking about it, the overachiever had just pushed a load into the seat of her Huggies like a pro.  “Someone’s just a little bit shy,” the college teacher commented, sending another wave of “Awwws” and giggles through the classroom.  A dopey, relieved smile adorned Margo’s face as she finished messing herself.  Then a wave of self-consciousness overtook her, and Margo jolted back to full adult awareness. 

What had she just done to herself?!  Her stomach threatened to make more room, only this time with vomit.  A hand came up and grasped the sophomore by the wrist.  “Come on, Margo.” Hannah said.  “Come sit with me.”  Margo’s legs moved of their own will, as Hannah took Margo’s usual seat at the front of the class, and pulled the diapered woman into her lap.

The mess in Margo’s Huggies squished against her as she sat down.  It wasn’t that uncomfortable, truth be told, but the disgusting truth of what it was and where it had come from made Margo’s throat tighten up.  To make things worse, Hannah began bouncing Margo gently on her knee, causing the mess to be pressed up against her and spread around.

Not even getting a moment to absorb what was happening to her, Margo was bombarded with strange faces and marking being shoved into her line of sight as fellow Education majors grabbed her alphabet index cards and began quizzing her relentlessly.  They leaned over her, pressing crayon scribblings in her face.

 

“What’s this Margo?”

“What’s this letter Margo?”

“Whats this?  I’ll give you a hint, it’s the first letter in Sssssssnake.  What letter says sssssss?”

“What’s-“

“-This-’”

“P-p-p-p-p”

“Margo?”

“B? Can you say B?”

“Say M”

“Say-

“What-?”

“Say-“

“Hint”

All the while Margo’s ears and eyes were being assaulted as if her peers were paparazzi and she a celebrity, she kept bobbing up and down on Hannah’s knee, the warm muck coating her backside starting to feel grainy and itchy.  Her nose picked up the smells of baby powder still, but now it was overshadowed by warm pee and hot shit.  The poor girl slammed her eyes shut and pulled at her pigtails in an effort to drown everything out. 

Her gritted teeth parted for a rubber nipple that was shoved into her mouth.  Her lips began sucking rhythmically on the artificial teat.  Her breathing slowed and a kind of calm overtook her.  Cautiously, Margo opened her eyes, seeing her professor at the other end of her pacifier. “Girls…girls…” Professor Wellsworth corrected the gaggle of girls  “Remember.  You have to give time for little ones to process and respond.  Let her get a word in edgewise.  One at a time.”

The college students all stood upright and closed their mouths, but didn’t give Margo (now strangely overwhelmed and claustrophobic) any more personal space.  Hannah grabbed an index card and held it up to Margo’s face from behind.

“What’s this letter?” she asked.  Silence.  As they’d read and been trained, she was giving Margo time to answer.  Not that Margo needed much time. It was just a stupid letter.  Margo looked at the crayon scribbling.  And looked.  And looked.

She didn’t know what letter it was.  Her mind was completely blank on the subject.  The letter was written in yellow.  Or was it orange?  Green?  Margo didn’t know.  She genuinely didn’t know.

“It’s ‘A’” Hannah told her. “A.  As in a-a-aaaaaple.  Hot, fearful tears began to drip down Margo’s cheeks.  She was a high school valedictorian, a college sophomore, and well on her way to graduating summa cum laude.  But here she was, sitting in a wet, shit-soiled diaper, on another person’s knee, sucking on a pacifier and not even able to recognize the number “a”.  “A” was a number, wasn’t it?  It had to be.

The collective group crinkled their noses as Margo’s Huggies crinkled beneath her.  “I think I know why she’s so distracted,” Hannah offered.  “I think someone had a little poopie.”  Margo felt the other woman’s breath on the back of her neck.  “Was it you?” she cooed.  “Was it you?  Did you poopie?”  Stunned into silence, all Margo could do was suck on her pacifier and nod.

“There’s a changing table over at the Little Learning Center,” the professor said.  “Go drop her off.  Change her there if you’d like.”  

“You mean…” Hannah stammered.  “I’d get to go in?”

“Both of you do,” the older woman replied, sneaking a wink at Margo.

“Yes ma’am!” Hannah almost cheered.  Margo’s feet didn’t even hit the floor.  Somehow, against all probabilities, Hannah was carrying her.  The (former?) overachiever hadn’t shrunk, but Hannah only gave the slightest grunt as she shifted the young woman over to her hip.  “Come on Margo.  Let’s get you changed.”

“Don’t forget Margo’s purse,” Professor Wellsworth called after them. “You might need it.” The rest of the class giggled at the joke- as if the thing filled with toys and diapers could be called a purse- as the older woman handed the diaper bag to the young lady still capable of being an adult.

“Gotta change ya, gotta change ya, gotta change ya,” Hannah chirped and chanted as the hallways passed by Margo in a blur.  “Wellsworth sent me,” Hannah announced to a supervisor as she strode past the toddlers and babies, making a bee-line for the changing table.  “Gotta change her.”

Margo was looking up at the ceiling an instant later, a strap pulled across her chest and her dress being flipped back up as Hannah prepared to do the unthinkable.  How was there a changing table big enough for her to fit on?  None of this made any sense.  “Alright,” Hannah said, reaching into the diaper bag and pulling out a clean Huggies and some wipes.  “Let’s do this.”

Margo could only suck harder on her pacifier as the sounds of the tapes ripping off her diaper rang in her ear drums.  “Ewww…” Hannah whispered. “This has gotta be why girls potty train earlier than boys.”  The college sophomore lifted her head off of the changing mat to get a look.  The diaper was open in front of her open legs, its putrid contents in the open air, with a brown sludgy smear going from back to front. 

Shit.  Her vagina.  The mess had spread so much in her pants that every inch of her pelvis was covered in her own feces.  Margo whimpered like a kicked puppy as the woman who’d helped spread and smear the awful muck cleaned it off with baby wipe after baby wipe after baby wipe.  “Legs up,” Hannah commanded as she pushed against the back of Margo’s knees.  Whether it was magic, physics, or psychology, Margo’s body helped keep her legs above her head as the other woman removed the dirty diaper and wiped her ass for her.

Margo’s legs still in the air, the diaper was quickly balled up and thrown away in a diaper genie that was JUST big enough to accommodate the load.  Another adult sized Huggies was flapped open and slid underneath her with one hand.  “I have a little sister about your age,” Hannah explained while reaching for the baby powder.  As if that explanation made any goddamn sense!  Margo wasn’t some two-year-old!  She was a grown-ass woman! 

Wasn’t she?

The deceptively cold powder raining down on her backside and the soft padding of the fresh diaper as her legs were lowered back down broke her train of thought.  “All done,” Hannah announced as she pulled the fresh diaper up between Margo’s legs, as if Margo didn’t know.

“There she is,” a familiar and welcome voice rang out.  Margo looked to the doorway out of the changing room.  “There’s my girl!”  It was her boyfriend, and he was beaming as if Margo was the very center of his world.

Margo found her voice.  “DANIEL!” she screamed out, spitting the pacifier to the floor.  “HELP ME! PLEASE!  THEY’RE TREATING ME LIKE A BABY!”

“Uh-huh,” Daniel nodded, walking over to her prone form on the changing table.  “Are you having fun?”

“NO!” Margo screamed. “I’M NOT HAVING FUN, DUMBASS!  I JUST SHIT MYSELF IN FRONT OF MY ENTIRE CLASS AND THIS BITCH JUST CHANGED ME!”

Daniel nodded again.  “I see.”  He turned to Hannah.  “She’s just a little cranky,” he said. “It’s her first day. I just dropped by to check up on her.”

“She was a special visitor in my entry to pedagogical theories course,” Hannah said. “She’s a real cutie…” she paused and made eyes at Daniel.  “Must get it after her Daddy.” Margo wanted to scream, but her arm had wriggled loose and her thumb had snaked its way into her mouth.  She was sucking on it again.

Her boyfriend grinned and flirted back with the girl.  “You’re pretty cute yourself.  Maybe after class, you, me, and Margo could go get some lunch?”  Margo screamed around her slobber covered thumb.  The grown-ups ignored it. 

 “Okay,” Hannah nodded eagerly.  “That’d be great!”   

“Just put her down for a nap,” Daniel said.  “She’ll feel better after a nap.”  He drew close to the other girl.  “And if you’re interested, after lunch, maybe we could go back to my place and I’ll put Margo down for another nap.”

Hannah blushed, but seemed receptive. “Okay.”

At long last, everything clicked.  Daniel didn’t see her as an adult.  Neither did Hannah. No one did.  For all intents and purposes, she was a two-year-old…at best.  “But first, I’ve gotta get back to class.  I’ll put this cutie pie down for a nap.  Hopefully she’ll feel better after she wakes up.”

Whether that was because Margo would wake up a normal, fully functional independent woman, or because she’d wake up a giant dumb baby, Margo wasn’t sure, but she hoped she’d feel better after a nap as well.

 

Author's note: This was a one shot commission for Zeeko28

[vended]

An excellent story. I enjoyed reading it.

[JustinDB87]

Awesome story as always!

[Personalias]

Thank you very much.  My commissioner said he wanted something like something I've already written with a few relatively minor changes, and I was like.  "I can write like me, sure."

[Guilyn]

Everything you write is always a treat to read. Thank for sharing it with everyone.

[daddyeric91]

is this story already complete on cushypen?

[Personalias]

5 hours ago, daddyeric91 said:

is this story already complete on cushypen?

This one is not a cushypen story, and as of right now what you've read is complete.  I was paid for a short one shot scene type of story.

[fyunch]

Cute.

[Sarah Penguin]

[CDfm]

This was fun reading. Thanks for sharing it. 

[Personalias]

Welcome!

[YourFNF]

So is this using the same magic system as your other one?

[Personalias]

No ma'am.  

[YourFNF]

 

No ma'am.  

Huh I'm going to go with anxiety dream then, most likely reflecting a combination of shame/guilt over some of her more selfish behaviors mixed with a bit of imposter syndrome. It's not uncommon for high achieving individuals to be highly perfectionistic and to doubt their own abilities. Fascinating.

 

Now Margo I'm just going to finish fixing the last of the electrodes, and this strap will detect your breathing. Lowers large cylindrical helmet. Now this is going be our first test of the multinput neuroscan on dream analysis, we are very hopeful about the potential insights into the nature of sleep and consciousness. Hopefully it will also help us with this anxiety dream you keep having. It combines HMRI, with electrography, and infrared measure of blood flow to give  complete rea ltime imagery of brain activity. We will actually be able to visualize your dream on the screen and record it. To prepare you for this I'm going to put you in a hypnotic state. Now I want you to focus on this metronome, with each tick you will count back from thirty. Deep breaths, picture the place where you feel most safe. Are you there? Good, now picture a door opening and step through. I want you to focus on what you felt at the start of the dream, then what it smelled like, filling in sound and images as you go.......

 

Feel free to use that last part if you want 

[Personalias]

The ending can be whatever you'd like it to be.

I got paid to write that one particular scene, and my patron was satisfied with the end product.

[YourFNF]

 

The ending can be whatever you'd like it to be.

I got paid to write that one particular scene, and my patron was satisfied with the end product.

Sorry You just got my brain working and it spat out an idea. (looks sheepish)

[Personalias]

 

Sorry You just got my brain working and it spat out an idea. (looks sheepish)

No need to be sheepish.  It's a very insightful interpretation of what MIGHT have been happening, and I welcome the discussion.

  The point of this particular vignette was to be caught up in the moment though, so I chose not to be terribly clear on the "why" of it.  Sometimes what you don't put in is as important as what you do.

 

I'm very flattered that it got your brain working.  Sorry if I came across as terse.  

[YourFNF]

 

No need to be sheepish.  It's a very insightful interpretation of what MIGHT have been happening, and I welcome the discussion.

  The point of this particular vignette was to be caught up in the moment though, so I chose not to be terribly clear on the "why" of it.  Sometimes what you don't put in is as important as what you do.

 

I'm very flattered that it got your brain working.  Sorry if I came across as terse.  

It's all good I have a hard enough time reading people in person.