Stories I've started/had an idea for, but will never end up writing.
Feel free to make these your stories. If you get a million dollars from selling a book that came from one of my ideas, that's amazing! If you do end up writing a book that is exact...
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Summary
Christine belongs in the future, 2127 to be exact. But one day she wakes up in a strange world she's only read about in history books.
Trapped a century before her time, Christine must find a way to get back home. But solving the mystery isn't as easy as she might have hoped. Time may be running out and she realizes she needs to face the biggest obstacle yet: surviving the twenty-first century.
Surrounded by strange clothes, culture, and people, Christine is overwhelmed and scared. When nothing can get any crazier, she meets a boy who believes her amazing story. Can they find out how to get Christine back home before it's too late, or will love get in the way of everything?
1. Waking Up
The first thing I realize before I even open my eyes is that I am not in my bed. I am on something harder. Something that tickles.
So of course I open my eyes and see a bunch of green. I push myself up with my arms and look around. I appear to be on top of a field of grass. A very big one. Beyond it is a flat white rock and an old-style white house. I did not know anyone made those anymore.
What am I thinking? Of course they do not make them anymore! I am just dreaming. I remember plugging in the Lucider last night. Or was it a few seconds ago? It was my first time after a while, so of course I am going to have some confusion at first. I do not remember the Lucider actually making dreams this realistic. Maybe my model was upgraded by accident or something. Whatever. The least I can do is actually get up and explore this creation of my imagination. I remind myself that the Lucider creates a button on the back of my neck that allows me to exit the dream at any time.
I rise and marvel at the markings the grass leaves on my legs and arms. It reminds me of the Gornese letter system.
I brush some grass from my red sleepwear and wonder why my imagination did not give me something different. Maybe I could have worn jeans like I think they did during the time this house was lived in.
I stroll across the grass and onto the flat white rock. A table sits here and a few chairs are around it. It is a crude table, not smooth at all, and I do not see any buttons on it or the chairs. I walk to the door, which is all glass. I touch the glass in order to see the opening screen, but none appears. I suppose it's meant to be pulled open. I slide it to the side by the handle and step inside.
It does not automatically close behind me, so I close it myself. Wow, my brain is making this really realistic.
I glance around the interior. The ceiling is low. The floor is covered by a dull carpet. The walls are painted a sandy color. There are old-style lamps that turn on by a switch in the wall and couches around a small screen. It is only about three feet long. I see a fireplace and realize this place is really old. An archway in the wall leads to where a wooden table sits with wooden chairs around it. I peer down a hallway and see another door at the end.
