Trapped in an alternate world of passions and perversions.A young Chicano battles insanity in a surreal world where everyone endlessly relives humankind's abandoned dreams. Except for him. Will VN vet fraggers, Lenny Bruce, a Midget Godzilla, vampires, Neanderthals, a Black leper, Marilyn Monroe, Che, and Chrisie the Bruiser prove foes or allies? When the rebellious captive discovers special powers, his desire to escape contends with empathy for the Dreampeople. But can he create his own identity and rally them to overcome the Closet's mysterious secret?
"Who you think you are don't matter a hill of beans."
The voice came from a handsome kid on the crater rim. A long curl hung to his chin. Dressed Elvis-50s in a cream-colored silk shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. Brandishing a mouthful of gold teeth. Legs cross, he twirled a hefty diamond necklace of umpteen carats.
"You're not that person. Never were. Your memories are fat lies."
He reminded me of the "Teen Angel" oldie I'd always hated and I had to stop the humming of it from filling my head.
"You've got that person's memories, but you're not him. You just used to be one of his dreams." He chuckled, seeming to hold back more.
A flood of remarks rose from below: "Wish you were my dream." "He's mine for eternity." "In your wettest ones!" They soon quit their quibbling.
Teen Angel launched the necklace Frisbee-fashion. "After a few days you'll get used to the Closet," he said. "Everybody does. Best thing about the place is, nobody goes bonkers or gets sick. Nobody gets older, or the flu or pimples, unless they brought 'em in with 'em. Not that it matters, but what's your name?"
I was about to tell him I had amnesia, when a two-hundred-square-foot area near us caved in like a sinkhole. I heard people scream, groan and cuss, laugh and sigh. Then everything resettled, the surrounding half-mile rippling to redistribute itself, like a plug had stopped up the draining of Godzilla's mole-filled bathtub. The surface didn't appear any lowered.
It took me a couple of tries to get my words out. "What…was that?"
Teen Angel scratched at his toenails like his manicurist had missed spots. "From the size of it, coulda been a mountain cabin or a Texas Longhorns champion football team. Don't matter. Just means somebody reclaimed his big dream or…You're a Newbie and don't know: this is the Closet of Discarded Dreams. Okay?"
Okay, so now I knew what C.D.D. stood for. But what in El Diablo's culo was that! And why was I in it? I was a real human being, not somebody's pinche sueño!