The Dream

Posted: August 28, 2007 in Brawl, Dark, Fiction, Sci-Fi

Chapter 12

I ignored the computer and sprawled onto my bed. I needed sleep badly.
My stomach roared at me. I winced as I realized I also needed food. Oh well, the sooner I slept the sooner I woke up. I assumed they wouldn’t let me starve.
I kicked off my boots and took off my jacket, shirt and jeans. I slipped in between the covers and clicked off the light.
The darkness was complete and suffocating in its closeness. It was very nearly a tangible force as it hovered all around my face. Opening and closing my eyes made no difference whatsoever, as nothing illuminating penetrated the tent’s enclosure.
I was stuck in that senseless state between the conscious and unconcious worlds, floating in a comfortable sort of rigor mortis while being unable to see and hearing only the silence of the tent. You can never tell when oblivion takes you; it’s soundless, unfeeling, almost as if amnesia grabs you before you’re ready to leave the nothingness around your bed.
I was almost aware of this feeling when it came, a shifting from the void into a tapestry being painted around me, a vision. I wonder briefly if Cat controls the dreams in this place as well as the old Earth before a trance caught hold of me.
I realized I was the spectator of this particular hallucination rather than the main character as I stared at a dark night sky, a city atmosphere rife with smog and devoid of stars. My viewpoint pans down to a borough of what looks like New York, the sounds of an urban metropolis joining the sight.
An alley. I hear panicked breath and quick, hurried footfalls. Someone was running. Running for their life, as it would seem from the sounds.
The echoes intensify until a boy bursts out from around a corner. Apparently he’s being chased, but I see no pursuers. He throws a look over his shoulder and increases his speed.
He’s scared, really scared, brown eyes widening behind thick prescription glasses. Though he’s not athletic by any means, rather a bit on the chubby side, he’s a big guy, looks about sixteen or seventeen. Longish blond hair parted awkwardly and flopping about as he sprints away from his unseen hunters, he’s slowing more and more with every passing second.
I feel a sudden rush of fear as he’s cut off. A heavy-looking thug blocks his path, hands slowly curling into thick fists. The boy is frozen. He turns back but two people, his invisible predators, obstruct his would-be escape route, both clutching steel pipes wrenched from the walls. He’s trapped, merely an animal, a quarry, prey to these back-alley vagrants. They close in, raising pipes and dukes, ready to tear this boy to shreds merely on principle or for some unknown quarrel that they had had earlier. I braced myself and fiercely wished I could help.
A flash of silver, blinding, the attackers retreat, shielding their eyes. As they look up, the boy is somehow different, but my eyes won’t focus. The scene has changed, become more blurry. I saw a faint shape rise into the air, an object studded by a row of sparkling silver points…
I woke up.
For some reason there was a woman staring at me, and my bedside lamp was on, partially shedding light on this new face looking down at me.
She brightened, a smile showing me even, white teeth. Her eyes were blue, a penetrating sort of deep cobalt, and her hair was dyed pink beneath a gray bandanna tied over it.
“Oh, you ARE cute! I’m Zariah, by the way. You ready for breakfast, sweetie? We’ve got plenty to give!”
I smiled. I loved breakfast.


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