fanfiction My Journey

[Chudz66]

[Just had an urge to write. I have an idea where I want to go with it, too, so we'll see where I end up.]

 

Day 1: The Arrival

 

The last strain of the Doors, “Break On Through,” fades into the background of my mind, leaving me somewhere between dreamland and wakefulness. It’s that place where if you were having a good dream you chase after it ever grasping. And if you were having a bad dream, you swim toward the surface with all your might. The problem is, I can’t remember what I was dreaming about, but I know that song has something to do with it.

 

While I’m pondering that, I can feel myself slowly awakening. And before I open my eyes, my other senses are already cluing me in on my surroundings. For some reason, I’m standing, and the ground I’m standing on has a give to it, leaving my feet partially buried. It holds a pleasant warmth, too, like the warmth I feel radiating down upon me from what can only be the sun. A lazy breeze drifts by, saying a cool, “hello,” before slipping off on the rest of its journey. In the distance, I can hear birds calling to each other, and the murmur of the surf is at my back. There’s no briny smell, though, so maybe I’m by a. . . . My eyes open, and I’m on a sunlit beach.

 

A quick look around doesn’t reveal anyone else, so make that a deserted beach. Turning, I gaze out over a gleaming expanse of water, one hand shading my eyes from the sun. It turns out that I’m looking at the perfect moment, too, as a crimson porpoise breaches the surface in a graceful leap before returning to the ocean with hardly a splash.

 

“That was cool,” I say to no one in particular, before realizing I just saw a crimson porpoise.

 

Wait, do porpoises really come in that color? I would probably know these things if I didn’t cancel our cable TV to save money. The wife’s still kind of miffed about that, but-- A shadow drifts over me, breaking my train of thought. Turning my head and dropping my hand back to my side, I watch as it slides down the beach before darting out to sea. Looking up, I find that the color of porpoises doesn’t really matter much anymore.

 

 

Day 1: Oh, I’m in a. . . .

 

I’m watching a dinosaur glide on a current of air, its diaphanous wings flapping lightly once in a while to keep it on course. And as the sunlight glints off emerald skin, I’m stricken by a sense of awe that stretches back to my first museum visit as a child. With a certain glee, I watch as it rises upward in lazy spirals. And when it hits a certain point, it tucks its wings and goes into a dive. It’s an amazing sight to see, and when I’m starting to worry that it might hit the water, it pulls out of the dive and changes course. Now, it’s heading toward me.

 

Wings beat furiously in the distance, as fear and self preservation start shouting things in my head. I’m not sure which one says it, but I think playing dead only works for bears, or does it? And whichever one said something about peanut butter probably has some Freudian thing going on. Then my mental lapse is over, and the creature is almost upon me. The next couple of seconds seem to stretch for an eternity before time snaps back to normal, and the creature barrel rolls through the air above me with a shriek.

 

My legs decide they’ve had enough, and I begin to collapse backward, as an emerald wing tip flashes briefly into view. Buffeted by the wind from its wings, I fall into the mini-sandstorm its passage is creating and land on my butt. Craning my neck, I catch a glimpse of it disappearing into the edge of the verdant forest some thirty paces away.

 

My heart is keeping time with imaginary hummingbird wings, and I can feel the icy flow of adrenaline charging through my system. That’s when I remember that breathing is probably a good thing, and start gasping for air.

 

A minute later, I push myself to my feet and cast a few leery glances around, looking for the dinosaur, but it’s nowhere to be seen. After a sigh of relief, I realize I’ve got sand stuck to most of my body, no doubt helped by the fearful sweat I recently broke out in. And--

 

Wait a second, my arms are thicker than they’ve ever been, and what’s that embedded in one? A gem? And, “Holy [TuRtLes]!” What happened to my belly? I’m pretty sure I was a middle-aged, fat guy the last time the wife reminded me about it. And now, I’m all beefcaked out. And why am I only in my underwear? And wow, I’m guessing the wife would be happy with that. Then it dawns on me, I must have awoken from a dream into another dream.

 

That explains me, my surroundings, flying dinosaurs that are spelled like “Peter,” without the first “e” or something like that. It would even explain crimson porpoises. Whew! Now I’m starting to feel better about this whole situation. That’s when I hear movement behind me.

[Chudz66]

Day 1: My . . . buddy?

 

I spin in a panic, expecting to see a pteranodon holding a bazooka. But, there’s nothing there, just a sandy beach with a few outcroppings of stone, and the sea as a backdrop. Minutes trickle by, and I’m still trying to decide if my mind is playing tricks on me or not, when I hear the flutter of nearby wings.

 

Looking up, I see that I’ve caught the attention of a rather large seagull. It’s body is a snowy white with a fringe of obsidian that runs along the tips of its wing feathers. It’s tail feathers and beak are also dark, contrasting nicely with the light blue sky.

 

A beady little eye fixates on me as the thing begins circling, and keeps circling. I kind of feel like a house that’s being cased.

 

“I don’t have any food,” I explain, and try waving it off with my hands.

 

Implacable, the bird continues to circle.

 

Deciding to remove myself from the situation, I begin walking along the beach. And I swear, I hear that rustling sound a couple more times. But every time I look back, there’s nothing there. Time passes, and unfortunately Mr. Creepy Bird is still orbiting me, which is starting to get on my nerves. Then I spy a possible solution to my dilemma in the form of baseball sized rock that’s sticking out of the sand nearby. I grab it and glare balefully at the bird. Then with a smile, I begin tossing it a few feet into the air and catching it repeatedly. Little does he know that I’d never do something like throw a rock at a bird, but--

 

Evidently the repeated tossing of a rock into the air is a declaration of war in seagull society, because he darts toward me, snapping his beak. I duck to avoid the little psycho, momentarily forgetting about the rock, which reminds me of its presence by bonking me on the head a moment later.

 

“Ow!” I don’t remember feeling pain in a dream before.

 

And then, as they say, “It’s on!” I decide on the spot that any reservations I hold about harming innocent animals no longer apply to evil dream seagulls. So I throw the rock . . . . and miss by a country mile, eliciting a snarky little squawk from my nemesis. He wheels in the air and comes at me again, managing to cut me on my left forearm.

 

“Ow! You little [BlOoMeR]!”

 

We go back and forth for the next five minutes. I’m breathing heavy and have a few extra cuts, but I manage to sock him a couple of times along the way as well. What finally puts an end to our little donnybrook, though, is the handful of sand I pelt him with when he’s like a foot away. He makes a sound that’s half squawk and half cough, a “squough” if you will, and starts winging his way back in the direction where this all started.

 

Seeing as I’m a mature adult, I flip him off as he goes and do my best to catch my breath. That’s when I hear that sound again.

 

On my guard, I start looking around for a stick or another rock to defend myself with but stop when I see a small creature waddle out from behind a nearby boulder. It’s light green in color and looks like a cross between a corgi with a horrible case of mange and a lizard.

 

We lock eyes for a moment. “What’s up little buddy?” I ask in that excited tone I use with my dog, whose name is surprisingly enough, “Buddy.” The . . . whatever it is makes a happy sounding reply and starts toddling toward me, wagging its stumpy tail as it comes.

 

With as messed up as this dream is, I wouldn’t be surprised if this [CucKoOinG] thing tries to eat me.