Dream Scenes
----------------------
Rated R for language
----------------------
We were in the middle of the unknown, there are several of us in a bleak parking lot with a few cars facing a small convenience store. We are on a mission of some sort, and we are all street youth with a plan. All six or seven of us pile through the set of double doors and enter the building.
Several others, including myself begin to harass the clerks in various ways. Some knock food from the shelves, where as others partake in some petty thievery. Myself however, took a look at the apple section intending to buy some. Firstly, I grab a bag of apples, but then I realized that every apple had a different sticker on it, so I put it back and grabbed another and wandered around the aisles some more. Strangely enough as I got to the counter the massive bag had lost all, but four apples.
After paying for my apples, I start talking to the clerk. She's pretty and has both dark eyes and hair, and she looks about thirty. I quickly realize that it was one of the clerks that Steve and I had harassed earlier. My mood softened, and I started to chat with her. It seemed like I had been talking with her for some time. With that thought I glanced around, and to my surprise the store had become deserted. I run outside and there is not one car in sight and my friends are all gone.
All of a sudden, I remember that all my friends and I were doing was killing some time, waiting for the bus to take us home. To the islands. What to do? My friends are all gone and the earth is rapidly becoming swallowed up by the darkness of night. The store has just closed and I realize that I don't have my apples.
Turning back to the lady whose name I did not know, I realized she was my only hope.
"Do you live 'round here?" I ask the pretty clerk.
"No, I live in Homing, Campbellton," came the reply.
Campbellton? Hope rises- that's near Campbell River! That's towards the islands.
"Isn't that near Campbell River?" I ask.
"No," her voice sounds defiant and clear, and cold. She shakes her head.
She leaned against her car and I move to do the same. And she began telling me of this special bus that could take me... Take me where? To her place? Maybe. Things began to sound distant and muffled, I realized I was falling asleep.
I woke up to cool air blowing in my hair. I look left and right and see landscapes rushing past in a blur. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm in some sort of a bullet train, but with no roof or seats and no tracks, just hundreds of tiny wheels. And the worst part I'm crammed in the very front with my blue bag, which means there's no driver. Plus there are several people from the past sitting behind me.
Suddenly the train tilted downwards, and started to speed down a massive hill. I gripped onto the thin edges of the train, knuckles turning white, to stop myself from being pulled into the air. The others laughed at my unease, as if this sort of things is completely normal.
Somehow Henri, Mike and I end up on the foot of a dry, dusty road and we began walking down it. After about 100 yards I realized I had left my backpack in the middle of the main road. My legs unnaturally weighed me down, and it seems like I'm running in slow motion. At that point I noticed another one those strange centipede train coming down the road from the left and my bag's directly in its path. I snatch my bag away just as it flies past, narrowly missing my fingers.
Turning back as quickly as I went, I run again to catch up with Mike and Henri who had taken the left pathway after the dirt road forked.
I caught up with them, reaching a large wooden house. A solid, built woman with a black top and short blond hair barked orders at us; the three new comers.
"Okay! We need an ID check, background check, drug check."
As the lady checked over Henri, I quickly unzipped my bag, grabbed my Ziploc of green, loosened my black leather Converse shoe, and stuffed it underneath my foot, and with a large guard dog sniffing and growling at me. She didn't seem to notice anything.
She listened to what Henri had to say, and wrote down little notes, and took us inside. There were many tables and dozens of various youth sitting together or alone. She then motioned to a big board with names on it. Ours had already been added, and there was a specific job next to each name, except ours. She wrote down something next to Henri's name. It read, 'Day watcher'. A look of discontent crossed his face as he read it himself.
Another lady came up to me to take my background check, she was taller, skinnier, had a slender nose and big round glasses. I began to tell her where my parent where from, and what nationality they are. She seems genuinely interested. After a few moments she scratches something down in my space. I have to squint to read it, I thing it says, 'Help prep cook', but I wasn't sure.
I ask this fellow of about twenty five what it reads.
"I do believe it says," he starts, "that you're a hippy c**t."
"Wh-what?" I couldn't believe my ears. "A hippy c**t? Why?"
"Look at you," he says pointing at my hair and clothes, "look at your jacket and your long curly hair."
I was starting to get a bit annoyed. "Well, does anyone know how to cut hair in this place?" I ask.
He sweeps across the room, drawing out a long "Wwwweeeelllll" and point at two ordinary looking girls sitting quietly at a table. "This girl is a witch-," he says jabbing a finger at a pudgy girl sipping a juice box, and to the girl next to her "-and this one is as well, so I believe you're out of luck."
I can't take any more. So I begin to fight with him, but it was all graceful dodges and me picking him up and tossing him around. It seems like more of a comedy act with all the people laughing, or just some odd sort of dance.
I start towards a little nook at the far end of the room, a kitchen. One long table with four cooks facing everyone preparing food. The third from the right motions me forward with his finger. I take two steps forward and I feel as if something hit me hard and squarely in the back of the head. Instantly, I fell flat on my face in total silence.
A voice sounded, and it was the voice of authority.
"Who threw that axe?"
