The Ride

"You're going to be late," She told me.
"A few minutes would be worth it," I replied, holding her closer. The bed felt too warm to leave. So did she.
After a moment or two, she turned in my arms and pressed her lips warmly to mine, tracing a cool finger along the side of my face.
"Time to go."
A blink later had me stepping out of the shadows of a parking garage. I was in a classic motorcycle jacket, black with matching gloves and boots, in jeans. She was waiting for me right in front of the elevator. Her trim figure was sleek and smooth, and while she had a over a decade on me in terms of age, her form was absolute perfection. You could tell she had some work done on her, and it was well worth the money.
A black full-face helmet was hanging from the handlebars of the vintage cafe racer. I slipped it on and took my place, feeling her come to life beneath me. She pulled out smoothly, and we hit the road.
She took me to the feeway, and traffic was thick today. Nothing we couldn't handle, weaving in between the cars almost effortlessly. I came around from behind a white semi truck when I saw them, a swarm of red-orange vespas taking up two lanes. They were so densly packed I couldn't find a way through, and I was forced to slow so as not to crash into them.
We edged close up to the semi once more, and when I saw an opening form we surged through. Like a school of fish, the vespas almost swarmed around us, but they didn't have the speed or power to match a triumph. I pumped my fist in celebration as we rode on, the road clearing up greatly as it lead into a series of curves.
It was late by the time we made it to the school. I pulled up inside the long shadow of a building and dismounted, leaving my helmet behind with my ride. I walked up to the door and she stepped out, cradling two books in her arms. The thin framed glasses were new, but suited her nicely, as did the light pink sweater vest she wore over a white blouse.
She came up to me with a playful smile on her lips and I reached out, tracing her face like she had done to me in bed earlier. From this angle, the setting sun sparkled in her eyes, and I wrapped my arms around her, enjoying the warmth I had left all too soon before. I nuzzled her neck, and she sighed contentedly in my ear.
Letting go, she took my hand, and we walked along the sidewalk, her fingers entwined with mine.
When I woke up to the shadows of my bedroom, I had a strange craving for a milkshake and a cheeseburger.

Guardian

It looked like rain in the city. The sky above the glass and steel towers threatened a downpour any second, but my concern lied more with the limo coming from up the street. Around me were menacing looking men in black suits. The ties varied, but shades and earpieces were all common. I was dressed likewise, with a red tie, right down to the earpiece. Reaching to my belt, I felt a small leather sheath. It's always good to have a friend.
As the limo pulled up, one of the suits went over to open the door, the rest looking around for any threats. I didn't see anything untoward as a man in a light gray suit stepped out, taking the arm of a conservatively dressed blonde. She seemed only a few years younger than him, and there was definitely an affection between them going by their smiles. Two of my group walked with them inside.
I was a little surprised when a child came out of the limo, a young boy no older than five dressed in a suit that matched the older gentleman with a lighter shirt and striped tie. He looked around nervously, but nobody stepped forward to help him, or lead him inside.
After a moment, he was joined by an sandy haired man in a navy suit. He walked up to the child, patted him on the head, and knelt down in front of him. Something about him felt off. As amicable as his smile was, it seemed just a little too stiff, and there was a mischief in his eyes that was even more apparent when he reached into his pocket and handed something to the boy. That done, he got up again and walked through the line of suits once more.
When I looked back to the boy, he was cradling something in the palm of his hand. It was a small, worm-like creature with chalky white skin and a dozen legs wriggling with pincers taking up the front of it's head.
"Save the prince!"
I had no idea why I just yelled that, but I was by the kid's side in a dash and had snatched the thing away from him. I felt a sharp pinch on my finger and looked on as it wriggled it's way under the skin. As I felt it crawling up under my flesh, I took my knife from it's sheath, snapping it open and slicing a slit in my finger. I could see it thrashing about, and using the blade, I flicked it out along with a slice of skin.
Once on the ground, the creature tried to skitter away only to be stopped by the black shoe of one of the agents standing about. I pulled out a handkerchief from a pocket and wrapped my hand. The child ran to the couple, who had just stepped out from the building, most likely from hearing the commotion. If he's a prince, they must be the king and queen.
I looked around for the guy in the navy suit, but he was nowhere to be found.
It was dark when I woke up. Reaching under my bed, I picked up my ipod and saw that it was only five in the morning. I had only been asleep a few hours.
In my dreams, I'm often a soldier, but only once a cop, that I can remember. This time, I was some kind of secret service agent? I wonder where my sub-conscious dug that up from. There's a lot in this that doesn't make immediate sense, but perhaps it'll come to me later. At the very least, it could make for an interesting story idea.

Someone To Wake Up To

I opened my eyes to the glow of the sun through my bedroom window. It was cold this morning. As I shifted, I felt a wisp against my face, and reached over, feeling the soft warmth of her hair. She stirred, pressing her body against me, snuggling in the warmth generated between us. 
I let my fingers sift through her hair, trailing down the side of her face. She raised her arm, allowing my hand to reach around, pulling her closer. Her hand pressed mine against her body, and held me there warm and content. We lay like that for awhile, maybe as much as half an hour. My lips then found her neck through her hair, nibbling at her flesh. I was rewarded with a sigh, and her hand released mine to reach back and feel through my hair. 
I then found myself in the kitchen, washing my coffee mug and gazing out at the horizon, the sun washing out the sky with it's brightness. The water had steamed up the window, but my thoughts were dismissed as her arms wrapped around me, her hands joining mine in the sink. I dropped the mug, feeling her play her fingers against mine in the hot stream from the faucet. She asked where I wanted to go today. I thought Venice sounded nice. She preferred the beach. I got out from between her arms and kissed her, gently at first, but warmly. Her hands, still wet from the sink, pressed against my shoulders, drawing me closer. We had all the time in the world. 
I awoke with a bit of a start. The chill in the air caught in my throat, drawing a cough from me. I breathed into my hands to warm them, and ran one along my scalp. I had gotten a haircut yesterday, my hair much shorter than in my dream. 
It was a nice dream, what I can remember of it. I'm feeling a little uncomfortable with who I had dreamed of, and what our relationship seemed to be in that dream. Granted, it may signify something entirely different, if it would signify anything. It's just a dream. Even if it did hit a few nerves. For this one, I think I would prefer that a cigar just be a cigar.

Seriously? Lederhosen?!

Oddly, my dreams usually make a lot of sense. My war dreams: I play a lot of first person shooter games. In them, I'm often handy with a sniper rifle or a melee weapon. It doesn't take Freud. Yet this one... Well, I had only one reaction to this one.
I was back in my old neighborhood. With the chill in the air and the soft glow of a halo around the street and porch lights meant it was the middle of the night, perhaps as early as three in the morning. The light catches onto the moisture in the air, hence the halo effect. I was walking from a one story house at the end of a cul-de-sac, heading into the street. What I was investigating was obvious enough. He was dressed in faded jeans and a light grey sweatshirt with his black hair in a sharp bowl cup. And he was making all kinds of noise as he ran along the yards and hiding behind cars, jumping out and making a huge racket.
So just to sum up: It was back in my old neighborhood, it was the middle of the night, and I'm the only one who woke up to see why some scrawny kid with possible mental issues is making a fuss.
I called out to him, asking him what he was doing, why he was making the noise, but he seemed more simian than man as he kept on hooting and hollering. I got fed up with being ignored and chased after him, but he was too nimble for me to catch. I was about to give up when a group of kids came running from a house across the street.
I heard one of them call him "Jacob", and she asked what was wrong. She looked to be about sixteen with honey blonde hair and amber eyes, wearing dark jeans and a white tank top. I told her that "Jacob" was having a fit or something and that I couldn't get him calmed down. With her and her group of friends running interference, I was able to finally catch Jacob, and the girl apologized for the trouble and asked if I could bring him back to their party.
Not knowing what else to do, I led Jacob along with them, right towards the corner house across the street. I knew that place well, it belonged to some of my best friends. But as the girl led me up the driveway, I knew there would be changes. For one, there didn't used to be a doorway in the kitchen. Second of all, for a one story house, when I got inside and passed the hall, the place had expanded into a vast chamber that looked more like it was a hotel carved from a giant tree.
I let Jacob join the others as I looked around when I felt something soft brush my arm. I turned to look and jumped a step back as I saw it was a giant spider-web, which was crawling with arachnids. I nudged my young host and asked if they were there to keep the bugs down. She promptly replies: "What bugs?" Silly me, thinking there would be bugs.
It was obvious there was some kind of party going on. Some kids were watching a movie, others sitting around on cushions, talking. And the girl who seemed to be their ring leader was making out with a much older guy. Well, I had seen enough. I went back through the kitchen and out the door when I had spotted an orange rectangle in the driveway. I was a wet piece of fabric that had the letters CSA in the middle. And around it was a circular border that spread out into a swastika. Nazis?
"Traitor!"
What? I looked up and got a bright, neon green water balloon in my face. Parked at the curb was a station wagon. In the front seat were a pair of skin heads that were laughing at me. The one who yelled was a woman in the back, holding what appeared to be some kind of cannon.
"Traitor! We don't need any traitors!" She cried, sending a flurry of water balloons at me with the cannon. I don't know what made her think I was a traitor, I came primarily from mexican stock, but that was not something I should probably correct a bunch of neo-nazi clowns on. They might start throwing something worse than water balloons. I started jogging across the street when screams came out from the surrounding houses, and I noticed the front door to my place was open.
Oddly, the first thing I noticed was that the walls were painted a sky blue. The second thing I noticed was my mother running out with a broom, and a bunch of white supremacists chanting racist slogans while wearing black military hats and lederhosen. I would have started laughing if not for the serious attitude that was apparent on their faces. And yet a click from behind me was enough to distract.
I turned around and saw a guy in a straw hat taking pictures. One of them, I thought, so I gave chase humming Yakety-Sax simply because the whole thing seemed absurd and I thought it fitting.
"Stop! Get him!" I heard the cry from one of the lederhosen wearing punks who were now in the middle of the street. All of them started pulling out guns. I promptly stopped, shifted my weight back, and charged them. Suddenly, my point of view shifted into third person, and as threw out my arms, blades sprung out from my wrists and I ran towards them wearing the assassin's clothes of Ezio Auditore, complete with a cape and a beaked hood.
As I ran, a tingling grew in my right leg. My focus shifted back into first person view, and the tingling grew. Everything started feeling distant, and I awoke to the droning of the fan in the window and the shadows of my bedroom.
My reaction to that particular dream was something out of Assassin's Creed II as well.

Howdy

The night was lit up by fireworks in the sky, the stillness of the desert air broken by the cheering crowd. I stepped out from under an awning and into the dirt road that ran along the center of town, nearly filled with people watching the show. The fourth of July. Seems like a good party, but I felt myself drawn to a two story building across the street.
I never dreamed of the old west before, in spite of the John Wayne movies I've seen as a kid. It never really appealed to me as a setting. But here I was. Moseying. I walked into the building and a bearded man beckoned me over to the counter. I cringed as the jingling of spurs met my ears, and when I got to the counter he tossed me a paper.
He told me a shipment of diamonds was carried off of a train last week, and that there were some suspicious characters that had checked out a room upstairs. He didn't want any trouble, but the reward money would more than pay for any damages, and he would be willing to split it. Generous of him, since I was the one doing the work. I got the feeling I worked there. I didn't realize they had hotel detectives back in those days, but it seemed that was the job.
He gave me the spare key to the room and I set down the paper before starting up the stairs. The explosions outside were muted to a quiet pop in the corridor. Reaching down, I couldn't find a six-gun, and was confused for a moment until I reached behind my back to feel the long bone handle of a bowie knife. I drew it from my belt, revealing a broad blade with a clip point. That'll do.
I held it in a reverse grip with my right hand, using my left to unlock the door. The key clicked loudly in the lock, and I paused a moment. I didn't hear any movement inside. I turned the knob and pushed, standing aside in case of a shot. Nothing. Very carefully, I eased my head around the frame.
Two large beds occupied the center of the room, both unmade, and one a bloody mess with a large man lying atop it. He had several holes in him, and tears in his clothing. He put up a fight, but the blade that killed him didn't seem to have an edge. An icepick, perhaps? He bled out more from the wound on his neck, most likely having his carotid artery punctured. A hard shot with a slim blade like that.
Next to the bed was a short dresser with a large jewelry box sitting atop it. All it's drawers were open, some were missing, and scattered all around were gems of various shapes, shades, and sizes. But no diamonds.
Guess I spoke too soon. In the dim lamplight, a glimmer from the corner by the window caught my eye. It was a small one, but looked real enough. Even if I don't catch the rest of the gang, it could be worth something. I tucked it into my hat and looked over to the window. A boot imprint was visible on the sill, and down below was a long awning that looked to be the roof of the stables. So that's how they got away.
Climbing out the window, I jumped down from the roof of the stables. The flashes from the fireworks overhead caused shadows to dance along the ground, illuminating the hoof prints of their horses. The smoke dissipated further along their trail, the stars and moon overhead would light the way. Sheathing my knife, I saddled the nearest horse and rode after them.
It didn't take long to track them down. There was an abandoned homestead not far from town, and they seemed to have stopped there for the night. I hitched my horse to a tree behind a hill and reconnoitered. One lookout, with a cigarette in his face, and a rifle slung across his back. Piece of cake.
I snuck around from the far side of the house, being careful when passing under the window. Drawing my knife, I cut a piece of rope from a length that was lying on the ground and wrapped it around my left fist, leaving a length dangling. With my knife back in it's sheathe, I took off my hat for a peak around the corner. His back was turned. I ran up, whipping the rope around his throat and pulling tight, garroting him. Though the rope was taught around his neck, he flailed wildly. I managed to cut off enough of his air for him to pass out, but the commotion probably alerted those inside. I'm out of time.
Bursting through the door, I had my knife in hand, and assessed the situation right away. I had four guns pointed at me from four corners of the room. I jumped through the window in front of me just as they went off. Getting back to my feet, I took a peek back inside. That's four of them down. I wonder if the reward needed them back alive.
A shadow from behind had me jump aside, leaving me with just a slash in my arm rather than my neck. He had on a black vest, a black hat, and a large machete with my blood on it. I lifted the brim of my hat using the tip of my blade and spun it back into a reverse grip. He made the first swing. I parried with my blade and turned, using my other hand to catch his head and throw him into the broken window. He didn't go all the way through, hanging over the edge of the sill. And as he came back up, bits of broken glass clung to him. His blade changed hands, and he reached down for his gun. I spun my knife around, readying it for a throw.
When I got up, I had a pain in my neck and a splitting headache. The sun was shining through my windows, and as I reached over for my glasses, I wondered what brought that dream on. And whether or not I had won my quick draw duel.

The High Road

My dreams usually feel like something out of a video game and this was no exception. The details are getting kind of fuzzy now, but for the first part, I was blasted out of a cannon, landed on top of a grassy mesa. It was right up against the side of a cliff face, which wasn't a difficult climb. It did lead to a rocky path that came out to a small village.
It looked like something out of Disneyland, or Thief: The Dark Project. The cobblestone streets were lined with shops. Following it to the right, the path stopped at a railing overlooking a view of Disneyland. Guess I got the first part right, except I was very high up, and there's nothing like this at Disneyland.
I backtracked, following the path up and to the right. Just about all the shops seemed closed, though there were a few that looked open. One souvenir shop even had racks of display swords out front, some of which looked to be as long as I am tall, with two blades. The longer blade was thick at the base and swept up in a long fin shape, about four feet long. The handle was red wrapped in black cord, which ended in a shorter blade with a similar shape, but less than a foot long. Interesting, but hardly practical.
I walked back the way I came and noticed an open door in a side corridor. Inside looked like a cross between an antique shop and a museum. It was a mix of dusty mannequins, ancient armors, wooden furniture and fixtures hand made by craftsmen. The lamplight, faded by the years, casts a yellow glow along the red brick walls. And along one wall, from the rafters to atop a cabinet, was a rack of longbows. Their quality varied from simple to ornate, one of which looked strikingly similar to one I saw in a comic book once.
"I know what you're thinking. It's real."
Hearing that voice, I was expecting Archer, probably an association I made when looking at the bows. But I looked over and saw a young woman, tall, dark brown hair that reached to the small of her back, and luminous brown eyes. She had a lithe figure under a navy sweatshirt with a hood and dark jeans that were quite flattering to her form. She nodded her head towards the bows up on the wall.
"English royalty would sometimes thin their bows so they wouldn't intimidate visiting dignitaries." She told me.
I didn't believe her. For one, the longbow was a peasant weapon. Royals wouldn't use one, save for perhaps when hunting. Secondly, noblesse oblige would probably be a foreign concept to them during the time such weapons would be in use. And "thinning" doesn't sound like an actual archery term or practice, and if it were, it doesn't sound like it would serve any practical purpose. I was about to say so when she walked off, and I found myself following her to another room of the shop.
She ran her fingers along the counter tops as she walked. Her steps were so smooth she almost seemed to be gliding across the floor. She opened a door on the far wall, and I followed her into a narrow white hallway. The door was right in the corner, the hall leading forwards and to the right, with barely enough room for my shoulders either way. She paused after a few steps and looked back past me, to the door I had just came through.
The door opened once again, and out came a photographer with an interesting fashion sense. He was slim as to be almost skeletal, and the short pink mohawk was particularly glaring to look at. I didn't get a good look at his face, his camera came up as he declared that it was time to replace her portrait and snapped away at her.
The girl I was following stood taller and posed as her picture was taken, a very demure look coming upon her face as the photographer snapped picture after picture. This only lasted for a few seconds until he turned around and vanished through the door. That was when I noticed the recessed frame in the wall. I only caught a glimpse of the picture when she had reached in, grabbed it, and carelessly tossed it down the hall. She even stepped on it as though it weren't even there as she continued on, suddenly taking on a hauteur that was jarring, and even rather ugly to witness.
I didn't bother following, instead reaching down to the floor to pick up the photo. Her eyes were brighter than they had seemed when I first met her by the longbows, outshone only by her smile. I wondered how it would feel to kiss her. Then I remembered how she looked and acted just now in the hallway and wondered why I would ever consider that in the first place. Whatever. Folding the picture, I tucked it neatly under my vest, into the pocket of my shirt and walked on in the direction that she went.
I was awakened by a knocking at the door. As I snapped upright in bed, I remembered that I had to help clean out the storage unit today. Going over the dream in my mind, I started piecing together where my subconscious had dug up each part from. The mesa felt like something out of a Mario game from the previous generation, right down to being blasted out of a cannon. The cobble stone streets, and much of the shops was indeed something out of the Thief series, although the area by the swords felt like the marina over at Redondo Beach.
The antique shop was unique. It was unlike anything I have experienced, yet would be something I would very much like to run across in real life. Perhaps I'll get the chance to someday. The longbows didn't bring to mind anything, save for one which did resemble one I saw in an issue of Young Avengers. And then there was the girl.
At first I thought she was Caitlyn, a character in my writings. She sounded like how I imagine Archer would speak, but Cait has hazel eyes and jet black, shoulder length hair. Truthfully, the girl I dreamed up could match up to any number of women I've seen. I'm leaning strongly towards someone I may have seen at work, though it could be anyone. As it is now, I'm having trouble remembering the details of her face, but I still remember her eyes.

A Very Rude Awakening

There was very little lighting in the narrow corridor I was walking down. It was bright enough to see where I was going, and to see the other people walking by me, but the faint illumination only served to wash the color out of the scene. I didn't know anybody walking by, just nameless, faceless people. They could've been anybody from anywhere, but they held no importance. We just passed each other on by without a word.
Save for one. Not only did he have a face and a name, it was someone I knew more than I would have liked. He reached out to me. He was saying something. He wanted to talk, to reconcile, to work things out. He wanted to be my father again. The shock only lasted a moment.
The next instant had my fist in his face. It felt like punching a sack of flour, and he exploded like one, disappearing in a puff of smoke. He was gone, and I was alone in the corridor.
Opening my eyes, I felt my head against the pillow and saw the door to my room past the bundle of swords against the wall. I was about to close my eyes and go back to sleep when I felt someone there and I jerked my neck to up to see my father standing at the side of my bed. He lunged at me with his arms outstretched with the speed of a cobra and I kicked my legs against the bed, pushing myself back and away.
My back slammed against the wall hard, as did my head. I didn't waste time with the pain, raising my arms to fend off an attack that wasn't there. Looking around, there was no sign of my father. Just the sounds of the early morning and the faint light coming through my window. Running my hand over my face, I was certain I was awake this time. Of course that's what I had thought the last time. Still, when I set my head back on the pillow, I never really could get back to sleep.