Just Five More Minutes...

I was seated at a writing desk, my feet propped up on an open drawer, with a laptop quite appropriately on my lap. The walls were painted a forest green, and outside the curtained windows I could see the trees turning golden from the autumn. Another glance over the desk revealed a shelf with bookends containing between them a collection of Raymond Chandler, as well as some titles unfamiliar to me save for a couple. They were my books. And on the screen in front of me was another work in progress.
I set the laptop on the desk and go over what I have put down. Nero was working another case with his more effective if questionable methods, and his girl caught him at it again. Doesn't look like he'll be able to talk his way out of it so easily this time, but I have a feeling they'll work it out. They always do.
As I was reaching for the keys, I felt a set of slender fingers sift through my hair, getting a handful before slicking it back. The tips came back through, gently caressing my scalp above and behind my ears. I would have preferred they scratched a little lower. She knows this.
"Why does he only call her "darling" when he's in trouble?" She asked me with amusement giving a musical lilt to her voice.
"He hopes it'll be endearing." I answered. "I don't know if it should have quite the effect he intends. What do you think?"
She continued scratching lightly behind my ear. Her fingers slipped lower onto my shoulders as her lips took their former position by my right ear.
"She wishes he would call her that without being in trouble."
"He likes to call her 'My Love'."
"And as you keep telling me, variety is the spice of life." She reminded me teasingly.
I loved seeing this side of her.
"Sounds like you had a good time today." I said, reaching back to touch her face. It didn't take long for my fingers to trail down past her shoulders.
"You should come next time." She replied. I was halfway through a double-entendre when an electric chime came through my ears.

I opened my eyes to darkness. My hand automatically reached over for my phone and I checked the number. Not recognizing it, I answered. Maybe I should have hung up. I did a minute or two later, but I indulged her with some texts, wishing all the while that I could get back to my dream. I never did. I never could turn down a damsel in distress, but sometimes I wonder if it's really worth the trouble.

Wings Of Honor

I didn't think I would see her again, but there she was, her dark eyes gazing at me. She was dressed the same as she was the last time I saw her, black lace up boots, red fishnets with suspenders, pleated gray skirt, and a tight white blouse under a red sweater vest. She had her hair in an updo this time, and was all the more lovely for it. She was sprawled provocatively along her name, intricately painted underneath her on the nose of the aircraft. July. An odd name for a girl, but more lyrical than May, June, or April. The last dream I had of her certainly had it's share of fireworks...
I patted the nose of the plane and gave the pilot a thumbs-up and jogged to the hangar. As is sometimes the case, I was able to trace the origin of this dream from something in the waking world, this time from a conversation I was having with a friend of mine over the weekend. I told her I loved the old aviator aesthetic, a fascination she shares. And a concept that has ingrained itself in my dreams. I watched as the bomber took off for parts unknown, hearing engines turn all around me as other planes, bombers and even some vintage fighters started up.
Then I heard the sirens.
Crews scrambled to get the planes spinning and up in the air. I was shoved aside by a guy in a tan jacket hauling a duffel bag. He exited the hangar through a side door. I continued on, looking around. I saw her at the end, getting a tune-up from a mechanic.
She was a P-51 Mustang, painted gunmetal grey with two red pinstripes streaming along either side of the fuselage. The bubble canopy, dorsal fin, and four bladed propeller showed her to be a D model, a later addition to the war. The engine was exposed, the nose sheathing discarded on the floor. Remembering that Chuck Yeager had named his planes Glamorous Glennis, I glanced down to it, only making out the letters "-lla" before the mechanic shouted. After a brief exchange, he said she was grounded and wouldn't fly.
I was ready to tear out my hair, but that wouldn't help things. It didn't keep me from going to the back of the hangar and kicking the door open. That was when the bombs started falling. One flashed close by and I was knocked aside by the blast. When I came to, I wasn't at the hangar, but in the back of a plane. With all the jostling, I could tell we were up in the air, me and the soldiers decked out in gear appropriate for the period. One slapped me on the shoulder and shouted something. I didn't hear and was about to ask he repeat when the side hatch opened and they started jumping.
I was rather unceremoniously tossed out.
The other guys had parachutes and were floating above me, coasting safely towards the ground. Despite the tumbling, I wasn't panicked yet. I had no chute, and I didn't have a drop pod this time. I wasn't even falling with much style. Looking down, I made out a country road, green hills, and a town a few miles out. The trees looked soft enough.
I figured I had less than a minute before I found out when my belt was caught on something. My trajectory changed to a more horizontal one, and as I neared the ground, I was dropped hard, but not as hard as I would have been at terminal velocity. I rolled over, looking up at the paratroopers and saw a familiar looking finhead rocket by.
Next time, I'm going to have to dream up a rocket pack for myself.

Now, Count Up Your Sins

I found myself walking in a black void. I could feel the floor under the soles of my boots. It felt like asphalt, it had that hint of softness to it with each step I took. A spotlight came on in front of me, showing a white suited figure with a matching fedora. It was either Michael Jackson or Narumi Sokichi from Kamen Rider W. 
Saa, omae no tsumi wo, kazoe.
Okay, I guess that answers that question. He walked further into the void and I followed until he went around an unseen corner. Once there, the world brightened up enough for me to see that I was once more by my usual coffee shop. Down this corridor lies an Italian restaurant that I am almost convinced is a front for the mob (seriously) and an alleyway that featured in an earlier dream. Rather than go towards Ben, I walked through to the street. 
Looking at the clouds overhead, it felt later than I would normally be on these streets, yet the town was alive. Every joint had it's lights on, and I was passing by people enjoying a night on the town. As I walked on, I lost sight of Narumi Sokichi, yet a familiar looking figure caught my eye through the window of a used bookstore. 
The chime sounded when I entered, but when I made it around the corner she wasn't there. Just the glint of steel tucked into a bookcase to my right. I plucked out the blade, tracing the pad of my thumb along the glyph engraved on the tang. It's Archer's, alright. She's persistent, but she'll have to wait her turn. 
Looking back to the shelf, I pulled out the book she had tucked the knife beside; The Long Goodbye, by Raymond Chandler. A decent read, though not my favorite of his. I set it back into the shelf and walked out of the store, flipping Archer's knife in my hand. I caught the tip between two fingers and gave it another flip to set the handle in my palm. It's well balanced. She does good work, and I hope to see if I can do as much someday. 
I stopped cold when I saw him in front of me. For a moment, I was glad I had a blade in my hand, but that passed quickly. Cait would be aghast if I had gotten blood on her knife for any reason other than defense. With another twirl through my fingers, I tucked behind me on my belt and approached my father. 
As I stood face to face with him, I had remembered a scene from Alexandre Dumas' Twenty Years After: "...it was not a man... It was an apparition.... I conjured it away". The malice was clearly written on his face. I stared him down and he seemed to fade before me. I reached out to see if he were really there, and he vanished altogether in a white mist. The tips of my fingers brushed something soft. I made a grab and my hand came back with a white fedora. It had a tall crown, a wide brim, and a solid black band. I turned it around, feeling it's weight. It was a solid hat. White doesn't suit me, but something compelled me to put it on. It was a perfect fit.
As I continued on down the sidewalk, I pulled the brim lower over my eyes. Saa, omae no tsumi wo, kazoe.

The city was laid out before me, it's glow much gentler than the black clouds above. With a gloved hand, I tugged my hat forward a shade. My eyes traced the barren streets and alleyways, and I didn't see a sign of anyone.
"It's the mystery," said a slightly metallic voice from behind me.
I turned to see her glowing form step from the shadows. She was literally glowing, strips of light embedded into her white outfit. It was as tight as a second skin, and even her face was powdered white.
Her heels clicked like a metronome as she stepped up beside me.
"You like to earn your answers." she said, staring at me with sky blue eyes. Her face stood out like a ghost with her black hair fading into the darkness.
"I was never one for a siren's song." I replied, remembering where I had seen her. I'm a bit of a Bogie fan, and playing with femme fatales never ends well. I walked away and doffed my hat, clipping it to the belt of my coat before slipping on my helmet. As I mounted my bike, she had another pearl of wisdom to share.
"You won't find your answer out there."
With one last look at her, I flicked down my visor and rode off.

There was a burst of dirt and gravel a few feet in front of me. I had ducked down to shield my face, then sprinted on through. The setting was different. It was during the day, the sky overcast, and this neighborhood had obviously seen better days. And I had a large silvery knife in each hand. And I heard running with scissors was bad.
I stopped before a corner and peeked around, seeing something large, metal, and bipedal. I didn't bother to look any higher than it's legs, those were scary enough. But the access panel on the hip looked promising. As it stepped closer, I ran out and grabbed ahold of it's thigh, rising up with it's next step. As it came down, I lifted myself up and used a knife to pry open the panel, revealing a few circuit boards inside, as well as few thin rubber hoses.
I slashed the tubes open and was rewarded with a spray of fluid. The machine crashed down with it's next step, and I jabbed my knife through the circuit boards reflexively hoping to brace myself. With a jolt, I realized how bad an idea that was and managed to let go as the live current gave me a shock. As I crumpled into the ground, I looked up to see the machine rear back and roar, it's shape reminiscent of Metal Gear Rex.

I closed my eyes and felt myself sinking. There was a nothingness, a void, but I felt the grit against my skin. Not like a sand or gravel, but more like a fine granule of sugar. I sunk lower into the mass, as slow as molasses, but it was relaxing. Soothing. I sank deeper and felt myself start to fade. Thoughts and feelings passed through me like smoke in the wind, and in the end there was a warm darkness.

It was early. The sun was out, but I could hear my brother heading off for school, and the neighbors stirring in their yard next door. I coughed, letting out some of my congestion into a tissue. I'm still fighting a cold, but at least I'm winning. Weird dreams aside, it seems I finally got some regular hours in as far as sleep goes.

The Rider

The customized black Honda CBR roared beneath me, and the tires squealed as I skidded to a hard stop. Sparks flew around me, explosive quills shot out from a creature that was in pursuit. It's massive jaws were lined with jagged teeth, with claws spreading across it's forearms.
It spoke Japanese. Yea, I think I know where my subconscious dug this one up. I dismounted and tossed my helmet. Making a fist, I threw it out to the side, feeling the bracer materialize on my arm. My left hand drew a card from the holder on my belt, flipping it between my fingers as it came up to my face.
"Henshin!"
One smooth movement slipped it into the slot, and it locked in place, the armor materializing around me. I tried working out the physics once. A pocket of compressed space formed by an artificial gravity well. Of course, it's not technologically feasible now, but it's theoretically possible.
The creature charged, swiping it's tail at me and I leaped back, mounting my bike. I revved it up and rode over the offending appendage, and stopped hard on the front wheel, swinging the rear around. It collided with the monster, sending it flying into a support pillar of the overpass. Time to end this.
I drew another card from my belt, swiping it through a reader mounted on the gas tank. Turbines whirred within the machine, and it crackled with lightning. I took aim, and charged, ramming the beast head on, and it exploded in a gout of flame.

When I opened my eyes, I saw my brother unplug his playstation portable and rush out the door. He was late for school. And as I rolled over to go back to sleep, I made a mental note to ask him what episode of Kamen Rider he was watching.

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.