Just woke up from the coolest dream. Well, it was about half an hour ago anyway, so the magic has faded a bit, but nonetheless I shall try to recapture how I felt. I think it was a result of growing anxiety to face school, and reading a book called The Supernaturalists, by Eoin Colfer. Wicked dream.
Basically skipping forward a bit, I was suddenly a wanted man. My 8-year-old host became a culprit, or whatever the word is for assisting a crime (I’m sure I’ll remember it a few hours later when I don’t need it), and SWAT teams were infiltrating my young friend’s house in search for us. I knew there was no chance we could defeat them, the only chance of survival was escape. How unlike me.
Behind me, I heard footsteps in the stairs, and the kid dragged me into the space between a cupboard and a wall. Fighting spiders away, I did my best to blend into the shadows as the troops stormed past. Peaking my head out, I decided it was clear and signalled for him to follow. We returned to his bedroom where they had not yet been.
It was there I came up with the brilliant idea of jumping out the two-story window. The little dude nodded fiercely in approval, understanding it was our only escape, and went off to find parachuting equipment. He returned, just as there was sound of movement in the next room, clutching a tea towel and a pillow. A voice called,
"In here, next."
Without time to congratulate him on his improvised brilliance, I opened the window, leaning out to notice the soldier they left to watch the area. Apparently he had disobeyed orders, because he was chained to the fence and was looking very bored. I jumped, using the tea towel to slow me down perhaps a fraction of a second as I hit the ground with a velocity of 15 metres per second. In that .2 of a second I was falling, I had time to think "this is going to hurt, how do I decrease the pain?" I decided to somersault to spread the impact, but by the time I finished formulating my plan, I hit the sand, reducing impact by bending my legs and absorbing it, stabalising myself with one hand. Glancing at the guard, I sped around the corner and waited for little buddy to follow. He didn’t, and when the guard saw me checking, I panicked and lost it.
I was cornered now. To my left, the escape- a glass door that led inside the house. No option there. On the floor was a large wooden door, leaning horizontally against the brick wall. On my right, well, that led to a neighbour’s angry dog. Before me was a wall of solid steel fence- easily enough to get over if I didn’t have Nameless 8-year-old to worry for. What was keeping him? Was he waiting for the right moment, or did they capture him? I would have to wait just a little while longer.
It was at that moment, the door opened, and I dove behind the door, somehow wearing a black tanktop with utility belts, face paint and an army bandana. Comes from dodging the SWAT teams all day, I figured. At any rate, Mr Jamieson [maths teacher at our school] stepped out, followed by a Russian fur-trader. I had no idea what they were doing together, but they were apparently in the same business.
Jamieson spoke to the SWAT leader who had come to report. Nada.
"Keep searching. I know these kids, they haven’t left the house."
"How do you know?" asked fur-man.
"I can tell," he answered, his gaze icy, his voice layered with malice. "Search the fence, the borders, the garage. Perhaps your men are intelligent enough to search behind it too? Get moving," he ordered.
It was a pathetic hiding spot, I know. Truly, not my greatest moment. Picture hiding behind a cardboard box. There was no way I was getting under that door though- just one look at those cobwebs made it clear it wasn’t an option. I made a mental note to bring a feather duster or something of the sort on all future missions should this scenario ever happen again.
I tried to shrink as the Russian advanced on the steel fence, and as he turned around, he saw me crouching there and blinked for a moment.
"Hey Johnny! I got’im!" [Note: Mr Jamieson’s first name is Geoff. I’ve called him that ever since he told us to on Maths Camp] he cried. Mr Jamieson turned around, in the act of closing the door behind him, and stepped out with his blonde daughter (who got there somehow- I just love the logic of dreams) just in time to see me slam the guy in the face. He let go of me instantly, and upon gaining my footing, raised my guard to swipe at him again. Swing left, guard up, move around, swing right, guard up, change stance… I realised he wasn’t moving. A particularly violent hook knocked him unconscious, and I turned to face Jamieson.
There was probably some dialogue here, but it’s escaped me. We grappled, grabbing each other’s shoulders and struggling to overpower one another.
"You’re mine kid!" he hissed, but my grip was adamant.
"Don’t you know the meaning of human rights?!" I yelled back. "Of dignity?!"
"Human rights! Ha! You won’t be getting any once you’re in prison, and I get a $500 machine." Somehow it all made sense- by removing us [an elite band of rebels who had been causing all kinds of hell, spearheaded (of course) by me], he got some sort of pokie (poker machine), and he was willing to make the trade.
Newfound power surged through my veins as I strengthened my hussle, pushing him back slightly. Not an easy feat, seeing as he’s an athlete. Nonetheless, fighting for justice and righteousness, and confronting the face of evil, it was a battle I could not lose. Breaking the grip in my right hand, I took the opportunity to jab him in the face, though there wasn’t much power behind it because he was restricting me. Repeating this a number of times, the struggle grew more and more desperate until I opened my eyes and screamed, punching the air. Blinking, I lowered my hand and grinned, cuddling my pillow. Wicked dream.
I was in the stage of waking up where you’re just a little too tired to think about anything other than falilng back to sleep, and so was able to continue the dream in my own fashion. Reality was, I would have kicked his maths-teacher ass. Probably would have used my legs a whole lot more.
"Sorry about your father," I would say to the teenaged girl. "And that guy," nudging my head in the direction of furman.
"Hey ah.. no worries…" Then basically she wanted to be a rebel like me. 8-year-old was completely lost, for whatever reason, so I gave her a leg up and she hauled herself over the fence. Running sidelong across the brick wall, I cleared it with relative ease, and off we were to face the world, and die another day.