Thursday, June 23, 2011


Her green eyes flickered upward, meeting his gaze with a stone-cold look upon her. In her hands she held a small stuffed teddy bear, much like the redheaded doll she still kept over waist, tied securely by a string. Though her lips were parted, the girl did not say one word. She waited for his input, a silent barrier placed between them. Dragon wanted to examine her, read her pages just as she read his own. But he couldn't. All he could focus on was the there long scars across her face and the dried up blood at the front of her baby blue dress, and he wondered if she too was looking at the burns on his face and the newly acquired bruise over his eye.

“Here's your coffee,” the waitress spoke, forcing Dragon to crash back to the scene. He blinked around, the diner fading back to his conscious. It was early in the morning, breakfast time. Faceless figures floated inside, each speaking loud enough that their ears could listen to nothing else but their own voices. The blonde girl—Dream—sat in front of him like a lifeless little thing. She had never turned away. Not once.

“Oh, does the little lady want anything?” the waitress asked with a small smile, turning to Dragon.

Suddenly, like a wandering ghost at midnight, Dream spoke with a startling, and yet a monotone voice. “She's not very hungry right now.”

The waitress blinked and turned to Dragon. When no answer came, she was pulled away, leaving behind Dream and Dragon with every ghost between them lingering above them.

That's when Dream's hand shot forward across the table, and just as Dragon was about to leap away and reach for the knife hidden away in his belt—he stopped. Dream was not moving again.

“My name is Dolores,” she spoke, sweetly, simply. Her eyes were slightly wide, curious, her lips parted. She looked like a young child thrown upon a busy street and left to discover the world alone, nevertheless comforted with the feeling of going back home once she was done. For one reason or another, it brought a shiver down his spine. But Dragon knew better than to play against her.

Just as she tilted her head to the side, Dragon reached out and shook her hand. “I'm Alexander, Alex for short.”

“Lolita, then,” she stated as they pulled away. Dragon frowned when she saw Dream's faint smile, almost like she had planned every little answer. At the pause, Dream retreated her hands from the table and simply looked at him. It appeared like she was fiddling with something underneath the table, but Dragon could not see what exactly.

He decided to speak. “Lo-lee-ta. Strange. Is that really a name you want to go by?” he asked quietly, watching her carefully.

“I could say the same thing, Alex,” she answered, finally bringing her hand up and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She placed her elbows on the table, leaning forward and holding the teddy bear between her hands, “This is Aristotle—or Ari for those who furrow their brow. He's very pleased to meet the new companion.”

Dragon smiled again, although such smile did not reach his eyes. She'd gotten taller, stronger maybe. Much more scarred as well. Big wide eyes. Quivering lips. Small stuffed animal upon her hands. Blood on her dress. “How old are you, Dre—Lolita?”

“I've been thirteen for a while," she said, shyly looking down for a second.

“You look quite older.”

“My height is irrelevant.”

He chucked and turned to a waitress behind him, raising two of his fingers, “Two red velvet cakes, please.”

The waitress nodded and hurried away. When Dragon switched his attention back to Dream, he saw with surprise she was pushing the coffee cup back to him swiftly. And despite the noisy surroundings, a heavy silence fell between them. Dream looked at him with no expression, blinking slowly. At times she would glance around him and check the watch that hung over the counter, but she seemed to be pacing herself, waiting.

“How did you find me?” Dragon whispered, his fingertips touching the base of the coffee cup.

Dream kept her gaze fixated on him as she reached for a pocket in her blue dress and pulled out a small photograph. It was old, crinkly. She held it out for him above the table and Dragon took it without hesitation, turning it between his fingers to see it.

And his eyes bulged out from their sockets as he stared.

She was there. A hundred eyes staring out through just one pair, looking back at him. Her lips were parted, her body half turned to the photographer. Shades of gray colored the photograph, as it always had been with the woman in the image. She had a half smile upon her lips, something Dragon had only seen once in his life, and would never see again. “You found-”

“To the lighthouse,” Dream whispered just as a waitress approached them, settling down two creamy cakes and then walking away. “To the lighthouse. Spoken for so long. A distant dream, a memory, a safe place,” she reached for the desert and broke off a piece with her muddy fingers, “A nightmare.”

“Did you-?” Dragon could barely speak.

“It was an accident.”

“But you-”

“There were ghosts, but no spirits she said, and I believed her.”

“Why did you even-?”

“You talk a lot,” Dream paused as she slipped a piece of the cake past her pink lips, “Ask a lot. Sometimes all the questions you have would be answered if you just stopped and observed. It's not a difficult nor complicated thing.”

He gulped, his Adam's apple quivering as he struggled with words, “You found the lighthouse and now you've found me. What did you do?”

“I followed the ghosts,” she answered, speaking with measured patience as if she were giving directions to a young child, “You know that by now, Alex.”

He fiddled with the photograph, twisting and turning it between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket. “Is Arch and Le-?”

“You shouldn't ask about them,” Dream continued, taking another piece of her cake and popping it into her mouth, speaking as she chewed, “The dead don't appreciate lips like yours even speaking their name.”

He blinked slowly, deliberately. The dead. “What?”

In response Dream kicked her feet up slowly from under the table, gently nudging Dragon on his knee and smiling at him. He glanced down the table, past the white cloth, for a second, finding one of her feet was covered with a dark heavy boot, the other one coated in mud. “You gave her the same weapon that ended her,” Dream said and he looked up at her again. “She trusted those that would turn back to her with a smile and a blade.”

“What the hell did you do to her?”

“Everything you did to me.”


“Not my name, fucker,” she growled, her eyes narrowed as she gritted her teeth.

He stopped, his eyes wide. Who the hell is this girl? It could not be Dream. It couldn't. “What do you want from me?”

Her glare disappeared; it dropped down like a plate and shattered beneath her feet. She looked confused, troubled. Dragon couldn't be sure but it looked legit. “I'm not sure. I let you...I followed you...I...”

He could only guess now, “You agree with everything I've done?”

Dream could no longer bring herself to look at him straight in his eyes. Her eyes flickered to the coffee cup still at his fingertips.

He couldn't take it in. He was confused and lost and for once in his life he had no idea to where Dream was heading with all this. Legion and Archangel had never fully understood her in the time they had traveled together, but Dragon had always, always known every little thing that went through her mind. He had taught her half the things she always seemed to be rambling on about. In a way, he had constructed her from an already broken model, spitted out from the place that had made them all. Their own twisted version of a little infiltrator girl. That's what he had believed all this time.

Dream pushed the cup forward again, her fingers caressing over his own before she retreated, “Drink your coffee, Alex. You'll need the energy.”

He gripped the handle with his fingers, never looking away from her, “What will you do to me?”

“I don't want you dead,” she whispered, “I don't want anyone else dead.” She paused and brought her hands to Aristotle, “It's useless, and no one suffers from an eternal sleep.”

He didn't know what to think of her words, but just the promise of living another day to figure out what the fuck had happened with her or was going to happen convinced him. He took it in his hands and brought it next to his lips, sipping slowly and carefully. It didn't taste peculiar. Could she have somehow gotten a hold of a tasteless, odorless poison?

“Gulps. You have to finish it quickly,” she urged, nervously glancing around the diner. He lifted it up, draining the cup, until finally he stopped as something foreign flowed between his lips and into his mouth. A piece of paper rolled over his tongue, thick and solid, marked with the bitter taste of the coffee. He reached for it slowly-

And then the world shattered.

A heavy and sudden light flashed for a second, illuminating the diner from a corner, rushing through the window, right before an erupting sound of destruction followed. Dragon whirled around as the screams in the diner echoed over the sound of the explosion and shattering glass. A ball of flame from the other side of the street grew and devoured everything it could, leaving behinds the remains of a building. Dragon's heart leaped as he stood up, watching the screaming people as they ran in fear and confusion, all through out the diner and street, through the shattered window.

He whirled around as he remembered the paper held between his teeth and the young girl that had urged him to finish on time.

She was gone.

Her small, simple teddy bear sat calmly beside the empty coffee cup. Aristotle was unmoved, a glimpse of order in a growing chaos.

Dragon frantically reached for the paper inside his mouth. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the moist paper, wondering if the contents inside could be readable.

They were, but just barely.

What's it going to be then, eh?
735 Suite 24th street
April 28th
11 p.m

In the midst of the chaos, Dragon could hear the bellowing sound of the upcoming sirens as they rushed closer to the scene. He forced himself to breath, to think. He folded the paper, shoving it into his pockets and starting to take off. Just then, he caught sight of the stuffed animal and stopped, watching Aristotle sitting peacefully over the table.

In only took him seconds to consider this whole thing, all the while staring at the toy. Once again he was left with more questions than answers, all curtsey of the young, blonde girl he had thought would surely die inside the walls of screams.

Dragon took the stuffed animals in his hand and made a quick exit out the door. Paper, Ari, and photograph now in his possession, all gifts of the wandering Dream.

o.o' well...I'm lame >_>' Writing thingy I did a few months ago, part of a bigger story.

P.S: Not a real address O_o' don't be stalkin'

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"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.