Picture Prompt #2

Okay, I know this is a picture of my pot pourri, but just hear me out. Firstly, isn’t it pretty? It’s so pink and purple, and smelly…*turns down the crazy*. Secondly, my daughter says it looks like leaves from another planet.

Leaves from another planet… That is what I’m going to roll with for this week’s picture prompt inspiration.

A Penny For Your Dreams

“I’m going to bed.”

Mum glances up from her sewing machine. “But it’s only nine, Penny. Are you feeling alright?”

“I think I’m getting a cold,” I lie. “I’ll probably read until I fall asleep.”

“Take some vitamin C,” she calls after me.

Racing up the stairs, I throw off my clothes, pull on some pyjamas and my bed slippers, and snuggle under the covers. I’m properly weird; surely no one over the age of ten should be as desperate as I am to go to bed, and hopefully get back to a dream they’ve been having night after night.

Sleep is instantaneous as of late. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out for the count, and I always return to the same dream place. I open my eyes and I’m back. The vivid colours are unlike anything I’ve experienced in real life; a kaleidoscope of tones and hues that at first made me feel a little queasy. Now, the real world seems bland in comparison, even the sharpest of colours cannot compare to this.

The warm breeze blows through my hair, wafting familiar sweet scents from the blanket of leaves that covers the ground. The trees are extraordinary with leaves of blues, purples, and pinks, and are perfumed like flowers. Lying down, I stir up some leaves with my arms, the scent enveloping me, and in honesty, leaving me a little high.

I’m never accompanied. My dream world is my world, and I praise my imagination; I never thought I had any until now. Stretching my arms above my head and pointing my toes, I take a roll down a grassy mound, watching the leaves swirling around me. Kind of childish I know, but it’s my dream and I’ll do what I want in it.

Last night, I went exploring. I have decided to see how far my dream will stretch. I made it to the woods in the distance before the alarm went off for work. I want to venture inside the woods one night, but for tonight, I’m heading for what I assume to be the south, toward the hills and the moon like planet that is ever present. Some times, if I dream it is night time, I see lights on it.

I take in every detail on this side of my dream world. The rocks are covered with some kind of luminescent moss. It’s beautiful, and reminds me of the little, glowing crabs I saw in a cave on holiday with Mum. Perhaps, that’s where this stems from in my subconscious. The hills are still a ways off in the distance, and I don’t think I will get there before it’s time to wake, but if I make a mental note of where I reach, hopefully I can reemerge in that spot tomorrow night. It hasn’t happened that way before, but it’s my dream, right?

The night starts to draw in, and the rocks glow brighter and more spectacularly than before. It doesn’t phase me. No, I haven’t ventured from the leafy area in the dark, but it’s not pitch black, and the moon planet starts to glow with lights once again. Wow. It still never fails to stun me in all its glory. The lights spread out like fireworks over the surface. I definitely want to go there.

There’s a creak in some trees to my left. The wind has picked up a notch, but still I wait to discern any movement. The idea of people or animals intrigues me, but I don’t want a dream version of my Mum to come traipsing along with me. A shadow darts  between the trees, and my breath catches.

“Hello?” I call. It moves again. “I can see you.”

The night air is filled with an almighty screeching sound, and a boar bursts from the trees. I say a boar, but it’s the size of a baby elephant, with razored edges on it’s tusks, and spine like needles sticking from it’s back like fencing swords. The boar screeches again, bounding toward me with crazy fast speed. I run in the other direction toward the surrounding trees, and duck behind the first thick trunk I find. The creature slams into it. The crack of the wood splintering sends bird like creatures soaring from the trees. I sprawl forward, scrambling on hands and knees to escape the falling tree’s path. The boar huffs, and starts stamping it’s foot against the ground in a continuous, rhythmic thumping.

I sit behind another tree, trying to rein in my breathing, and adjust my eyes to the darkness of the woods. More screeches sound from further out, more thumping and trees cracking. I let out a whimper. Why is my mind creating mammoth boars hell bent on eating me? If I just let it get me I’ll wake up, won’t I? Mum told me that we always wake up before we die in dreams. I’ve fallen in my dreams many times and I always wake before I hit the bottom.

Taking a calming breath, I make my way back to the open space I was just exploring. I can hear the boar, but I can’t see him. “He’s not real. He’s not real,” I say out loud to myself. “He can’t hurt you, Penny.”

Then, I see him. His breath floats from his mouth like smoke in the cooling air, and he’s drooling foam. I stand still, head raised, shoulders back, willing myself to be brave. He scuffs at the ground with his hoof, and springs toward me once more. I can’t stand and do nothing; instinct won’t let me give in. There is a small opening in between two moss covered rocks and if I can get to it before he gets me, I might stand a chance. He can’t break rocks, surely.

I run full pelt. I can hear him behind me, the ground shaking under his footfall, and his grunting breaths gaining with every step. I can make it. I can do this. Then, I’m soaring through the air, my slipper torn from my foot by a rogue root. I smash into the rocks,  my head ringing from the impact. Spores of moss float around my face, and I can’t help but inhale them. The boar charges me as my mind drifts and the world warbles.

I clench my eyes shut, waiting for impact, but he stops, lets out a screeching cry, and topples onto his side. I see the red of blood seeping from his under belly, but my eyes won’t fully focus. What has that moss done to me?

Voices carry in the wind around me. “We’ll take that back with us. Slit its throat and drain the blood before you bring it on board.”

I loll my head in an attempt to see the talker. A group of men stand around the boar, wrestling with it’s huge weight. Two men break away from the pack and start walking to me. I can only see outlines, they’re features are indiscernible.

“She has inhaled the light spores,” a different voice says. “She could be affected for hours. We can’t leave her here, but I didn’t bring a spare suit. You said to travel light.”

Hands scoop under my back and legs, lifting me. “You and the lads take the ship back, get that meat unloaded, and I’ll message when I need a lift. I’ll take her back to worm point and wait with her until she’s gone,” says the original voice.

“Do you reckon she’s from Earth like the last guy?”

The man holding me, jumps me into his arms a little tighter. “Probably. That’s where most of the wormholes seem to stem from.”

“She could be the one, Keate.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that bullshit? That’s just a fairy tale parents told their kids when the worms started appearing. I’ll prove it to you.” He shakes me lightly. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Dream.” I don’t know why I said dream. My brain isn’t functioning like it should. I feel like I’m off my face.

“There, you see,  she’s called Dream. Weird name, but hey.”

The other guy starts to laugh, and I hear his footsteps trail off. I want to wake up now- right now.

“Not real,” I say to the man holding me.

He kind of grunts, and starts walking. “It’s a real inconvenience is what it is.”

“Home.”

He keeps walking. “Yep, you’ll be going home soon.”

I hear the roar of what sounds like a plane engine, and then silence once more, except mystery dream man’s shoes crunching on leaves. Keate? Where would I have come up with that name?

He lowers me onto a bed of leaves, and the fragrance once again soothes my aching, distorted mind. I desperately try to focus on him. I know he sits with his back against a tree, one knee bent, and the other leg outstretched. I think his hair is dark and short, but his face is a blur.

“Dream,” I say again. I’m not even sure why I’m talking, yet when I do it’s incoherent.

“I know, I know, you’re called Dream.”

I giggle to myself, and his body shifts a little in my direction. “No Dream.”

“I’m not sure if it’s that bump or the light spores, but you’re pretty delusional, aren’t you?” He comes a little closer. I will him further, I want to see his face.

“I feel funny,” I say. The first correct sentence I have made since practically knocking myself unconscious.

“Whoa, that was quick,” he says, jumping to his feet, and backing away. “It usually takes hours before they can be sent home.”

“I’m usually here for hours,” I say, rolling on to my stomach like a drunk.

He takes a step closer. “You’ve been here before?”

I hold up my fingers, having to squint to make sure I’ve held up seven. “I still feel funny.”

“It’s the worm hole,” he calls as a whooshing noise fills my ears. I’ve never experienced this before. I wake up at home every time. This is just a dream. This is just a dream.

“Dream, have you been here seven times?” Keate shouts over the noise. He sounds confused, a little concerned even.

“My name isn’t Dream, its Penny.”

His face bursts into perfect clarity. The last thing I see is his open-mouthed expression, and brilliant blue eyes. Then, I feel like I’m being sucked down a plug hole.

I wake up on my bedroom floor. Car alarms sound outside, and Mum’s footsteps pound up the stairs.

“Did you hear that? The electricity is out for the whole village,” she says, bursting into my room, shining a torch. “Must have been an explosion? I’m going to check the news on my phone. Get on your Facebook, and see if anyone has posted anything.”

I push myself to my knees, still groggy, and feeling tipsy.

“You’ve banged your head, Pen,” Mum says touching my tender forehead. “I’ll get a compress.” She helps me on to the bed. My brain aches. That bump could have happened when I fell out of the bed. That’s the only logical reasoning. “What’s that?” she asks, pulling something from my hair. “Mmm, that smells beautiful.”

She bustles out of the room with her torch, and I stare at the pink leaf she has placed in my palm.

All written works are the property of K.J.Chapman