Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Day Three-Eighty-Seven: The Hairverse

Most of my dreams are horrifying. I don't talk about 'em much anymore, with good reason: they seem to come true. I don't like that. I'd rather avoid that, especially given what HAPPENS in those dreams. Best to avoid this shite for as long as I can. So it was a pleasant change of pace when, in this morning's dream, I was locked in a landscape that will NEVER exist.

I've never been all that partial to hair. I like hair, sure, but it's not something I think about often. It's just kinda there. Mine is greasy, Libby's is greasier, Driscol's was (is?) greasiest. Everyone else falls in-between on the greasy scale. Hair on other things is usually called fur, and I'm as apathetic to it as I am to the hair on my face or head or extremities. 

Until this morning. This morning, it all changed.

I dreamed I woke up in a place of hair. Everywhere I cast my eyes, I could see little else but hair, huge curls and swooping bangs and glorious beards, a world of hair. EVERYTHING was hair, and because it was all hair, it was comfortable and fun. I bounced on an afro, slid down pigtails, got lost in a Mohawk, and, eventually, settled down in a perm. It was warm, and cosy, and safe. I loved my world of hair, and it loved me. Greasy affection.

Then I woke up. I was not in a perm, nor in a world of hair. There was, however, something decidedly hairy sitting on my face, and in the stirrings of consciousness I felt it move. I freaked and lunged for it, and it jumped, forcing me into a litany of frightened squeals and half-hops in my sleeping bag.

Pagan and my dad laughed. They were sitting 'round a fresh campfire, drinking coffee. I bolted out of my sleeping bag and looked around, reaching for Pagan's sword cane, cursing when it immediately slipped from my hand. I wanted to horribly stab whatever had forced me into such a lovely dream, which, I recognize now, is an odd attitude.

"Calm down, ya idiot." My father pointed unsteadily at a nearby tree. "Ya got a visitor, is all. Recognized 'im from onea that loony witch's visits."

I followed his wavering arm, warily scanning the tree for any evidence of a visitor and the thing that had used my face as a resting spot. I found both in a fist-sized lump that watched me with more than the normal amount of eyes, and when I recognized it I dropped my guard.

"Julius!" I walked over with hands outstretched, and he jumped into one. "Ya little twit, don't sit on my face when I'm asleep! What's up, man? Aren'tcha cold out here?"

Julius responded with a shiver. He then pointed at me, my dad, and Pagan with his arm-things, ending with a quick point at himself - and one towards the mountain range looming in the distance.

"You introduce me to queer things indeed, Dragomir," Pagan muttered between sips of coffee.

I ignored him. "You wanna come with us? Why? Doesn't June need ya?"

Tiny spider shrug. Julius stared at me with his beady brown eyes, imploring me to bring him along. It might have worked to sway my opinion of him had his eyes actually been cute, but spiders kinda creep me out. 'cept Julius, of course, but I'll never think of him as an attractive critter. I nevertheless relented, clearing a spot in my sack for him to ride out the cold while we travel.

And travel we did! We expected to get to the mountain tonight, but we've hit a bit of a snag: foothills. I don't know how, but a small range of the things managed to hide out at the bottom of the mountains, forcing us to endure harsher terrain than we'd expected. Dad has fallen on his ass at least a dozen times trying to climb down them, as his new arms are good for neither balance nor supporting his own weight. I jokingly suggested we use him as a sled and he kicked me in the stomach. Even through armour, that hurts, diary.

We're maybe two hours away from the first and most prominent of the mountains, and we've stopped for the night. Pagan's telling a long story about one of his crazy military campaigns while dad listens and Julius brews more coffee. He's a little too technical with tactics and strategies and shit, so I got bored 'n came to you, diary, for a recap of the day. 'least I know who to turn to if I ever need a military leader.

Not that I would.

'cause… you know… the thing the rats said… no.

Lead some kinda army thing? Me? Ha. No.

I… I don't know anything about that.

No sir.

Mountain tomorrow. Let's see what all the hubbub's about.


Dragomir the Mayor


  1. Maybe that dream will come true...maybe...THE MOUNTAINS ARE THE HEADS OF SLEEPING GIANTS!...WITH AFRO'S!