"I've been having this recurring dream where I'm flying over Auckland on the back of a swan made primarily of cocoa. His name is Clem."
It's been a rough week. There are so many hardships that come with pretending to be a psychic. My dad's been giving me ten times as many tests since I've begun taking on these cases. I have to remember everything. It's so exhausting.
When things get tough like this, Clem comes to visit me. I'm hoping he'll do so tonight. I close my eyes, apprehensive. Sure enough, as my mind clouds with dream fog, he appears. Majestic in all his chocolatey goodness.
"Master Spencer," he says, bowing his head. It's weird. Ever since that case at the comic-con, Clem's voice has sounded exactly like George Takei's. "Shall we get on with the journey?"
"We shall," I reply and climb onto his back. His feathers leave cocoa residue on my hands.
Soon we're soaring over Auckland. The night's beautiful. Last time there was a lightning storm. Clem was struck and turned into fondue. A mountain of strawberries appeared and I ate him. It was traumatizing, yet delicious.
"Clem," I call.
"Yes, Master Spencer?"
"Land."
"Of course, sir." We do a few circles and are about to hit the ground when...
..
.
"Damnit!" I say, sitting up in bed. "I never get to land."