DISCLAIMER: Albeit I am the next Stephen King, I don't own the Dark Tower series or such characters as Roland Deschain of Gilead, the Last Gunslinger, or that lovable New York ex-drug-addict Eddie Dean, hee hee… he certainly is a character alright.
Just a short ficcie in which we probe deep into the mind of…Oy! Let's just pretend that, yes, Billie Bumblers, at least in their dreams, can dream perfect English, just like New York cab drivers…except they can only imitate it in real life. Okay, this is just Oy's turn to dream of the Dark Tower.
His eyes traced the wind shimmer through the roses lazily. The roses were red, the color of the spilt crimson that he had seen spilled several times in his trip of ka, the never ending wheel. Many a time does the wheel of ka turn, for he had seen these roses before. Once, in a clearing out in the outskirts of Lud, so many miles and memories away.
The roses seemed to sing, like a cricket, except more melodic. The singing seemed to ring out in the field. It was a dark singing. It was something dark.
Oy's lazy encirclements around the roses were fixated onto the figure in the center of the never-ending clearing of crimson.
The figure stretched high into the sky, breaking the cloudless sky that was growing darker and darker. It was a tower. The Dark Tower.
The stairs on the side laced around it, spanning higher and higher and was lined with silhouetted figures, singing the dark sound. Horns somewhere blared, matching the pitch of the singing. Oy barked at the Tower, maybe in an attempt to scare it away…
And the Tower was gone. As was the sea of crimson. Oy stretched his neck forward and sniffed. It was gone. All of it. The Tower, the roses. Even the dark singing was replaced by slight howling of the swirls of wind blowing past his ears.
Well, not all of it anyway. There was a single flower, a single rose that was brighter than the others. It was a special rose. As Oy approached this flower, the singing grew. As the singing grew sharper, he noticed it wasn't the dark sounds of before. It was light, it was not the sounds of the Tower. Oy approached carefully, almost awaiting something to happen. Maybe something good. Maybe something dark.
The clearing rumbled. The light melodic sounds disappeared and was replaced by the mechanic roar of a metal beast. It was the yellow of the sun, and as clean as Oy's fur. Steam hissed in exaggerated amounts out of its pipes as the bulldozer approached the rose, chewing up the clearing, bringing its death toward the Rose that was like no other. Oy barked at the bulldozer then realized that it was being driven by someone he knew too well. Roland Deschain of Gilead, a maniacal grin screwed on his face. He opened his mouth to laugh, except the dark singing came out instead. Oy barked at the bulldozer as the blade came closer, bringing its death, and Oy
…woke up. If bumblers had the ability to sweat, he would be bathed in his perspiration. He panted heavily as a dog would on a lazy summer day. He looked at the small camp. Jake, who's stomach he rested on, was sound asleep. Eddie and Susannah, currently sharing the same blanket, were also asleep, although Eddie was mumbling something that Oy could barely hear.
"Oland! No!" exclaimed Oy, imitating Eddie's unsettling dream. The words meant nothing to him awake.
Across the dying embers sat Roland Deschain, who sat staring at Oy, his eyes fixated right on his…
…except he wasn't. He was sleeping upright, and the dying light bathed his face wrong. His eyes were closed, and he was deep in sleep.
Oy uttered a small bark and then rolled back into a ball and back into his dreams.
Back to the Dark Tower.