Dream a little dream of me
Pan woke up slowly, tired, bored of waking up every day. Light was getting inside her bedroom through the curtains, hurting her eyes and, because of the angle it had, she knew it was very early in the morning. Too early. With a disgusted face she laid down in bed and rested there, relaxed, looking to the ceiling, her hair set free, forming some kind of aureole around her head, and her sheets all crumpled at her foot. With a smile, she saw him appear again opposite to her, smiling at her and making funny faces to make her laugh. He was childish. And too handsome. His features were too soft, too perfect. If they were to start anything together, she would always be jealous. He had his browns stuck to his eyes, as in a continuous frown, even if he was happy. His smile was too nice. Every girl would fall head over heels for him. And, if so, then it was rather probable that he did not even see her. But, from afar, his main defect was that he did not existed at all.
She had been unstoppably dreaming of him for already two weeks. She had tried not to. She had tried having some hot tea, camomile tea, valerian, whatever that could put her to a dreamless sleep. And it all for him. But it didn't work. Every night, sooner or later, in her every dream, as strange as it could be, he was to appear, to talk to her, to – to make her fall in love with him at once. They were crazy dreams, in some scenery she didn't know, often at some place in space where more stars than she had ever saw surrounded them both. They were always rare places, belonging to non-existent cultures, he was waiting for her, staring somewhere, his sight lost in the distance. As soon as he felt her, he turned to face her, with a sweet smile. The first time that she had had that dream, she had even thought of him as incredibly handsome. She remembered waking up, that first time, with a huge grin in her face and feeling the world was somehow brighter. She had kept the good mood along all day and his face did not stop appearing at her every thought, as if her mind was too full of him. That first time he was wearing a blue suit, a tight one, making every muscle noticeable under it , visible every little line, and stating clearly that his body was a result of hard work and sparring. He was the best-looking boy she had ever seen in her life. He had been surprised to find her there, some strange act of her subconscious self, and he had shyly introduced himself. Trunks. His name was Trunks. He had blue eyes, deep and acute, absolutely hypnotic, that always let her breathless when staring, totally lost. His hair, purple and very soft – how could her dreams give her tactile sensations?! – fell straight, parted in the middle of his head, until cut down his ears. And his lips, as she had just tasted, were sweet and warm. And, once again, she wondered how could she know of their taste, if it was just a dream.
Besides, he was also the perfect man. Perfect, at least, for her. Fact that was not very strange, taking into account that it had been her who had invented him. In fact, if he had not been, having been made up by her, it would have been sad, wouldn't it?
Those dreams scared her. They scared her a lot. In the end of the second night, when she had found herself as happy as the first one, so exuberant and full of energy – of energy and of him -, she had already started questioning her mental health. She had soon realised. She was starting to feel attracted to him, as if he was real, as if he was an independent entity. She felt as if she had actually met him and he was being so attentive to her, as if she was lucky to have him at her side. In other words, she was falling in love. Totally.
That was the reason she had tried not to dream of him. She had asked her father, who was a doctor, a psychiatric, for help. She had told him of her dreams and had waited for a diagnosis and a solution. But his father has not given any importance to her dreams, in the beginning. He thought of them as the expression of the need his daughter had for the perfect man, or maybe even the sexual wish she did not see satisfied day after day. He didn't really believe that her daughter was falling in love with a dream, literally. And the only solution he had advised her was to get a deeper sleep. That was all he had tried in her. Fruitlessly.
He had also advised her to find a man. Someone in her life. But she had not done so. And had no intention to, in a short term.
As hard as she was fighting against her doubtfully sane feelings, she could not deny that she was, every time they met, crazier about that Trunks, that boy of her dreams that had just kissed her.
Well, at least, her subconscious self had not tried to torture her with a love which was never returned. Should she be thankful, when she was doubtfully sane?
There was something else that had decided her father into not to take into account her dreams, and that was the fact that that boy had a tail. He was a sayjin. Like her. Like her father. But they were the only ones.
They did not know where they had come from. Nothing about their past, their origins.... So it was obvious to her father that she had been projecting all her fears in that dream, finding at a time a man who she was able to love, who was crazy about her and moreover explained why they had a tail, why they were so strong and so on, even making them not any longer the only ones...
That guy had mentioned it only the fist night. He had told her about sayjins, something about being from another planet... And his tail, normally wrapped around his waist, was totally visible when he moved it happily when sawing her or when he adventured and touched her cheek or her arm every once in a while. In her dreams she had only tail when she had in the real life, after having spared with his father and not having had it cut afterwards. When her tail was also featuring in her dream, he used to caress it with his, softly, sweetly, sensually. She had found it surprisingly sensual. And, by his smile and the way he looked at her when touching his, she could imagine that it was also very exciting for him.
She was starting to want that boy. And that made her afraid.
She... she was going crazy. And that scared her.
How would she ever live without him all the time she was to be conscious?
With a yawn, and moving her tail forwards and backwards, she rolled aside and let sleep carry her away, praising for him to go back to her, to see her.
Any comments to mailto:panny_chan@hotmail.com