The Dreaming was a trippy place up close. Spike found himself sitting on a
headstone in the middle of a large graveyard. How appropriate. There were
two large, Victorian-gothic mansions overlooking the graves. Spike looked
in all directions, but all he could see were graves; headstones as far as
the eye could see. Spike was hungry he realized, and his stomach took over
his logic. He began walking toward the houses. He cam to the first house
and knocked on the door. "W-w-w-who is it?" mumbled a voice. "Is it suh-
something nasty?"
"Not that I know of," replied Spike, "I guess it would be a matter of opinion."
"I'm, oh, uh, we're sorry, buh-but we don't need anymore nah-nasty things living here."
"I don't want to live here, I just want to eat something."
There was no answer, and the cowboy, being hungry and impatient, moved on. The next house yielded slightly better results. "What do you want?" demanded the tall, angry man who answered the door.
"Something to eat?" offered Spike.
"There's no food here, go away!" The man slammed the door in his face.
"Well, do you know where I can find some?" called Spike through the door.
"Look to the north, the heart of the dreaming." Ordered the muffled voice on the other side.
"Yeah, thanks," mumbled Spike sarcastically. The graveyard wasn't nearly as big as it had been a few moments ago. As he looked around, Spike noticed a large castle in the distance and a mountain beyond it. On his other side was what looked like a vast, purple-gray ocean.
Spike started walking toward the castle. He reached behind his ear for a cigarette and started when there wasn't one there. He patted his pockets and checked them all twice. The cowboy's eyes widened, he had no cigarettes! He was hungry, confused, and he needed a smoke more than ever! "Figures." He muttered. He stuck his hands in his pockets and continued to trudge toward the castle. Imagine, all this for Faye! Spike wondered what made him go; Faye was nothing but a pain in the ass. She took his smokes, used up all the hot water and was always getting in trouble. "So why am I doing this!" demanded Spike.
"Because," said a calm, wise, male voice, "deep down inside, you know it's worth it."
Spike whirled around, "Who said that?"
"I did."
"Where are you?" asked the cowboy, glancing around.
"I am here." Replied the voice.
"Where?"
"Hoom, I am all around you."
"Fine," said Spike, giving up on his first question, "who are you?"
Slowly, a man melted out of the scenery in front of the cowboy. He was large and heavy with graying hair and spectacles. He wore an old brown hat and a green sweater-vest with an ancient brown coat. "I am Fiddler's Green, but you may call me Gilbert."
"Is that your first name or your last name?"
"Precisely, young Spike."
"How do you know my name?"
"There are very few secrets in the land of dreaming."
"Not that I know of," replied Spike, "I guess it would be a matter of opinion."
"I'm, oh, uh, we're sorry, buh-but we don't need anymore nah-nasty things living here."
"I don't want to live here, I just want to eat something."
There was no answer, and the cowboy, being hungry and impatient, moved on. The next house yielded slightly better results. "What do you want?" demanded the tall, angry man who answered the door.
"Something to eat?" offered Spike.
"There's no food here, go away!" The man slammed the door in his face.
"Well, do you know where I can find some?" called Spike through the door.
"Look to the north, the heart of the dreaming." Ordered the muffled voice on the other side.
"Yeah, thanks," mumbled Spike sarcastically. The graveyard wasn't nearly as big as it had been a few moments ago. As he looked around, Spike noticed a large castle in the distance and a mountain beyond it. On his other side was what looked like a vast, purple-gray ocean.
Spike started walking toward the castle. He reached behind his ear for a cigarette and started when there wasn't one there. He patted his pockets and checked them all twice. The cowboy's eyes widened, he had no cigarettes! He was hungry, confused, and he needed a smoke more than ever! "Figures." He muttered. He stuck his hands in his pockets and continued to trudge toward the castle. Imagine, all this for Faye! Spike wondered what made him go; Faye was nothing but a pain in the ass. She took his smokes, used up all the hot water and was always getting in trouble. "So why am I doing this!" demanded Spike.
"Because," said a calm, wise, male voice, "deep down inside, you know it's worth it."
Spike whirled around, "Who said that?"
"I did."
"Where are you?" asked the cowboy, glancing around.
"I am here." Replied the voice.
"Where?"
"Hoom, I am all around you."
"Fine," said Spike, giving up on his first question, "who are you?"
Slowly, a man melted out of the scenery in front of the cowboy. He was large and heavy with graying hair and spectacles. He wore an old brown hat and a green sweater-vest with an ancient brown coat. "I am Fiddler's Green, but you may call me Gilbert."
"Is that your first name or your last name?"
"Precisely, young Spike."
"How do you know my name?"
"There are very few secrets in the land of dreaming."
