I wrote this for an assignment in my English class, actually. It was "write a narrative showing a different point of view for a scene from a story, play, or other material." I think it's pretty typical that I manged to use a scene from a science-fiction/horror comic book in a non-fiction course -- and get an A. ^^ For the record, this story is basically unchanged except I added an epilogue (which this story is complete without, but which I wanted to include, just a couple of short lines you can ignore if you wish) and I added one line which I deleted after a rough draft because it confused my non-Sandman-loving-beta-readers. Those who read Sandman will have no problem picking out which line it must have been. ^^

In the comic books, the Endless -- especially the two we meet here -- all have special typefaces. I tried to imitate that in this piece, but it's im-freaking-possible to imitate Del's lettering style. In this story, she uses normal font. Also, Dream's font didn't show up, either...ah, well. ::sigh::

Neil Gaiman created the Endless, the characters, the scene this is in from Brief Lives (I believe it's chapter 3 or 4, not sure, and I lent out my copy), The Sandman, and everything else. I'm borrowing, I'm broke, and it's not worth it to sue, seriously.

Above the Clouds
by Rb

I was eight years old when I met the man.

It was on the plane from Dublin to New York City – my mother had dragged me along on one of her "holidays," even though I normally stayed at home with my nanny. The plane was big and my feet dangled uncomfortably and my collar itched like mad, but I knew Mommy would get mad if I scratched.

I'd fallen asleep during the beginning of the in-flight movie. I dreamt of finding myself in our Los Angeles house which I didn't really like, too big and not really a home, all alone and scared. I knew that if I went into the shadows in the corners, I'd be swallowed up. So I ran out from the house into the back yard, but the back yard had changed into a big garden with hedges bigger than my head and I couldn't find anyone, so I walked into a woods (which weren't really there, but they were there in my dream) and I couldn't find anyone at all and I was scared and alone and with no one was there to find me and I knew that no one would be there to find me, ever.

When I finally woke up a few minutes before landing, I told my mother what I had dreamt. She laughed at me and told me not to be silly, that no one can get lost in dreams because they always wake up. Then she got up, moved across me (she took the window seat), and made her way down the aisle so she could freshen up for the landing.

I looked after her, then shifted my gaze to the side. There was a man was sitting across the aisle from me. He was very tall and thin, with his black hair seeming to stand up on its end. Sitting next to him was a teenaged girl in ripped fishnet and a ratty skirt whose hair was three colors.

Aware of my scrutiny, he turned and looked back at me. His eyes were blacker than the space underneath my bed. "Child," he said, "your mother was wrong. You can indeed become lost in dreams. And you may not always find yourself when you wake up." His words were heavier than rocks.

I stared back at him. "Oh." No words seemed to fit. "My name's Chloe Russell," I offered.

"I know."

Unfazed, I went on. "My mommy calls me her little mouse."

"Do you like that name?"

No one had ever asked me that before. It didn't take me very long to decide my answer. "No."

"Then do not adopt it as your own, child."

The girl sitting next to him looked over. "The sky is blue up here. But that's just because we're above the clouds. Below the clouds it's grey, not the nice grey of skipping stones but a really icky grey which is sort-of but not quite the color of industrial. Blue tastes better than grey. But pink tastes best of all. But do you know what color really tastes the worst?"

Before I could answer her, the fasten-seatbelt sign flashed on and my mother hurried back. She cast a sharp look towards the man, who turned back to his seat, sitting erect, back not touching the cushioned first-class seats. Next to him, the girl was buckling herself in upside-down, her legs extending into the air.

"Darling," my mother cooed as she sat back down, "did that man say something to you?"

"Yes, Mommy," I replied obediently.

"Oh. What did he say?" she asked as the plane began its descent back into the world.

My eyes shifted toward the man. "True things."

"Hm. Did he mention his name?"

"No." I shrugged my shoulders. "He prob'bly hasn't got one."

"Don't be silly, Chloe-mouse," my mother said distractedly as the plane touched the ground. "Everyone has a name."

His stone words sounded in my head. "Not him," I said under my breath.

When my mother stood up to talk to the stewardess, I took my chance and turned back to the tall man. "Will you tell me something?"

He stood up in the aisle and looked down at me. "Perhaps."

I bit my lip and confessed my secret. "When I dream, sometimes I remember how to fly. You just lift one leg, then you lift the other leg, and you're not standing on anything, and you can fly." I searched his face for amusement or mockery and found none. "And then when I wake up I can't remember how to do it anymore."

He crouched down to face me. "So?"

"So, what I want to know is, when I'm asleep, do I really remember how to fly? And forget how when I wake up? Or am I just dreaming I can fly?"

He looked directly at me. "When you dream, sometimes you remember. When you wake, you always forget."

"But...that's not fair..."

"No," he agreed. "It's not."

"Chloe-mouse!" my mother called. "Chloe-mouse, darling, there you are." She smiled at the man, a smile as fake as the curls in her hair. "Thanks for amusing my daughter during the flight while I was away. Children can be so difficult, can't they?"

He stood up and walked away. The girl followed him, but not before blowing a raspberry at my mother..

"Well," she hmphed. "That man was exceedingly rude. Come along, Chloe-mouse." She took my arm and propelled me out of the plane.

When we were in the tunnel leading to the exit, I wrenched my arm out of her grip.

"What's wrong, Chloe-mouse?"

"My name's not Chloe-mouse. My name is Chloe. I'm not a mouse. I'm a girl. Cats eat mice. I'm not going to be eaten up. And just because you don't understand what dreams can do doesn't mean I'll forget."

My mother looked at me, blinked, but said nothing and let me walk the rest of the way by myself. When we walked outside, the sky was grey. But the sky was only grey because of the clouds covering it. If you could move them aside, the sky would look blue.

I could never push aside the clouds. But, somehow, I knew the tall man could.

---

I am older now, and I have traveled many times, on many planes.

I always check, but I've never seen the tall man or the girl again, not in real life. Not in anything I could touch. Once, many months after that flight, I had a dream...I dreamt the man was dead, and it hurt...I had so much I wanted to ask him. So much that only he could tell me.

I want to see him...I want to ask him...

I wander in dreams and listen for echoes.

I lift my legs, spread my arms, and begin to fly.