Chapter 2: The Shattering of dreams.
==
"Bubbles... Bubbles."
Ethereal voices danced around Bubble's unkempt head, echoing... echoing. Echoing. The light rain and slight breeze were together blowing the concealer off her face and revealing her sordid, SECRET acne. Lying on her back, she thought, nay, she was SURE that the stars were usually not so close.
"Bubbles..."
Dazed and confused and probably hungover, Bubbles looked upwards. Her back sensed that she was lying on rock, and her gaze fixed on the white, shimmering blur from which these rhythmic utterances resounded. Whatever stood over her, though smeared through her disorientated sight, was not human. Not human.
"Bubbles..."
Bubbles snapped upwards through her dizzying pain and, careful not to seem too unfriendly, lightly SMASHED the creature across the face with her Puff Crowbar. The white, dragon-like form of the being, which quite COPYRIGHT INFRINGINGLY resembled that of the LOVE dragon in the original Neverending Story, not the CRAPPY sequels that so shamelessly CAPITALISED upon it, recoiled in agony as a gruff roar of pain escaped it's furry, hair- covered throat.
Bubbles, now floating once more despite her nausea, cried menacingly and impassionately at the dragon, "Where am I? Tell me, you indubiable beast!"
The creature rubbed his face on a stone, his arms too short to reach his own face. Just like in the film.
"Shut up or I'll get my dad on you," he threatened.
"Your dad is so stupid he got HIT BY A STATIONARY OBJECT such as AN AUTOMOBILE, and subsequently DIED before you BURIED HIM ALIVE!" quipped Bubbles, cruelly.
"That makes no sense."
"Yes it does!"
"No it doesn't."
"Yes it does!"
"No it doesn't," sighed the creature. "For you implied that my father was in fact alive during his burial and yet deceased beforehand due to a car accident. Now, my comprehensive knowledge of PSYHCOLOGY has taught me that this is not physically possible, and subsequently I call your BURIAL WHILST ALIVE comment a SILLY thing." The hairy beast glared with measured indignation, resigning himself to the role of argument stopper.
Bubbles was dumbstruck. Feeling powerless to talk, she remained completely silent as the as the unnamed dragon both asked and answered the obvious question that most normal people would be wanting to ask by this point.
"Where are we? Why, the land of DREAMS, of course."
"Who are you?" asked Bubbles.
"I am a Louve Dragoon," replied the monster, "and perhaps I can help you."
Something just happened that night, between the two lonely souls. And it was not sex. They did not have sex. Rather, some kind of chemical reaction just occurred between them, and they found themselves talking, more and more deeply, until the first light of the morning. Except there WAS no morning in the Dreamworld. Bubbles relaxed, and saw the dragon as he was; a beast running away.
"The society just got to me. It drove me out. Hollow, soulless dragons worshipping material goods, rejecting the old ways, devoid of all faith and belief and interested in a love only physical, never spiritual; running rampant all around me, were walling in me in, thier meaningless leisure activities and worthless pop-culture interests flushing me out, derisive, my morals and reservation, laughed at. Everything I had been taught to believe was empty to them; the young dragons had no interest in issues but of the flesh and of themselves. They shut me in; maybe I shut them out. But I had to go. I had to get out. I began to get thoughts of radicalism; and it was at that point I knew I must leave. I began to long only for solitude, for peace, for disturbance from none and disturbance to none. I left them all, one night, and I ran away."
The dragoon stopped and paused. There was a wistful silence. "And what are you running away from?" he asked, his eyes curious.
"The Police."
"Oh."
Nights were never longer anywhere than they were in the Dreamworld, and never more romantic. On that sorry stone cliff, the wind lapping gently at the face of the rock, the dragon's asparagus would occasionally grumble with his HUNGER, and Bubbles massaged his hernia. Sometimes ANGUS would join in the game. And below the starry, deep-blue night sky, an imposing mist swirled and cloaked the valley below them, distant and inviting like the faded horizon from which the lonely echos of far away animals would sound. Perhaps other outcasts, the creature would say. Bubbles knew it was the dragoon's single comfort, and that he too knew... that it was false.
"Do you watch MTV?" asked Bubbles, the next night, as they settled down again to talk.
"No. No I don't."
"Why?"
"The leisure of the misguided. The television...," sighed the dragoon, "was once a new and awe-inspiring peice of technological equipment, you would marvel at the colours, you would cheer for the hero and you would fear at the villain; there we had a simple and powerful tool for moral education, for depiction of reality and journey into unreality. There was so much to be acheive, and to a large extent, we acheived it. Yet modern times bought modern taste, and a generation raised by the rules of the television and so unaffected by it's power; they wanted stronger words to shock them, stronger voilence, no longer a desire to see the best we could be, but the worst we could be, and each time a punch is shown on television, it is a step further into the void. A kiss becomes a lesbian kiss, a fight becomes a graphic killing, rape and torture and played-out sadism; these things no longer affect us anymore. We are used to it, the children are used to it, and the earlier they are exposed to it the further they will want to see it depicted themselves, for it is no longer a shock to see it for them either. They will see this voilence, this outward sexuality, and they will absorb it up, and yet we won't let them play on swings in the playground and we sue their teachers for daring to order them. And once these television boundaries are crossed - once these taboos are eradicated - there is no incentive to go back anymore. We won't go back. There will be further reality television; on-air conception will occur, and less and less we have the time for anything moral or remotely educational. Dumbing down is all around you. I see it in the children already. I see it everywhere."
"Wow. That's pretty deep."
Bubbles was glad for such a host; his conversation bewildered and intrigued her; she hardly understood. She had never thought so deeply before about life and logic in her cheap, braindead Nickelodeon understanding of the world. Nurtured by 24-hour cable, led to believe that democracy was a French shampoo conditioner, unsure of where Italy was, yet experienced in the pronouncing of "awesome" and who the latest punk band were.
The next discussion involved CRUSTS and why the HELL any bread maker would decide to put them on their bread, because no one likes them anyway, and no one BUBBLES had ever knew had got curly hair by eating them. At several points in the discourse the dragon shouted "CRUMBS!" and the play on words was cause of much amusement, until it wasn't funny anymore.
"Oh," gasped Bubbles, recovering her breath after the dragoon said crumbs again. "I laughed until I stopped."
And so a flirtacious lasting FRIENDSHIP was formed, and many ADVENTURES were had, and nights were spent discussing the finer mechanics of the DREAMWORLD, and how to pronounce nuclear (it's NEW CLEE ER) and very interesting facts about ants, which the Dragoon had established over generations of reading a book called Very Interesting Facts About Ants. Then one sad day, an underpaid hospital trainee spilled hot gruel on Bubbles' face by accident, and she was awoken.
Life was hard those first few days. TEARS seemed to be welling in Bubbles' eyes almost constantly at the continuing FLOOD of memories that enveloped her liberated conciousness, the melancholy howling roar of her father's PANCREAS as he fell backwards and his innards exploded being the most painful of the transcendent mental images. Strengthened and well rested, Bubbles decided that it was probably time to embark upon saving her sisters. However, first she had to escape from the prison hospital FOR VERY UNCONCIOUS PEOPLE that she was now encapulated in. As it happened, she just walked out. After stealing the prison officer's cold, hard drugs.
==
"Bubbles... Bubbles."
Ethereal voices danced around Bubble's unkempt head, echoing... echoing. Echoing. The light rain and slight breeze were together blowing the concealer off her face and revealing her sordid, SECRET acne. Lying on her back, she thought, nay, she was SURE that the stars were usually not so close.
"Bubbles..."
Dazed and confused and probably hungover, Bubbles looked upwards. Her back sensed that she was lying on rock, and her gaze fixed on the white, shimmering blur from which these rhythmic utterances resounded. Whatever stood over her, though smeared through her disorientated sight, was not human. Not human.
"Bubbles..."
Bubbles snapped upwards through her dizzying pain and, careful not to seem too unfriendly, lightly SMASHED the creature across the face with her Puff Crowbar. The white, dragon-like form of the being, which quite COPYRIGHT INFRINGINGLY resembled that of the LOVE dragon in the original Neverending Story, not the CRAPPY sequels that so shamelessly CAPITALISED upon it, recoiled in agony as a gruff roar of pain escaped it's furry, hair- covered throat.
Bubbles, now floating once more despite her nausea, cried menacingly and impassionately at the dragon, "Where am I? Tell me, you indubiable beast!"
The creature rubbed his face on a stone, his arms too short to reach his own face. Just like in the film.
"Shut up or I'll get my dad on you," he threatened.
"Your dad is so stupid he got HIT BY A STATIONARY OBJECT such as AN AUTOMOBILE, and subsequently DIED before you BURIED HIM ALIVE!" quipped Bubbles, cruelly.
"That makes no sense."
"Yes it does!"
"No it doesn't."
"Yes it does!"
"No it doesn't," sighed the creature. "For you implied that my father was in fact alive during his burial and yet deceased beforehand due to a car accident. Now, my comprehensive knowledge of PSYHCOLOGY has taught me that this is not physically possible, and subsequently I call your BURIAL WHILST ALIVE comment a SILLY thing." The hairy beast glared with measured indignation, resigning himself to the role of argument stopper.
Bubbles was dumbstruck. Feeling powerless to talk, she remained completely silent as the as the unnamed dragon both asked and answered the obvious question that most normal people would be wanting to ask by this point.
"Where are we? Why, the land of DREAMS, of course."
"Who are you?" asked Bubbles.
"I am a Louve Dragoon," replied the monster, "and perhaps I can help you."
Something just happened that night, between the two lonely souls. And it was not sex. They did not have sex. Rather, some kind of chemical reaction just occurred between them, and they found themselves talking, more and more deeply, until the first light of the morning. Except there WAS no morning in the Dreamworld. Bubbles relaxed, and saw the dragon as he was; a beast running away.
"The society just got to me. It drove me out. Hollow, soulless dragons worshipping material goods, rejecting the old ways, devoid of all faith and belief and interested in a love only physical, never spiritual; running rampant all around me, were walling in me in, thier meaningless leisure activities and worthless pop-culture interests flushing me out, derisive, my morals and reservation, laughed at. Everything I had been taught to believe was empty to them; the young dragons had no interest in issues but of the flesh and of themselves. They shut me in; maybe I shut them out. But I had to go. I had to get out. I began to get thoughts of radicalism; and it was at that point I knew I must leave. I began to long only for solitude, for peace, for disturbance from none and disturbance to none. I left them all, one night, and I ran away."
The dragoon stopped and paused. There was a wistful silence. "And what are you running away from?" he asked, his eyes curious.
"The Police."
"Oh."
Nights were never longer anywhere than they were in the Dreamworld, and never more romantic. On that sorry stone cliff, the wind lapping gently at the face of the rock, the dragon's asparagus would occasionally grumble with his HUNGER, and Bubbles massaged his hernia. Sometimes ANGUS would join in the game. And below the starry, deep-blue night sky, an imposing mist swirled and cloaked the valley below them, distant and inviting like the faded horizon from which the lonely echos of far away animals would sound. Perhaps other outcasts, the creature would say. Bubbles knew it was the dragoon's single comfort, and that he too knew... that it was false.
"Do you watch MTV?" asked Bubbles, the next night, as they settled down again to talk.
"No. No I don't."
"Why?"
"The leisure of the misguided. The television...," sighed the dragoon, "was once a new and awe-inspiring peice of technological equipment, you would marvel at the colours, you would cheer for the hero and you would fear at the villain; there we had a simple and powerful tool for moral education, for depiction of reality and journey into unreality. There was so much to be acheive, and to a large extent, we acheived it. Yet modern times bought modern taste, and a generation raised by the rules of the television and so unaffected by it's power; they wanted stronger words to shock them, stronger voilence, no longer a desire to see the best we could be, but the worst we could be, and each time a punch is shown on television, it is a step further into the void. A kiss becomes a lesbian kiss, a fight becomes a graphic killing, rape and torture and played-out sadism; these things no longer affect us anymore. We are used to it, the children are used to it, and the earlier they are exposed to it the further they will want to see it depicted themselves, for it is no longer a shock to see it for them either. They will see this voilence, this outward sexuality, and they will absorb it up, and yet we won't let them play on swings in the playground and we sue their teachers for daring to order them. And once these television boundaries are crossed - once these taboos are eradicated - there is no incentive to go back anymore. We won't go back. There will be further reality television; on-air conception will occur, and less and less we have the time for anything moral or remotely educational. Dumbing down is all around you. I see it in the children already. I see it everywhere."
"Wow. That's pretty deep."
Bubbles was glad for such a host; his conversation bewildered and intrigued her; she hardly understood. She had never thought so deeply before about life and logic in her cheap, braindead Nickelodeon understanding of the world. Nurtured by 24-hour cable, led to believe that democracy was a French shampoo conditioner, unsure of where Italy was, yet experienced in the pronouncing of "awesome" and who the latest punk band were.
The next discussion involved CRUSTS and why the HELL any bread maker would decide to put them on their bread, because no one likes them anyway, and no one BUBBLES had ever knew had got curly hair by eating them. At several points in the discourse the dragon shouted "CRUMBS!" and the play on words was cause of much amusement, until it wasn't funny anymore.
"Oh," gasped Bubbles, recovering her breath after the dragoon said crumbs again. "I laughed until I stopped."
And so a flirtacious lasting FRIENDSHIP was formed, and many ADVENTURES were had, and nights were spent discussing the finer mechanics of the DREAMWORLD, and how to pronounce nuclear (it's NEW CLEE ER) and very interesting facts about ants, which the Dragoon had established over generations of reading a book called Very Interesting Facts About Ants. Then one sad day, an underpaid hospital trainee spilled hot gruel on Bubbles' face by accident, and she was awoken.
Life was hard those first few days. TEARS seemed to be welling in Bubbles' eyes almost constantly at the continuing FLOOD of memories that enveloped her liberated conciousness, the melancholy howling roar of her father's PANCREAS as he fell backwards and his innards exploded being the most painful of the transcendent mental images. Strengthened and well rested, Bubbles decided that it was probably time to embark upon saving her sisters. However, first she had to escape from the prison hospital FOR VERY UNCONCIOUS PEOPLE that she was now encapulated in. As it happened, she just walked out. After stealing the prison officer's cold, hard drugs.