Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and any mention of it found in this story are copyright to J. R. R. Tolkien. This is a non-profit work of fiction – any resemblance to real figures or characters is completely unintentional. The author claims ownership over only the original characters and the "Unified Earth Order."
When You Dream - 1
It's not normal for me to have nightmares. I'm the kind of person who can never remember their dreams. Once in a blue moon I'll remember something, but it's only like a replay of stuff I've already done. That was why it shocked me.
It was a nightmare, frighteningly realistic and completely believable. The funny thing was that I could relate to nothing in it. There were no references to my daily life, no comparisons between school, or home. I didn't understand anything in it.
I was standing in a great, green field full under a sky full of billowing white clouds and a hot sun. Not nearly as hot as the sun nowadays, though. It was like the ozone layer had never been touched. So I stood in this paradise, this complete vision of the Old World.
And then they came.
There were hundreds of them, flooding into the field, surrounding me with their foul stench and gnashing their jagged teeth. Cruel orange and red eyes glared at me, set in faces of thick, uneven skin and grime, scraggly hair and strangely pointed ears. I realized that in my hand I held a long knife, but I could tell that it would be no defense against the curved sabers held by my opponents. Still, I slashed and parried, trying to fight my way out of the field. I do not know why I fought them, for they made no move to fight me. The creatures simply kept coming into the field, more and more until I felt that I was drowning in a sea of horrible monstrosities. Closer and closer they stepped until I was trapped. I fell under their feet. I felt the sharp tipped boots cut into me; felt the pain as my blood ran out into the grass. I closed my eyes, praying for it to end, when suddenly I could hear nothing. I opened my eyes and stared out into the sudden relief of darkness. I could hear a harsh whispering, something in a language that I could not understand- it was not the Universal Code, nor was it one of the old languages that I have studied. It reeked of evil. Then, with a great lurch, I found myself sitting up in my bed at home, sweating and trembling.
I do not understand this – dream. It was far too real to be a dream. It almost felt like I was wandering through someone else's warped memories. It was frightening to the point of real fear. I felt like I really was there, not the half consciousness that one feels with other dreams. I would disregard this dream as a figment of my imagination, as some crazed idea of my waking mind, but I cannot. I fear that this is only a foreshadowing of things to come."
Darrel Branson sat back and stared at the paper on his desk. He was surprised – no, amazed at the work of his oldest student. Tanita Myers had never shown any enthusiasm for any type of work. This was a complete shock to the system.
The girl had talent, he admitted to himself. He considered his writing skills, well, more than average. But this piece was beautiful. And all for one health class journal entry.
Branson's philosophy in all of his classes was to make the students keep a journal, preferably pertaining somewhat to the subject he taught. In this case, he taught health, a subject commonly mistaken for scientific studies of anatomy and physiology. Year 2000: The curriculum for high school health had been modified into a study of behaviour and self-examination.
He could feel her terror, see the creatures she spoke of with such loathing. He wondered how her imagination could produce such horrifying things. Perhaps it was one of the tales from the Old World; those stories that were passed along from generation to generation by word. He recalled that she was one of the Myers family: a rich and influential family, they had completely embraced New Earth after the revolution. They would never even dare of fouling their reputation by telling old tales.
A soft knock on the door made him look up. "Oh, hello, John," he said, relaxing his grip on the paper.
"Hey," said the man, coming into the room. He was fairly tall, and although slim, gave the appearance of awkward lankiness rather than slenderness. His hair was black and stuck up in odd tufts over bushy eyebrows and brown eyes. There was much debate over the colour of John T.'s eyes. Some said they were gray, and some said that they were brown, and others yet said that they were a combination of the two. Certainly it was not a common colour, but he insisted that they were plain brown.
"What are you reading?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing much - just this student's journal entry." Branson glanced up at John. Then he started, an idea suddenly popping into his mind. "Hey, I think you might want to read this. It's pretty good, even if I say so myself." He handed the paper over.
John scanned the sheet and raised his eyebrows. "Tanita Myers? Not that girl who thinks life and the world around her matters not? The one who set the record for skipping class and refusing to do assignments? The one who -"
"I get the point, John," Branson said with an amused grin on his face. "Read it. I need the opinion of the Literature teacher."
"Ah, yes, my honoured and revered opinion," John answered wryly. He sat down on one of the desks and proceeded to read the journal entry. Branson watched as his colleague's face became clouded with confusion.
"Where on earth did she ever get this from?" he burst out, his eyes wide and nervous.
"No clue. She's part of the Myers clan; they don't hold with anything Old World. It's just a dream, nice bit of writing though."
"Certainly it's nice, but - " John hesitated and looked down at the paper. "Can I keep this?"
Branson shook his head. "I usually hand them back to the students." He gestured to another stack of papers on his desk with a tired smile. "Got all these to do, too."
"I'd like to - I like to see what more of her writing is like," John said abruptly.
"I think I can arrange that," Branson said, sighing as he leaned back in his chair. "What about?"
"Preferably about the same thing- dreams," John said thoughtfully. "Maybe you can make them write another journal entry tomorrow?"
Branson picked up his pen and uncapped it. "Not tomorrow, haven't got the Year Twelve's until the day after that. But sure I'll do that."
"Thanks," John said in a sincere and grateful tone of voice. He then hopped off the desk and left the classroom.
As soon as John had left, Branson buried his head in his hands. He hated teaching. If he hadn't been assigned to the job, he probably would have opted towards being a mechanic. But that was what you faced when you were one of the lower class. John was lucky; he actually liked studying literature. Rumour had it that he had read some of the fiction works from the Old World, an action that was surprisingly illegal. The Unified Earth government had ruled anything that mentioned or supported unreal creatures or supreme beings as sacrilege. Speaking of supreme beings, Branson had an initiation to attend in the next week. Great, he thought to himself. Just what I need - more work.