The sea is very calming to look at.
Waves rocking back and forth, rhythm wild yet relaxing as it continues unpredictably. The stretch of blue that reaches past the horizons, continuing on forever as if the world is infinite.
Under any other circumstance, this would be beautiful. But that beauty shouldn't be here. Not when the last thing I remember was lying down in my bed, in my room, nowhere near the ocean.
Where the hell am I?
I can't stop staring at the ocean, as if it's telling me not to look away. The waves rise and fall in a hypnotic pattern, alive. It's as if the sea itself is trying to dull the onset of questions in my head, though to no avail.
I was just in my room, going to sleep, how am I looking at an ocean? Where is this? What ocean even is this? How did I get here? Why am I here?
My eyes slowly drop, my hands brushing against the sand clumped around me as I sit. It's rough and solid, the grains falling through the gaps in my fingers as I lift a handful.
Wait. My hand?
I freeze, staring at it. It's small. The kind of hand that belongs to a child, tiny fingers, small palm, no sign of calluses or aging.
Wait. I'm small.
...
...?
I'm nineteen. Was nineteen? I know my hands; they were not baby hands last time I checked. And I sure as hell did not go to sleep in... a potato sack? Are you kidding me?
I grip my lame excuse for an outfit as the questions pile up faster and faster. The waves crash louder than before as my head spins. I shift myself to stand, wobbling on these unfamiliar baby legs. The sand shifts under my weight, but that's not what stops me.
Wings.
Two large white wings are protruding from my back, shadows casting down on the sand as I move. They're heavy, uncomfortable, and unmistakably attached to me.
Oh.
Oh.
A lucid dream. Of course.
That's the only explanation. I've had a few lucid dreams before, the wild and impossible kinds where dreams literally do come true. But those have never felt this... vivid.
But it's got to be one of those. Has to be. What else could explain this? Me, a kid again? Wings? Random beach? Potato sack?
I look back at the ocean, it's way too pretty and perfect, it's too... much for reality. Yeah. Definitely a dream. For sure.
I take a few steps forward, sand shifting under my weight and wings dragging behind me. The shore shows me a reflection that is mildly familiar. Brown hair, white skin, blue eyes. Wings, bandage wrapped around my forehead, potato sack.
"This is the weirdest lucid dream ever," I mumble to myself, staring at the reflection that should be me.
The ocean offers no consultation, just the rhythmic crashing of waves.
I finally tear my gaze from the water after starting far too long. As mesmerizing as it is, to just spend the rest of this lucid dream looking at my ocean's reflection would be stupid and a waste. There's got to be something else here, something more than the sand and sea. There always is in one of these dreams.
To either side I can only see sand, sand, and more sand. It goes on as far as I can see in either direction - endless. Behind me is a dense forest, which after listening for no more than a second erupts with a loud ferocious roar, with birds fleeing from the treetops.
Yeah, no.
I take a few steps along the shore, direction chosen by a gut feeling, before narrowing my eyes down at the wings dragging awkwardly behind me, their weight pulling my shoulders back. They leave a large line in the sand as I move, pathing my existence. It feels... exposing. Wrong.
I don't like it.
With a deep breath I hunch forward slightly; awkwardly folding the wings closer to my back and off the ground. The muscles feel foreign but obey as if I have a second set of arms. I pull at the potato sack - dream logic or not, this is a sad excuse for clothing - and manage to get my wings inside. The wings on my back press against me; uncomfortable, but now hidden, their heaviness is now accompanied by an aching sensation.
I can deal with that. At least it feels safer.
As I trudge forward, slightly faster than before, the beach begins to give way to patches of grass. Off in the distance, something catches my eye - a small smudge just against the horizon. My pace quickens, curiosity pushing me even as my legs wobble unsteadily beneath me.
The smudge grows clearer with rooftops, walls, structures. A town? City? I feel my stomach twist, not with hunger - though I am now aware of a sudden emptiness in my gut - but with something closer to relief. Civilization.
But as I draw closer, my focus shifts. The pristine structures in the distance are only a part of the picture. Before the city walls lies something else entirely; a chaotic mess of debris and trash, a sprawling dump stretching all around the city perimeter.
It's massive - mountains of trash piled high, some smoke rising lazily from small, smoldering heaps. Figures dart between mounds, movements quick and random, like rats scurrying in a sewer. Even from here, the stench begins to creep in, sharp and acidic, mixing unpleasantly with the salty ocean breeze.
I stop, shrinking back and holding my nose.
"Eugh - what the heck?" I whisper, coughing through the disgust.
The wings twitch against my back as an instinctive response, unease crawling over me. I can't take my eyes off the scene. It feels wrong, gross, like something I'm not supposed to be witnessing.
Yet, just as the ocean had pulled me, it was impossible to look away. The contrast was stark; a pristine clean city glimmering in the background, blocked by a massive, towering wall, and the desolation here, like a forgotten corner of the world.
My gaze flickered from figure to figure in the dump. Some look like children, small and quick darting through piles of garbage with practiced precision. Others much older, movements slower and heavier as they sift through trash. What were they looking for? Food? Supplies? Something to keep them going just one more day?
The questions yet again swirl, but there are no answers here. Only smoke and heavy silence.
I shake my head and turn my focus to the grand city beyond. That's where I want to go. This is my lucid dream, so there's probably something for me to do there.
I set my jaw and start pacing through the mounds of garbage, cautiously taking barefoot steps through the mess. I keep my focus ahead, towards the city walls and the gates, and pay no heed to the people around me.
I pull the wings tighter against my back, grimacing at the discomfort as I shift the sack to conceal myself just a little bit more. One thing I have noticed is that no one else here has wings, all as human as can be. It brings on an odd feeling that's hard to describe, like I am alone in this world.
Then again, this is a dream, so I am literally the only one in this world.
I shake the thought from my head as I see the entrance into the city. It's huge, bigger than a house. There are two guards standing on either side of the opening, the gate wide open.
The guards shift lazily as I approach, both wearing polished armor that gleams in the sunlight. Though, it's not enough to hide the small dents and scratches from years of use - or misuse.
Both are tall with an air of authority, though it feels more performative than genuine. Both their stances are more bored than alert, each holding a spear loosely to their sides. It's as if standing properly would exert too much effort.
Neither seemed very surprised to see me. People must come in and out here often.
A woman in a ragged dress shuffles past me with a sack of salvaged items hauled over her back, her head bowed to avoid the guards' stares. A scrawnier man went in behind her, slyly giving a handful of coins to one of the guards without breaking his pace. The guard's expression turns smug as he pockets the cash and nods to the other guard, allowing the pair in without a word.
It's only when I'm within earshot that the guards finally take notice of me. One raised a hand, palm out, to stop me. His helmet tilts slightly, as if it's more for show than functionality, and his face beneath it looks young and annoying.
"Hold it," he says, his tone bored. His voice doesn't have the imposing weight I expected; it's more like the tone of a tired cashier that's worked one too many shifts. "Where do you think you're going, kid?"
I pause, nervously playing with my own hands despite the demeanor of the guard. The other one, leaning heavily on his spear, peers at me with only mild interest. His expression shifts slightly as he takes a look at my clothing.
"No coin, no haul, nothing of value," the second guard says, straightening up ever so slightly with a yawn. "Let me guess: you've never been to a city? This is the wrong place to be broke at, kid."
"Can't I just go inside?" I blurt out, annoyed. "I don't have-"
"No kidding," the first guard interrupts with a smirk. "You don't have anything. No bribe, no reason to let you in. Why don't you just turn around and go back to where you're from?" He gestures vaguely over my shoulder, smirk widening as he adds, "The dump."
It's clear to me that I'm dealing with an ass, but I grit my teeth and stay in place.
"Come on," the second guard squawks. "We've got better things to do than babysit you. Move along, or I'll move you myself."
I glance over my shoulder and see a very small line has formed behind me. Most carried sacks of scavenged goods, eyes fixed ahead or to their feet to avoid attracting the guards' attention. No one spares me a second glance.
The guards are clearly used to people like me. No coin, no goods, no nothin'. Just another person trying to get in.
I accept defeat and step to the side. If I have nothing to bribe them with, then what?
As I walk away, the guards lose interest immediately, turning their attention to an older man dragging a heavy sack behind him. I duck out of sight behind a trash pile, walking along the edge of the wall. The noise of crowds from the inside overflowing over the walls.
There has got to be another way in.
I trail along the base of the wall, hand brushing against it as I go. I scan the wall for any sign of a crack or opening. The smell of the slums - smoke, rot, all mixed with something chemical and sharp that stings my nose - makes my face scrunch as I put a hand over my nose and continue on.
Finally, I spot a quiet stretch of wall where the stone is rough and weathered. Some of the blocks that make up the wall are crumbling in places. I reach out, pressing my palm against the decaying surface.
I feel like I'm playing Jenga as I move my palm about, trying to find a place where the blocks are ruined enough to fall through. It takes a while, but I finally find a movable piece, I push it all the way through the wall with a thud. I peer in, being met with an old building only a few feet away. No one is in sight.
I try to push the surrounding blocks through, shoving them in and trying to pull them out, but to no avail.
I think about giving up outright, before shoving my arm through the hole as a last-ditch effort. I feel around the other side of the wall to see if any of the blocks on that side would move, gritting my teeth through uncomfortability. Nothing budges. I try to pull my arm back through but it's stuck.
Stuck, stuck.
I try yanking myself out with my other arm, planting a foot on the side of the wall. I strain myself, but my arm doesn't give. I put my foot back down and take a deep breath as I lean my free arm on the wall.
As I exhale, my stuck arm tingles against the stone. At first, I think it's just because of how I strained it, but then the sensation spreads, crawling up my arm like icy pricks.
I freeze. The wall around my arm shifts somehow - not visibly, but I feel it. It's like the texture of the stone is softening and rippling beneath my skin. Before I can react, my arm slides through the wall as if it's been pulled free, and I stumble back.
"What the-" I get out, staring at my hand. It's completely fine - aside from a few scratches from when I tried to pull it out - but the sensation lingers, like my whole arm was just submerged in cold water.
I glance around to see if anyone else saw that, but the stretch of wall is still quiet, hidden by an unusually tall mountain of trash. The noise of people stifling through trash feels distant, muffled by the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears.
I reach out to the hole in the wall again, hesitant but unable to stop myself. My fingers brush the wall and, somehow, they sink into it. I jerk back, the strange watery sensation weakening as I break contact.
"What is happening?" I whisper to myself.
I press my hand flat against the wall, this time leaning into it. The stone ripples around my skin, the sensation spreading up my arm. My breath catches as the resistance vanishes, and my entire body begins to sink into the wall.
It's like I'm stepping into a pool of ice-cold water. The tingling spreads over me - strange, though not unpleasant. I close my eyes, bracing for the pressure to tighten or the wall to push me back out in rejection. Instead, I lurch forward, my foot landing on solid ground.
I blink, disorientated, as the world seems to shift around me.
The first thing I notice is that the air smells cleaner on this side, though not by much. It's still tainted with the smell of smoke, but the smell of trash is almost gone completely. The faint hum of a crowd echoes on the buildings around me, a dull backdrop to the quiet alley I've found myself in.
I blink to face the wall behind me. It's still solid, the only block missing being the one I pushed out just a moment ago.
"How...?" I trail off, staring at my small hands before re-affirming myself, "Right. Lucid dream."
My heart is still racing, but a thrill courses through me. Whatever I just did worked - I've made it inside.
I step forward, the alley stretching out towards the muffled sounds of the city. Worn buildings cramped and leaning, windows barred and patched with sheets of rusted metal. The narrow street beyond the alley is bustling with movement, people hauling wares, haggling loudly, and everyone shouting over the noise. Slums.
My stomach twists at the sight. It's a little different than I imagined - not as grand or pristine as what I saw from the other side. Maybe all that stuff is further in? Divided by class?
I take a deep breath as I step out of the alley, merging with the chaos of the city.
Well, I'm in.
I stick to the edges of the street, head down - with the occasional look up to see where I'm going - and wings tucked in tighter to my body than before. Last thing I want to do right now is stand out.
As I move through the crowd, a small building in the distance catches my attention. The sign above the door swings in the breeze, faded paint reading something I can't quite make out. Still, it looks like a tavern - or at least something close to it.
I make my way to the door and hesitate for a moment before stepping inside.
The air is thick with the smell of ale and sweat. A murmur of conversation fills the dimly lit room. It's quieter here than outside, though just as crowded. A handful of rough-looking men and women are scattered around the room, some nursing drinks while others are hunched over card games.
I step carefully toward the bar, doing my best to avoid drawing attention by trying to make myself as small as possible.
That's when I see them - wanted posters, pinned haphazardly on the wall beside the counter on a large cork board that has seen better days.
The first one on my eyes land on makes me stop in my tracks.
It's a crude photo, maybe drawing, of a man with a ridiculous red nose and exaggerated grin, his expression somehow both menacing and cartoonishly ridiculous at the same time. Beneath his face, bold letters spell out his name:
Buggy the Clown
My eyes widened as I reread his name. I tear my gaze away, scanning another poster. A sharp-toothed man with an unusually sharp nose - Arlong the Saw.
Oh.
Oh...
The lucid dream is One Piece themed. Sick.