Blue Boys

Dream Info: Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Realism Intensity: 4 (out of 10)
Content: PG

I sat watching the sunrise over the towering desert mountains. My tent flaps slapped in the brisk wind. It was a beautiful morning.

As the others crawled out of their tents I reflected on our trip. This was the fifth day we had been on the planet. We had been dropped off near a large city to the east. There were tall, empty skyscrapers battered by years of neglect. One had a jagged hole in its middle looking as though something long ago had struck it.

Our scans had shown no sentient life. Whoever had built these cities had vanished long ago. The cities had sat silent for centuries.

Our small group of five had spent several days exploring the city. We took pictures, samples, and the frequent holographic video. We had then moved west into the dry wilderness gathering general flora and fauna until we circled back to the city for pick up.

I yawned and got up. We broke camp and hiked into a mountain valley. There were ruined wood buildings throughout the basin; these buildings were relatively new and mostly still standing. I led the group up the side of the basin to a series of extensive tunnels and rooms carved into the solid rock. There was no electricity; but bulbs were still intact in the sockets.

Exiting the tunnels I came face to face with a small child. I gasped. It wasn’t a child at all. It was small, like a five year old. Its head was a little too large, like a new infant’s, but its body was well developed; strong muscles, and definitely female. It jumped incredibly fast from me. Upon its face was the most curious look; not of fear, but of embarrassment.

With a bit of work, I convinced the girl we were friendly. By the afternoon she was walking among us. She was quite playful, very much like a small child. Yet a sense of cautious understanding, wisdom perhaps, never left her demeanor.

By nightfall she left. The next two days, as we headed back to the city, we never saw her.

On the eve or our departure we made camp at our pick up spot, on a hill near the heart of the city. As the sun set, our inquisitive friend appeared again. We cooked dinner and shared it with her. She loved it. A sudden bolt of realization hit me as she jabbered away. I had recognized a few words. No, that wasn’t possible. But, wait, yes, I recognized another. I looked up and told the group that she was speaking a mutated version of Latin. That made no sense. We were on a new planet, discovered a few years ago, and yet somehow the native dialect was Latin, a language dead hundreds of years on earth.

- 2 -

Excitedly I hugged the girl, and started speaking slowly in Italian. I was stunned at how quickly a sudden look of realization crossed her face. She too recognized a few of my words. We would be able to communicate given enough time. She excitedly hugged me back.

Several people grabbed note books. Two of us sat with the girl and spoke; he in Spanish, me in Italian. The rest took notes. We were filled with energy.

Shortly into our session, a low hum came to my attention. I looked up at the skyscrapers. There were lights on in the tallest tower. My jaw dropped. More lights moved around the jagged hole: dull red triangles moving towards the center. The sequence repeated over and over.

Our girlfriend jumped up and started jabbering anxiously. I distractedly listened as we rushed about setting up cameras, filming and taking pictures.

One word of Latin penetrated my excitement. My mind grasped it, thrust it into my consciousness. She had said: Danger. I turned but our girlfriend was already gone.

“Whoa, hold up guys. Where did she go?”

No one knew.

Someone pointed excitedly. I looked. There was a dark shape moving into the hole to dock. I could only see its outline. It was an air or space craft of some sort. A sinking sensation gripped my stomach.

“I think we need to hide,” I said.

“What, why?” came the response.

I turned to face my friends and explain as several small natives jump into the middle of our group. They shouted what was obviously a warning and aimed at us what could only be weapons. They were covered head to foot in a suit glowing dull blue. I could make out no facial features.

We all stood stunned for a second, then one of my group dove for his tent. A blue boy sprung nimbly to him and shocked him with the weapon. He convulsed and collapsed on the ground. They were all shouting at us and gesturing. I numbly knelt down and put my hands on my head.

- 3 -

They too were speaking Latin.

High in that tall skyscraper were a series of cells. We walked down a black metal hallway. One by one they separated us into the holding cells; their doors whooshed shut. They were clear, like glass. I was the last. Given a shove, I tripped into the cell. My door shut.

I looked around. There were large windows looking out over the city. I was thankful to at least have a view. There was a large TV blaring noise; a large recliner, a little refrigerator, and two beds.

I stood up and was greeted by a friendly wave from a native in the recliner watching TV. I cautiously backed over to my bed.


Over the next day we got a rough form of communication going. My cellmate had been imprisoned for several months. Oh, and there were these odd red sensors on the ground that I learned the hard way not to cross. He had his half of the room I had mine. I crossed over to talk to him one morning and was met by the prompt appearance of two blue boys who shouted and then shocked me. I awoke hours later in incredible pain.

Hovering In Egypt

Dream Info: Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Realism Intensity: 4 (out of 10)
Content: G

I stood in a deep courtyard, the building’s walls towering above me. The sun bounced down and the floor was brightly lit. There was a small ornate pond in one corner and some palm trees. Several lounges were out, but currently vacant. I was alone in the courtyard except for one man. In the warmth of midday, in the quiet of the courtyard, he stood with back to me. He spread his arms and slowly fell backwards. I flinched as he smacked the ground. Only, he didn’t hit. There was no noise, no impact. He suddenly stopped falling inches above the ground. I gasped, realizing he was floating. He leaned up, as if reclining on one of the lounges now, and moved his arms. He spun to face me.

“I did not know you were present,” the man stated in a thick Arabic accent.

We introduced ourselves. Through a brief conversation, we became friends. He said he would quickly teach me the art of hovering, a long and closely guarded Egyptian secret. It would aide me in my travel around the world. But I must teach no one.

I learned. It was quite easy. Hovering depending completely upon your faith: doubt not, fear not. Just let yourself float. After the man had left, I climbed upon a small tool shed roofed with red tiles, in a cornet of the courtyard. I figured I’d leap on into my practicing. I ran and jumped off the shed. I panicked momentarily, then remembered all it took was faith. No special muscles, no years of practice, just simple, true belief that you would hover. I leaned back and hit the ground. I was hovering, but my lapse of faith had left me with too little time to focus and stop my fall. My tailbone hurt, but sure enough, I was four inches above the ground gently spinning.

I grabbed my backpack and ran out the door of the hostel. I jumped down the stairs, leaned back, and never hit the ground. I just slipped forward, several inches above the ground, and shot off towards the train station.

As I toured Egypt I learned the art of controlling speed with hand and arm positions. I zipped through crowds, floated lazily through museums, and my legs never got tired. My abs were another story. Keeping my torso up, in a sitting or reclining position was an incredible work out, especially with my heavy backpack on.

No one asked any questions. No one even seemed to notice that I was moving along, sitting down, without walking. And slowly I started noticing more and more people like me: hovering through the crowds with head at waist level. Gradually I learned to hover higher and higher. When focusing, and not too physically tired, I could hover a foot and a half above the ground.

Several times, while in a museum, or along a road, I had my backpack stolen. I would be zipping along one moment with forty pounds on my back, and the next it would be gone. I went out and bought a new, cheap, backpack, but after this happened two more times I was out of money. I was also very frustrated. A cute, young, tour guide noted my sudden plight the third time I lost my bag in some pharaoh’s tomb and pulled me aside. She said that by hovering certain types of thieves would target me. Hovering opened me to a new realm: a realm that few openly discussed and fewer honestly believed. These thieves had powers to, say, remove objects from my back, without even being present. I gathered she was hinting at magic of sorts and though I felt uncomfortable with the notion, was I not the one that was touring Egypt by hovering on my rear?

She continued: Not far from where we were there was another tomb. It was closed to the public. In its deepest tunnel there was an old door. I needed to go through that door.

I did so. As I hovered down the narrow, dank tunnel, a light appeared in the distance ahead of me. It grew brighter and I sped forward. Suddenly the tunnel widened. Other tunnels merged with mine. I was no longer alone; several other people hovered along my tunnel. And ahead, carved out of the stone was a vast series of pillars and arches. Behind them, a vast sand field in the sunlight. But I was far underground…

People hovered all around the field. As I exited the cliff face, blinded by the strange sun, I saw hundreds of them. Beautiful buildings stabbed into the impossible blue sky. And there was the keenest sensation in the air. I knew that I was no longer in Egypt anymore.

Then I woke up.

Rotten Teeth

Dream Info: Monday, January 28, 2008
Realism Intensity: 5 (out 0f 10)
Content: PG

I was in high school. I had not graduated yet. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as my teacher droned on about this or that. Looking around the classroom, most of the other students appeared to be in comatose.

And then I feel it. Out of nowhere, a dull sensation of my tooth moving, felt through my tongue. I come full awake. I move my tongue carefully. My tooth is fine, but a piece has come off and is sliding under my tongue. I maneuver it up, out, and into my hand. It is a large piece from one of my molars. I look around embarrassed, but no one has noticed. I put the piece in my pocket and resolve to set an appointment with my dentist as soon as possible. There is nothing I could do now, and I was in no pain.

Class drags on. I start to drift to sleep. My mouth relaxes. I lazily run my tongue along the bottom row of my teeth. I feel the indentation where my tooth had chipped. On the other side of my mouth I feel another gap. This was new. I open my eyes and straighten up in my chair. I check again. Yes, there is another part of my molars missing. I can feel the piece to the side of my tongue. I look around trying to figure out if I am awake. I sure feel awake. I get the piece of tooth on my tongue and spit it out into my hand. It is smaller than the other chip. I slide it into my pocket, and resolve to call my dentist as soon as I get home that afternoon. I’d better try for an appointment first thing tomorrow. I would miss class, but my first class was gym and didn’t really matter.

I slump down in my chair and start to worry. Why did two of my teeth just chip? That was weird. How much was this going to cost to fix?

I suddenly feel something on my tongue. I push it up against my gums and feel something hard. It had to be another part of my teeth. I spit it out and sure enough it is. In the process of spitting it out I feel a sharp pain in one of my front teeth. I put a finger in my mouth and discover that the tooth is wobbling. It had cracked completely in half. I pull my finger out and close my mouth. Pain starts in other places. I feel things on my tongue. I run my tongue along the back of my teeth. They feel jagged and wrong.

My mouth is now full of pieces. I bend over and spit them into my hand which I empty onto my desk. Then I feel around my mouth with a finger. There are many gaps and cracks; as I run my finger along, pieces crumble off what is left of my teeth. It hurts and there is a taste of blood. My finger is red when I pull it out. I look around nervously. Many in the class are now staring at me. I feel very embarrassed and blush.

Jumping up, I put all my pieces in my pocket and run into the hall having resolved to see my dentist immediately. I no longer believe this can wait. Several rooms down, I stop and wave to Dave Marcum. He looks annoyed but comes out to see what I want. I explain very briefly and smile for him. He agrees to take me to the dentist immediately.

We run out to his car. I put on my seat belt and then spit out some more chips of teeth. What was left was still crumbling in my mouth. I flip down the sun visor and open my mouth as I angle the little mirror on its back. I can see the jags that were left of my teeth, and the many gaping holes where some had completely decayed leaving my jaw visible through the gums. There isn’t too much blood. And, for how bad it looked, it really didn’t hurt as much as one would expect.

Dave drives to the dentist. But this is where I wake up.