Keep Dreaming, Valiant Warrior

Friday, from the couch as I ease into dream: … hazy start drifts into newscasts of aliens landing to some resistance… those people of Earth still fighting being defeated and crushed, bombs devastating cities… the mothership in orbit as we watch TV to get some idea of what is happening… the east coast of the USA bearing the brunt of this assault, which is headed this way. Someone says we should shoot missiles to blast the big ship out of the sky but the newsman on the tube immediately says that no missiles are available, the government will not further antagonize these creatures, they will not fire.

"The private people have a missile… they're going to use it!" sounds out from the general crowd. Sure enough, the view pans to a steaming rocket on the launch pad… the governmental representative says, "No!" but too late... up into the sky it flares, armed and ready, Mankind's last hope... the TV picks up the view as it arcs upward and then levels out over the land, heading east, the camera on board showing towns and cities streaking by below.

"This is a "live" picture", I comment, somehow becoming the moderator for those watching on the tube, "it's actually happening as we watch.” And the view from the spaceship missle is sharp and clear, from about 500 feet to a hundred miles up at the same time, compressed for the benefit of the viewers. The landscape stretches out below, with New York against the oncoming horizon of evening, a look back showing Chicago outlined against the setting sun, and down below, as the ship passes over, the fiery hole of a bombed out city flickerflaming angrily in the offsetting dim of dusk.

I look up from my perch, where I have somehow become situated in the very nose of the speeding craft (the camera view is now from my helmet), shoulders, arms and head sticking out like a hood ornament, control box on the side of the ship in front of me, my body up to my chest enclosed within the ship. The steering has become visual/manual, and I note, from some innerglimpse of outerview, that I should have my goggles on. The ship hurtles over the land at varying altitudes, but seems to be best if flying low and (hopefully) out of detection range. The city looms near and I start to weave in and out, around the bridges, buildings and other obstacles that present themselves in my path. The mother ship is now settled in New York's harbor, safe, they believe, and secure. My way to it more and more confused, following through tunnels and byways that don't make much sense, but must be navigated all the same.

The Lincoln Tunnel is right in front of me… should I go down and under, flying over the backed up automobile traffic, or should I follow the stairs up to use the George Washington bridge? I opt for the bridge and wind my way up the staircase, camouflaged as another person in the crowd, minus my ship in a smooth, dreamlike (as real as that could seem here) transition, when suddenly, right in front of me, at the top of the stairs, the stewardess stops the line to let the surface of the bridge buckle up for a moment, then back straight and flat again. (Compensating for the crowds? Stretching?) I am let through (whew!) to follow some East Indian women up into the (suddenly materializing) waiting airplane's door, way up above the crowds still milling about on the bridge, onto a ramp that drops to the wing, with no walls on that side to hamper the view. I see the downtown area of the city in the distance as the bridge continues on over the river, but don’t have time for more than this quick glance.

The women jump down to the wing and (for some obscure reason) begin to undress, their saris unwrapped and bare skin starting to show. I avert my eyes, remembering that the folks at home are still watching through my TV camera eyes, turn and step over to and through a door that opens to the grassy side yard of a school. My two daughters suddenly tagging along beside me, sad that I must go, knowing that I'm going for good. I bend and hug them, kissing them goodbye, telling them I love them and they should think of me, saying that I love Mommy and everything will be okay. I shed them, climb back into my conveniently waiting spaceship (we had become separated somehow at the tunnel-bridge choice…it must have gone ahead through the tunnel) climb up and strap in quickly, for the authorities are coming. A man suddenly grabs onto the side of the ship, clawing at my arms to try to stop me as I flip the switches and blast off. He is torn away and I'm flying off on my rocketing mission once again.

My heart cries out for my girls as I rise above the harbor, spy the submarine like craft of the alien’s mothership, thrust the throttle full and head (literally) straight for them. I wonder if there is some kind of force shield that might protect them from the bombs loaded in my ship, but realize it is too late to worry about anything like that. I zoom slant in at an accelerating killer dive, faster and faster, closer, closer tense and POW crashcrush helmet head body ship exploding into the side of that evil vessel without so much as even scratching it…

My ghost floats over to where my wife has been watching all this on TV, and I ask her if I destroyed the enemy's space craft. "No"… was her distracted reply (she was still engrossed in the replays of the last action from my helmetcam). So I shook my head in resigned frustration and faded into oblivion...

Well, it was a good try anyway…..

I had another, much more mundane and typical dream before that one, but I can’t recall more than a particular scene. I remember that there was this short, stocky, scowling dwarf dressed in bright pantaloons and a gaudily decorated vest. He had a large hammer with a hugely oversized head on it as big as his body, which he was holding in threatening manner in both hands by the long, thick pole of its handle. He had just walked away from us, gone over and bonked the giant rabbit into unconsciousness when it had come outside of the nearby cave for a drink, letting it lie at his feet as he looked around for anything else to hit. He left the monstrous, over-muscled, gnarly, snarling ogre and its companion (also strange within my peripheral view, yet not seen enough for a valid description) character to guard me and my hapless companions as we were busy with shovels and picks filling the large, roundish pit in the ground with garden salad.

So how was your sleep?

Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-11-09