During Dessert

Summer sunlight filtered through the window, orange in the evening drawing a shifting rectangle on the opposite wall as the curtains contorted slowly in a warm breeze.  It was an empty bedroom.  The bed was made, the floor empty; off in the corner a chair and a desk with papers piled in neat stacks, the top most bearing a red B+ emblazoned like a crest near the top.  The closet door was closed, but the clothing and tennis rackets that resided within were organized, if not actually neat.  Out of the hallway the sound of plates and spoons and polite conversation drifted up from downstairs.  Even as a sweatshirted figure, hood up, hands in pockets, walked in pushing the doorway open more than the crack it was and then closing it with just enough care that slam would be the wrong word.  A glance at the white walls, empty like the rest of the room.  Spinning as he crossed the room he fell back on the bed, white sweatshirt crumpling into blue blankets as he stared at the white ceiling.  As the white light of the rectangle traveled up, finally onto the ceiling, down came eyelids.  The dreams did not begin immediately, they never did.  It took a while to slip into them, especially not knowing which way one was falling into sleep from, exactly.  Phillip always fell in, too.  Other kids talked about dreaming as fun, as interesting or confusing.  He was told that he just had nightmares.  It wasn't like that at all though.  This time he fell in a forest.  Treebranch, treebranch, treebranch, ground.  Normally that sort of thing would leave bruises, cracked ribs, or at least wind him.  Not that he'd tried it, but he wasn't about to.  This was his dream, or a dream.  Something.  He got away with it hurting like hell.  This time it wasn't around, whatever it was this time.  The green leaves scattered around and the brown bark stretching up to purple sky.  Silence.  He might as well wander, not that wandering really did much here.  You always got where you were going at the same rate, but wandering at least kept you active, stretched your muscles in here.  It was a peaceful place, but it really was too quiet.  Maybe nobody else was asleep or something, it was early.  A few things shoulda been straggling around anyway though.  Ahead of the wave of night, getting ready to claim first dibs.  Then he heard the crying.  He had finally arrived, it seemed.  Bushes parted in front of him, dissolving away into sand, dunes spreading out as far as the mind could dream.  One lone boy on the sands and three rakish wolves prowling around on their six chitinous legs.  Maybe he'd just learned about ants or something.  Chuckling at that though wasn't a good idea though, turned out.  Four faces, one tear-soaked and three others fang-filled snapped his way.  He was running at that point.  Too hot for a sweatshirt out in the desert, though, so the sweatshirt he'd been wearing billowed out and darkened into a large, black cape.  It wasn't tough to dodge them, not when things like this had to know what to think before they could act, and that had a bit of a delay.  By the time the kid had realized he'd been picked up and carried along, the wolves were many strides of his long legs behind.  The farther he went, though, it was just desert.  Just the nondescript sand, boring in it's monochromacity.  No tears, no sobbing, just silence.  Time to set the kid down and get out.  Can't get too clear of an image in people's heads, not since that time in middle school.  He would have even made it if not for the long-ass cloak he made.  Kid clutching a handful of it staring up at him, half in awe and half in bewilderment.  Phillip thought fast.  Figured he'd do things with a bit of a dramatic flourish this time.  Spinning around like a good hero would, he unhooked the cloak from around his shoulders.

"It's magic."  He grinned.

"Wait, what?"  He was already gone into the desert again.  He was good enough that he could have given the kid the slip without that, but abandonment could really mess with people.  That was from his psych class.  It was a few hours later, and a few miles of just desert before he woke up, shivering and wondering where his sweatshirt was and why the light was still on.  Phillip had strange dreams.