[AoS] A Time and Place For Us

(Continued from [AoS] History Lives)

Friday Night:

Katrina loved Friday nights. She kissed all the Amazons good night and practically skipped off to bed, humming to herself. Tonight she had old show tunes stuck in her head. That's what she got for hanging out in the bunker and listening to too many of Celeste's songs on her new mp3 player: sappy old show tunes.

She usually made her excuses as soon as it was dark enough. She put on the most comfortable thing she owned, which was a threadbare old t-shirt, and crawled in between the sheets.

Alone in her room, watching the last of the pink and purple light fading from the sky through her little window, Katrina sighed in contentment. No matter how miserable a week could get in this desolate broken world, there was always a Friday night at the end of it.

Friday night.

Sleep.

And dreams.

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The world of dreams was a broken place where dreamers from the past had left all sorts of broken bits and pieces behind. Pathways abruptly ended or doubled back to where they began. Stairways led to nowhere. Impossibly small openings led to new and exciting places while large doorways led to nowhere. Some spots were only accessible if you had the correct key that allowed you to fall up a deep hole. Still others required that person fly to get there. Music played somewhere, but it was too soft to hear clearly.

In a way, navigating the dream world was much like navigating an apocalypse-broken and ravaged city.

But the dream world was supposed to be like that. It was natural for it to be a mixture of horrifying and fantastic, macabre and beautiful, grotesque and peaceful. No one asked the dreamworld how it got to be the way it was. It was impossible, horrible, and wonderful all at the same time. No one blamed anyone else for making it like this. It just was.

She navigated this landscape as easily as she navigated the streets of New New York. Though the roads were not straight and the pathways were unpredictably changeable, she never got lost.

Especially not when she had a guide.

The Irish Wolfhound had a thin gold chain around it's neck. Thinner than a collar, more like a necklace. His tail waved ahead of her like a flag and every once in awhile he turned back to see if she was still there.

They turned a corner and suddenly they were in the midst of the apocalypse all over again. The air was thick with dust that clogged the lungs.

A little boy cried, “Mommy!”

She coughed and shuddered. It was only a dream, but the memories within it were so real and the emotions of terror and loneliness were clinging to her worse than the dust.

The wolfhound wfffled at her, urging her onward. Just a little farther. Just a little more.

The music grew louder.

Around the next corner the sky cleared and they could breathe easier. Instead of grey dust, white snow was beginning to fall.

Hold my hand and we're halfway there.
Hold my hand and I'll take you there.

Just a few more steps.