Sweet Dreams

by Saekwaka

Introducing the Boy

I seat myself behind my father, taking in the old, familliar scent. Only this time, I realize what the scent actually is. Cherries, I muse. There aren't very many ways to be certain, though, so instead, I just stick with the idea that the truck is scented with cherries.

There are several thoughts going through my head at the moment that I'd really enjoy speaking out loud, but I supress saying each one of them. Lia, my sister, sits next to me; beaming, as if her prescense should please me. For the record: it doesn't.

She asks me how I'm doing and if I'm still writing. No shit; I have a notebook on my lap. Can't you put two and two together? I think bitterly. Out of all the children my father has, I honestly think Lia is the least educated.

Dad has seven children and three children in-law children. Well, now, two. One of my other sisters, Kira, decided to take up my stepdad's offer in changing her last name to his, and since Kira is technically not related to my dad (she has a different one), no real conflict ever happened because of her decision. That, and Dad never really cared what we did or what we do so long as he can brag about how great we are and strut around talking about us as if we're HIS achievements; not that it matters. He can't see me anyways.

He says he "values my intelligence," but beyond that, he doesn't know that I'm the quiet kid that hides underneath the shadows of people both older and younger than him. Pretty pathetic, huh?

To Dad, I'm his youngest kid with a talent. Nothing to write home about, but he somehow manages to boast. Honestly, who can blame him for running away from his children by jumping state to state? To him, we're not just trophies, we're mistakes that need to be paid for.

I want to ask him, "Why are you so set on what others think of you? Why does it matter so much to you?" Since Lia's here, though, I can't really do that. It'd be different if it were just Dad and me.

Why did he have to bring Lia along? She's so annoying. See, this is where irony kicks in: I'm the youngest. I'm supposed to be the annoying one. Then again, I'm very easy to annoy.

She's sitting there in an undershirt that reveals her flat chest and shorts that show her underwear. I'm not talking about the shorts that are too large, by the way; I'm talking about the kind that could pass for panties because they're so short.

I never really understood why she insists on dressing that. I ignore this, and still try my hardest to be polite to her. After all, she's had a hard life, too. We all have.

The seventeen-year old misfit inturrupts my thoughts. "Are you still drawing too?"

No. See these large hand movements? They're for drawing the symbols to my new language. I admit, I'm sardonic to a fault.

"Yeah." I say, covering my work. Usually, I'm not bothered by people taking looks at my work, since we are all victims of curiosity. As for Lia, though, she's known to make fun of every single mistake; it's really embarrassing.

My dad gets in his truck and turns his key to start the engine. At this point, I am preparing myself for the typical parenting interrogation along with his preachings about how I should "live my life this way" or "live my life like that."

I never mention how annoying it is because, "It's been years since I've seen you, Little Eagle-Eye!" He says, grinning back at me. I smile. "Eagle-Eye" is my nickname.

Once, when he forgot where he put his cigerette lighter, we had to stop the truck for like, ten minutes. During that time, I was thinking about the last time I saw it. Guess what? Memory kicked in and told me it was in the cup-holder I saw him put it in before we stopped for gas. Eagle-Eye.

"Yeah, ha." I respond, letting out a quiet laugh.

"What you been up to? I hear you've been workin' at that fireworks stand. It's good that you workin' hard and earnin' some money."

"Well, actually, the money I'm earning goes to our school band accounts. The more people buy, the more money that each one of us recieves from the distributed profits."

"That's good! You in the band? What you play again? The, uh, saxiphone?"

"Yeah." My other option was the clarinet that Kira used to squeak on. "I'm trying to get an intermediate." I say.

"That's cool, that's cool; you know, I used to play the trumpet. Did I tell you that?" He turns his rear-view mirror to look at me.

"Yeah." I answer, taking out my Nintindo DS. Time to escape this.

After that, we drive down to get to Lia's aunt's house. It's a long drive, and a lot of it's going to be silent besides the radio playing and the hum of the truck. I don't mind; it's better than last time I saw him when I was thirteen, and he only stuck around for ten minutes to grimace at me.

I've always enjoyed car rides; staring absent-mindedly out of the window and watching the scenery slip by, like the memories in my head. The way they just go from picture to picture and from memory to memory can be either depressing or downright enraging.

It's good that the open fields we speed past hold only the reminiscence of driving with Dad as a child, and spaces for all of my thoughts to relax quietly and create an ensemble of serenity.

I lose myself inside of my own thoughts while Lia and Dad begin to converse. I hear snips of their phrases at first until eventually I zone out entirely and allow my imagination to take over my entire conciousness like a dream.

At times, I really hate dreams. They are the opposing areas of reality that hold every one of a person's memories and thoughts. Not only that, they can create the impossible; ranging from one's greatest desires to one's most horrible fears. They are the longings of the past and the present. They are the back of the dusty shelf left untouched for ages within the depths of a person's mind. They are the ties between insanity and sanity. Sometimes, I swear, they are evil.

The moment I wake up from a pleasant dream, I am forced back into an ugly reality. It sucks. Like I said; it's a tie between sanity and insanity. So many people go insane simply by dreaming. I guess I shouldn't call them evil, though, since obsession is a human's fault.

Since this zone out is only like a dream and not actually a dream, I've no real reason to complain. At least I don't have to hear him talk, right?

He talks far too much. At times, I wish he'd listen to me, but it's not really a big deal. It's not like it'd matter much anyway since he's away most of the time.

I find out by careful observation that a lot of my physical features come from him (appropriate, since he's my father) instead of my mother. I really hate being compared with my parents; can't I just be, you know, me?

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A loud, staccato alarm sounds. I nearly jump out of my seat. Dear, sweet Mother Earth, why does the truck make such an agitating sound?

"What the hell is that?" I demand.

"The po-po are around." Dad answers, as if that should make any sense.

"Dad has an alarm in here to warn him when a cop is around," Lia explains. "See? It's on the window." She gestures to the front window.

Huh. Look at that. There is, right on the window attatched by one of those suction things, a black contraption with red, flashing lights.

What possible use could that serve for him? I wonder. Then I remember: Dad is prone to speeding. He's always hated going slow on his trucks; not that I could blame him.

Wouldn't be his first attempt in avoiding the fuzz. He is a former alcohol and drug addict. When Mom left him, he went to jail, forcing him to give my half-siblings back to their own biological mother, Michelle. Not my mom. That's all done now, though. I won't bring that up now, even though I want to.

"Lee, you got some nice, big dogs at home. I want you to meet my new baby, Sheeba. She's your new little sister!" Dad laughs.

When I tilt my head, Lia explains again, "Sheeba is his dog."

Well, that's good. I don't want another sister. There are too many girls around here all ready.

"What's your dogs' names again?"

"Rufus and Drake. Rufus is the boxer, Drake is the black lab." I answer. I neglect to mention that I am more of a cat person. Why spoil his fun with his new daughter?

I have my own friend at home: Isabella. She's my black and white cat who has been my best friend since I was nine. Since I lost Mittens, my other cat, and since I lost King, my golden retriever.

When Isabella had kittens, she was a complete bitch, hissing at everyone; including me. I can't blame ber; Isabella's first kitten, Jinx, came out butt first instead of head first. Ouch.

Jinx is now fully grown and fat. Not nearly as fat as Bella, but fat. For the record, "Santa" named Bella; not me.

After so many years, she and I became attatched to eachother. I'm the only one she truly trusts. I'm not trying to be concieted or whatever, but it's true. The only time she ever comes up to Kira or my parents is when she wants food. Jinx is the one that will walk up to strangers and meow. She also begs for food, but at the table. Yeah. I know, it's weird.

Whenever I play video games in my room, Bella sits at the window next to my bed, and waits for me to pause the game to pet her. Occassionally, she'll go up to the screen and pat the characters with her paws, trying to catch them. I laugh whenever she does this.

"Well, that's cool, that's cool. I seen your cat on facebook. Healthy looking cat. What's her name again?"

"Isabella." I say, trying to force my smile away. Lia laughs. "I never knew there were male Twilight fans. Did you suddenly turn gay?"

Ha. That's cute. You act like you weren't there when it happened; you know? During the time I was losing King? Now, you have the gall to act like it wasn't at all your fault. Should I explain what you did in front of dad now, or later?

"No, but why would that be a problem if I was?"

"He better not be!" Dad announces. I see nothing wrong with homosexuals, even though I'm not one.

Instantly, my temper takes over. "And why not? Surely, there is some reason you both feel inclined to discriminate a minority group that has never done either of you any harm?!" I hiss.

Lia frowns. "Ain't used to Lee bein' so grown. Look at him, usin' fancy words. Guess we can't call him 'little' anymore."

"True, but the bible still says-" Dad starts, but stops when I inturrupt him.

"The bible didn't say anything." I say. "Bible is a book, not a parrot or a human."

"Someday, Lee, you'll understand. Guess you ain't religious enough yet. Your Mamma don't take you to church no more? Damn shame."

Little does he know that I'm not actually athiest. I've had my share of religious encounters, and I highly doubt God is prejiduce. It makes no sense to say: "God loves EVERYONE except homosexuals."

I don't believe God actually said that. Once again, though, I hold my tongue about this, nod, then say, "I disagree, but whatever."

I remain silent afterwards, allowing him to begin yet another preaching of the holy bible. In times such as these, I am grateful for the fact that he will never expect me to respond. So, I turn my head back out to the window, and put my headphones in so he could talk for another half hour.

Instead of listening to my usual heavy metal selection, I go for a softer genre this time, since all I want to do is fall asleep in his truck and be surrounded by his familliar scent.

---

Lee's Dream

I am standing in the midst of quietly conjured bubbles, grounded beneath me is a glassy sea that has frozen with cold. The open space is cool, and dark ~ lighted by the round, glossy, pink spheres bouncing in the air.

I take a step forward to touch the closest ball of light. The moment I reach out for the bubble, the room turns into a blue. Looks like the bubbles have changed their hues, too.

Balloons float from the ice; they pass through like a ghost through a wall. I want to grab one, but I won't. For some reason, I think it'd be rude; but so many bright blue, yellow balloons surround me, the temptation is so great; and so many bubbles.

Beautiful, yet familliar. I've seen these things before, I know I have. Just as I'm about to draw another breath to hold, a voice shatters the glass below, causing me and a shadowy figure to fall, fall, fall, endlessly.

"My one and only desire," A sweet, soft voice shouts with the momentum, "Is to make each and every pony I meet smile!" Senses regained, my hazy state takes its leave. "Pinkie, we're going to die!" I shout over the air whizzing through my ears.

Suddenly, the loud noise stops, and we are floating together in a lighted area, completely clear. A waterfall is roaring, but Pinkie and I are still floating. In the middle of the waterfall is a rock stetching out, serving as a base for two figures that mysteriously arrive out of thin air.

"Take a close look, friend!" She smiles sweetly.

For some unexplained reason, my heart leaps into my throat when she called me "friend." Not in a bad way... I do as she instructed, and look. Two figures; one pink, and one tall, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. He looks a lot like me.

"Lee, lookie! Don't you see? It's so pretty!" The pink mare on the rock bounces up and down. The identical (besides her transparency) pony beside me does not move her eyes from my face; the real me; not the one on the rock.

"Yeah, I see." The boy says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Say, Pink." He adds.

"Yes, super-duper-bestest friend?"

"Do you think it'll be long before I can leave?"

The pink mare frowns, which surprises me. "I don't know. Couldn't we just try to have fun for a bit longer? Please?" She turns to the boy, longing practically oozing in her words.

Transparent Pinkie and I are both very close to the rock, giving us a better view for watching the two beings' facial expressions. The waterfall doesn't quiet their voices, and dusk begins to fall.

Both pink mares shiver. "It's getting cold," says the pink mare. To my shock, the boy on the rock does not glare at her or snap at her, or even ignore her.

Wouldn't it be her fault for taking him there?

Instead, the other me takes off his t-shirt and wraps it around the pony's back. "Ain't much." He says to her. "It'll do for now, right?"

The pink mare nods, then tackles Lee into a hug. Despite myself, I grin like an idiot. She's obviously grateful for the small gesture. I almost laugh, and my cheeks feel bright hot. It is rather nice, isn't it?

Why the hell am I so happy?! I don't even like this pony! Pinkie taps my shoulder, and I turn.

Then, the transparent pony grabs me with both her hooves, and does not tackle me or use a great amount of force, but instead, softly hugs me around the waist while standing on two hooves.

"You wouldn't understand yet, and I don't blame you. It makes me sad to know that you're so confused." She beams up at me, and I beam back.

Why? I wonder, letting annoyance take over the blissful moment. Pinkie Pie laughs, then whispers, "That's what you always used to ask me. Over and over."

Is she... Is she reading my thoughts?

The pink mare nods, then returns to her four legged position. With brightly colored eyes, she says, "I'm so happy I get a chance to see you again, Lee. I'm so glad I get a chance to say good-bye!"

The visions of the waterfall dissapear, and the bubbles return. Pinkie Pie is now just a figure walking slowly into the distance. Before I wake from my dream, I think, Happiness is a wonderful thing.

---

Awakening

Driving, driving, driving, driving, driving. It's been four hours in his truck. Personally, I like riding in vehicles. It's relaxing, and nobody expects me to look them in the eye. I've always thought about how I'd love to see something new, but then again, driving past each field gives me some sort of mind-numming treatment. Revolting, right?

Anyways, I occupy myself by drawing an original creation of mine, the one in my story that Equestria Daily rejected. Her name is Arashi, meaning "Fire Storm" on japanese. Yeah, I'm a My Little Pony fan, and I'm a dude. What of it?! It's not like I'm a Twilight fan, or anything. I really don't want to get into the details as to why I sometimes shake my head at Twilight Sparkle's name.

I will, however, say this: I'm a huge Rarity fan. She's funny, witty, and I respect her strong will. My next favorite would be Applejack. I love her brutal honesty, her southern accent, and her robust nature. After that, I'd say Twilight; I like her because she's cynical, orginized, and smart. Rainbow, I'm not much of a fan of her. She's so-so to me. As for Pinkie Pie, I don't like her; mostly because she's just like the other preps at school and all around me, smiling and giggling at nothing in particular. Then, they bounce around the damn room like every day should be celebrated. I think I'd rather celebrate something that's, I don't know, worth my time? Consistant partying is somewhat unhealthy if one were to ask me - which no one has.

She may flounce around with joy in her heart, and that's fine. As for me, I prefer to keep away from all the people around me. They're all poisonous.

There is something about Pinkie Pie, however, that I still cannot seem to grasp, and it has nothing to do with her personal traits...

Why did I just dream about her before waking up to the hum of the truck? Usually, I dream about things that are significant at a certain point of my life, but this dream was just too clear to be my own. It was certainly far too happy.

I snort. Happiness. A foolish feeling; kind of like love. The moment when I feel happy about finally finding someone that understands me, they throw me away like a child would throw about an old toy that they just got bored of.

The moment I am lifted from the ground is the monent I know I'm going to hurt. Yet, I still allow myself to be infatuated, and eventually, too deep to climb out; and when I'm no longer floating, I'm dying on the inside.

As soon as I finish my back view of Arashi, I shut my notebook. "Whatcha drawin', bro?" Lia asks, leaning over as if the cover if my book would somehow answer her question. I glance at the red cover, then turn back to her. "A blank space, obviously."

"What were you drawing?"

A roll of duct-tape and a bottle of super glue to clamp your noisy jaws shut.

"A horse." She nods, and turns away. Amazing; I could have said that to begin with.

Yeah, dunno if anyone cares to mention, but I'm a jerk. I've always been this way, and that's not to say that I'm proud of it, because I'm not. It's just I've never really had any reason to change. Why should I change while the rest of the world continues to beat eachother up over stupidity?

I'm not beating anyone up, but I certainly don't see why I should smile when there's nothing to smile about. Mom always tells me that I should smile and ask about a person's day. Why should I? So they can return a mechanical answer that's been programmed into them? Oh, then we might even talk about how great the weather is.

"Not a cloud in the sky..." Mom would say. I personally like the rain. Even thunder sounds peaceful at night. Now, I'm not great with random, booming noises sporadically sounding into my ears (another reason I don't like Pinkie), but I think falling water has a sense of hidden grace to it. That, and the sounds are kind of consistant, soothing.

I feel like such a wimp always talking about my feelings. Still, there are some feeling that are hard to escape; my odd dream has told me that much.

---