Beach Day

19: Escape From Dreaming

Another night, another dream. She hasn't had this one yet. It's almost refreshing.

At least it isn't her parents, or Lewis, or her grandfather, or any of the people she has hurt. It seems simple and silly— something a little retrofuturistic, involving spaceships and ray guns and aliens made of goo and teeth. She would love to have this dream. She would love to play the part of an intrepid young crew member on a lonely vessel navigating the cosmos.

There's no time for that, though. She has to repeat the experiment. She has to break out of here and figure out where she has to go to get in contact with the consciousness of this Mystery Lady. It worked for Despina, even if Tiff wasn't the one who sought her out. It has to work here.

Oh, but the dream is so tempting. She looks down at the shining gold, green, and clear ray gun (some sort of phaser beam, how delightful) and the very cool uniform. She can't read the name tag, if there is one. All that remains where it should be is a blur of beige plastic.

Tiff eyes the rift high and horizontal above her. Why is it always so high in the air? Is it an attempt to keep her locked in here?

That's silly. The Dream World isn't sentient. It isn't going out of its way to make things harder for her specifically. It's more likely that it's fluid, and since Tiff's thoughts on the way things should be are so rigid, she expected to see the rift up there and found it there as a result. Curse her brain. She's in a dream and could theoretically do anything she wanted. But theory and practice are different, especially when she has so limited herself through insisting on what she is and isn't capable of.

So she needs to find a way up and out. Easy peasy.

She's alone on the ship, it would seem. If she were anyone else, this might be a George Jetson-flavored nightmare. The bright lights over gleaming gadgets and consoles flicker ominously; a hand with teeth for fingernails wraps around the doorway.

She laughs, taking it in for a moment. "Amazing!"

If anyone else were here, she might confront the creature. Even figments of her nighttime imagination might spark such a reaction. If it's an invention of her mind, though, then she can just remember what the creature is later. It isn't real, anyway. Nothing here has ever been real.

She tries to think like a normal person. Given her disposition— stupid ideas based on what could work— she tries to think of where someone on this wonderful ship, with all its round edges and colorful surfaces and little blinking red lights, would put a good old-fashioned ladder. That's her best bet, here. A normal ladder to take her up to the rift. If only she could convince herself she could fly.

Whatever. This works just fine. It isn't like she wants to accidentally steal something's wings in the same way Darius stole that bear's skin that one time. She isn't even in the Dream World proper; she's in her own little pocket of it, where she's supposed to be. Whatever the case, it still wouldn't be worth it to make someone else suffer if she could avoid it by just being normal.

There's a supply closet. On some level, she knows that's what's behind the door, though she can't read the little plaque on it. Stupid dream rules. She wants to read things.

The hand continues to roll around the door. (How big is that thing? How could it possibly still be going? Does it only move when she remembers it's there?)

She pulls open the door and finds exactly what she's looking for: a bright teal ladder where it's supposed to be. It has tiny yellow wheels on it; it's built like the type of ladder she would see in an old-fashioned library with shelves stretching up to the heavens, only dual in nature. Fort Reverence's public library is a perfect example of what it reminds her of. She rolls the ladder out and wheels it across the room to line it up with the rift.