Artificial Horizon - A César Fernando Basa x Reader story

VIII - Contrails

A visible trail of condensed vapor left behind by an aircraft flying at high altitude.

* * *

The morning sun's rays definitely wakes me up from my otherwise light slumber, causing me to groan and turn my back against the windows to bury my face against the pillows. It smells a mixture of soap and mint with a hint of sandalwood, almost manly.

Hmm... did I just think of the smell as 'manly'?

I slowly open my eyes to gain a bearing once more, and then freak out. Bolting widely awake, a hand of mine touches the edge of the bed, causing me then to fall over entangled in blankets. I grunt at the subsequent pain and feel that it is quite too real. As everything is definitely once more too real to just consider it anything but.

I fumble out of the blankets to free at least my arms, and when I do, I rub the drowsiness of sleep from my eyes and with wide expectation, I turn once more to the now empty bed and then to the capiz windows.

Shit. Am I once again back in this dreamscape?

I shut my eyes closed, and slap and pinch my cheeks to wake up at once. But like the time I've tried it once before, my surroundings didn't change.

They say that telling our brains to wake up from this dream often works; however, it didn't seem to be the case.

Resigning that I shall see how this play out this time, I sigh heavily, pull myself up from the floor and then sit back on the bed with the blanket. Turning behind me, it seems like I've been all alone. That's at least quite a stretch of difference compared to the heart attack I almost encountered the last time I've been here. However, it is quite a strange feeling that I didn't see César first thing in this dream's morning. Is it possible that this is a continuation?

If I remember correctly, I've gone to bed that night all by myself, troubled about the notion from where I have such great intuition that such a place is named after him; only to wake up with the news that I am envisioning it to be some sort of a fanbase dedicated to Elian. If that is truly the case, will that mean that me sleeping in the real world leads me to be awake here in this dream and vice versa? Will that mean that I've been gone in this dreamscape for only a few hours, when it feels, right now, had been a long time ago already?

Anong petsa na ba ngayon? I ponder. And yet, tangina naman... Anong taon nga ulit 'yong World War 2? 'Di ba't sabi ko na tatandaan ko na para magkaroon naman ako ng idea kung ano ang mga susunod na mangyayari if ever na I end up sa panaginip na ito ulit?

As if remembering César's command as some second nature, I take a shawl from the nearby chair by the window, surround the soft and smooth fabric around my frame and head out of the room in search of where I know the calendar will be hanging by the kitchen. And by the time that I find myself face-to-face with the calendar, I am staring once more on the same month and year—August 1941.

Pero anong araw na ngayon?!

A part of my brain is telling me that: "No, it isn't 2 August 1941." Even though I last remember being here on the first day of the month. To add, something else also catches my eye. Something that isn't there before but is now printed as a reminder.

Below the number 15, a small note is written that reads: "Induction Day".

I lightly touch the calendar, trailing the words written on that date and it is strange to find my own handwriting. Is it possible that there is truly something behind "Induction Day"? Is it that important for me, without me having a recollection of it, too, to write it down as some sort of a reminder? Or, if not for me, then for César, perhaps?