The Adventures of the HMS Harlot

Part 5: Roy Nightingale, Pilot

I had the strangest dream last night.

I was standing alone, in the middle of an empty night sky. There were then wisps of clouds below my feet, and above the stars shone with an intensity that is not easy to put into words. Those brilliant gems, scattered in multitudes unfathomable, weren't laid against a black void of nothingness, no... the sky was beyond simply black. It was purple and blue, swirling back and forth with a depth that reached into places I hid from myself. It was at once terrifying and sublime.

The night sky knew me and took me in and then there was a book in my hands. Its pages were either empty or full to bursting, truly I cannot remember which, and it was bound simply in green leather with faded silver calligraphy on the cover. The harder I tried to read the words of my gift, the blurrier my sight became. It was as if tears clouded my sight, though I can't remember what could have brought me to that emotional of a state.

Slowly the book floated out of my hands and began to rise towards the heavens. I sat then on the clouds looking up, at peace.

With everything that is happening around me in the waking world, I doubt I'll have time for any true oneirological pursuits. The subtly of dreams will have to wait for another day. There is work to be done here, even if I'm not entirely sure of what it is.

I'm fairly sure it has something to do with staying alive.

Roy Nightingale