Short Stories

A Dreamer

Dedicated to Wattpad, for showing me that my daydreams were for something much greater.

---/---

“Eight, seven, six,” the boy counts in a whisper, crouching just outside the darkened doorway.

“Five, four, three,” comes a whispered reply from across the opening, where a tall man wearing a cloak crouches stealthily, handling a small handgun. Or at least, it mostly appears to be some sort of handgun, but the bluish hue emanating from it seems to tell otherwise.

Both speak at the same time, for the final count. “Two, one, zero.” With the blink of an eye, the boy has drawn a glowing weapon from its holster, and both the man and the boy dash into the room.

“Derek!” In the middle of the messy room, a woman frowns down at the boy, with an almost disappointed look on her face.

“Ack! Systems down! We're under attack!” the boy cries, taking cautious, albeit quick, steps backward.

“I'm outta here,” says the man with an almost hidden tinge of fright in his voice, and with a swirl of his cloak he disappears.

“Traitor,” mutters the boy, a he aims his gun at the woman. “Though my comrade has departed, I can assure you that you are still no match for me!”

With a sigh, the woman snatches the weapon out of his hand. “Derek, you need to clean your room.” She tosses the weapon onto a messy desk, and then turns back to the boy. “And stop playing around with that toy gun I bought you. Now, get to cleaning! Hustle!” With that, she turns on her heel and walks out of the room, leaving the boy to slump against the wall sadly.

“Mr. Dan? Mr. Dan?” His voice cracks a little, as if he will cry, but his eyes light up as the cloaked man appears once more, sitting on the boy's bed.

“Derek, I told you that we are not yet strong enough to defeat the great Momster!”

“Monster, Mr. Dan, Monster..” The boy paces back and forth, grabbing the toy gun off his desk with a determined look on his face. “We are not strong enough, yet! We must train!”

Mr. Dan chuckles, standing up. “First, you might want to clean up your room.”

---/---

The teenager rolls back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. A large pair of headphones are around his neck, and some sound is coming from them, but he doesn't bother to put them on.

A man wearing a cloak sits down beside the almost comatose teenage boy, and puts out his hand to shake him. His attempt is interrupted by the boy pushing his hand away. “Hello, Mr. Dan.”

“Hello, Derek,” replies the cloaked figure. “And how are you doing today?”

“Bad,” replies the teenager. “Bad because my dad died before I even got to know him, bad because my mom is drinking away all the money she makes, bad because I'm unpopular at school, and bad because my life freaking sucks!”

“Well, says the man, “sounds like you're feeling pretty bad. But at least you've got me.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” says the teenager spitefully. “Bad because my only friend is a freaking daydream!”

The man seems to recoil, a saddened look on his face. “Well, I'm real to you, and that is all that matters.”

“Yeah, right,” says the teenager, burying his head in his pillow.

“Oh, come on.” The man pauses for a moment, thinking to himself. “Want me to help you out with your homework?”

The teenager rolls over, staring at the man sitting on his bed with an unamused expression on his face. “You always say it would be cheating for you to help me with my homework.”