Fantasy- Updates Exist Sporadically

Dream One

He was flying. He didn't know why; he didn't know how. He wasn't in the Warehouse. He was Outside. He had never been Outside before, only glimpsed it through the few windows at the end of the Machine room and in some of the common areas he'd explored when he was younger (and never been back to). He was flying high above the tall brown things with green tops. There was an endless blanket of them. There was a breeze—like when the vent in his room was turned on too high. He couldn't feel his chain.

His hand shot behind his head, trying to find it, but he could only feel his hair being blown back by the breeze.

No chain! He was out of the Warehouse! He'd never have to go back to the Warehouse again; he could fly! They couldn't catch him if he could fly! He could explore the Outside, learn what the tall things were, what the big blue expanse was called, anything he wanted. He didn't have to worry about Quotas, the Guards, having dreams, or being punished.

He could have dreams! He could have his own dreams and remember them! He would be able to experience a dream and keep it for himself. He was free.

So, why couldn't he keep this dream? If he could figure out how he could keep any dream he wanted. But how would he keep the Machine from discovering this dream? He had no idea how it worked, had never thought about trying to keep a dream from it because it had never seemed possible, or even crossed his mind. But he would do anything to keep this dream, this feeling of freedom, of flying without a care. Anything.

He woke up with a gasp. How do I save the dream, how do I save the dream. He could already feel the claws of the Machine head piece in his ears humming, the pulsing of the wires. How do I save the dream! He delved into his mind, closing his eyes and relaxing his body. How do I save the dream, how do I save the dream. He imagined putting the dream into a large sealed container, something unbreakable. Nobody could get into it except for him. Not even the Machine.

The Machine found it. It tried to dig into the box, as if it could sense there was a dream hidden inside. He panicked, How do I save the dream, how do I save the dream, how do I stop the Machine. He imagined something covering the container, making it unseen. There was nothing there. Just empty space. He was a good slave. Nothing was there at all.

The Machine continued to try to get in, but its attacks were weakened and often missed it entirely. He concentrated harder, Nothing there, nothing there, nothing there. He held his breath. Nothing there.

The Machine stopped. Poked once more. Withdrew. He heard the spinning of the multi-colored liquid inside the vial, turning his sub-conscious dreams into liquid, forcing him to forget them.

He sighed in relief. He'd done it. He'd saved the dream. His freedom dream. He smiled for the first time since he was a child, still unlatched from the Machine.

His freedom dream.