Creative Writing "The Dream Sender" Ch. 2

The Harvest Festival

By the time she reached the gates of the city, it was already well past noon and Mist thought that, next time, she’d try and leave a bit earlier. She wondered what sort of events she’d missed by not arriving in the morning, but she could still see the smoke from cooking fires and smell the food so she knew she hadn’t missed anything really important. To her, at that moment, the food was what was really important.

“I’m warning you, expect the unexpected inside,” Samson said from his perch atop the log gate. Mist wondered at the agility of cats, because the gate was at least seven feet tall and he’d managed to jump on top of it quite swiftly. She hadn’t even seen him move.

“I’m certain I’ll be fine,” Mist told the black cat. She pulled the brass knocker and let it fall a few times before the gate slowly swung open to reveal a colorful, attractive village of little huts and wagons, dancing people and animals.

And they were dancing people and dancing animals. All sorts of species milled around the center of the marketplace, dancing to music being played by a band of different kinds of dogs. A cat and a mouse did twirling jigs, a short-legged donkey attempted some kicks, and a long-legged man succeeded in some. All the people and animals were dressed in bright outfits of pastel and jewel colors, some of each wore hats, bonnets, or scarves, but only the humans wore any type of shoe. Animals and men alike sat at small, circular tables and watched the festivities while clutching pints and mugs of drink as waitresses (who were mostly human, but Mist saw one raccoon) wove through the crowds taking orders.

A stand displaying charred and seasoned fish kabobs was where the smell of cooking food was coming from, as well as a stand next to it that was grilling vegetables. Shaking off her initial shock, Mist let her stomach guide her feet as she walked to the food stands.

The being running the fish stand was a burly, grey-and-black tabby cat that was a good two feet taller than Mist, and was wearing a wide-brimmed hat covered in colorful feathers and a soot-dinged pastel blue suit over a soot-dinged tan shirt. He moved a fresh kabob off the roasting spit and hung it above him in the stand’s frame to let it cool.

“What can I get for you?” the tabby asked, leaning forward partially out of the stand. A sandwich board sign to the left of Mist read “1 FOR 4.”

Mist shrugged and set four coins from her jar on the counter, “Just one, please,” she said.

The cat removed one of the kabobs from a hook above him and handed it over, sliding the coins into an open paw and tossing them into a pot next to the spit. Apparently, money was money whether you were human or cat.

“If you return the spear when you’re finished, I’ll give you half off on your next one,” he said, putting a new kabob over the fire.

Mist nodded, blowing on the roasted fish to cool it before biting into it. It was spicy hot and savory and it wasn’t oily or gummy like the fish Mist had caught and cooked as Cara had been. She smiled and nodded at the cat-man, expressing that it was good work, and the tabby showed sharp fangs in a returning grin.

When she wandered away from the stand, Samson appeared suddenly next to her, perched on a hitching post for wagons.

“Where am I, exactly?” Mist asked.

“The Centerworld,” he said. “It’s a place between your world, and the Dream World. It’s a strange combination of the logical science of your world and the magical possibilities of the Dream World… Things happen a bit differently here.”

Mist nodded, still pulling pieces off the fish kabob. “I can tell…”

Samson was eying the kabob hungrily, so Mist held it out to him. The black cat tugged off a piece of fish and there was silence as both of them chewed on their respective mouthfuls.

After she was done, Mist spoke up, “So why aren’t you… You know, like them? The animal-people?”

“I’m not from this world. I’m from the Dream World.” Samson licked his whiskers appreciatively then began to lick his paws and clean his face. It was a strangely cat-like thing for him to do, Mist thought. Listening to him speak had made her think of him as more of a person than a cat.

Mist also finished her part of the meal, and slid the remaining fish bones, head, and tail off the thin spear of metal and into the tall grass beside her. She didn’t see any trash bins anywhere, and the fish was going to decompose eventually, so she didn’t think it was a big deal to litter a bit.

“Oh, so there… In the Dream World, I mean… the cats talk, then, but don’t dance?”

“I’m an individual creation,” Samson said, and he sounded quite proud of it. “I’m the only feline to be given the gift of speech and retain his superior four-leggedness. I was created to guard the Dream World, and travel between worlds as a liaison between the Sender and the rest of the realities… The Sender, by the way, is you.”

“What?”

Flicking his ears in a taunting way, Samson jumped off the wooden post and headed back the way they’d come.

“I’ll explain when I get more food in my belly,” he replied. “Bring the spear and your irritating jar, and get me another fish.”

“You’re rather rude, you know,” Mist said, but followed anyways.

Samson either didn’t hear her, or didn’t care enough to respond. Apparently, the only nice cats in any world were ones that walked on two legs. Four legs, even if they were as superior as Samson believed, came with a horrible attitude problem.

With another fish kabob between them, Mist and Samson sat at one of the small tables in front of what was a saloon, judging by the large, very uncreative sign above the building that read “SALOON”. Mist ordered a glass of water from her raccoon waitress, and Samson gnawed on what she hadn’t eaten of the kabob. Between chewing and licking his whiskers, he explained:

“The Dream Sender is, like the name implies, the one that sends dreams out to each world – there are only the two beside the Dream World that we work with, so it’s not really that big of a task, but it’s pretty big, and very important. Without dreams people can’t deal with the everyday things they encounter in their everyday lives. They can’t work through problems, they can’t imagine new things – they can’t even get a good night’s sleep! So yes, yes, it’s very important indeed.

“Every fifty years or so, a new Sender is chosen to take over the job while the old one retires to live out the rest of his or her life in peace and quiet, with no worries or cares in the world. The Sender looks through the dreams of young people – usually about twelve or thirteen years old – and chooses the one that he or she thinks is the most creative and the most inventive.” She blinked at Mist, “It turns out, that was you.”

“I never noticed my dreams were that creative,” Mist mused.

“Well, you wouldn’t. The best ones are always forgotten, of course. It’s a nuisance, I know, but I don’t questions why things happen because I know there’s no one who can give the answer.” He chewed on his last piece of fish for quite a time before continuing.

“Anyway, when we tried pulling you into the Dream World to start your apprenticeship, something glitched in the spell and you ended up here, locked in the chunk of your world – your cabin – where I couldn’t speak to you and explain what’s been going on.” Samson gave her a sneer, “I mean, honestly, who doesn’t travel anywhere for a year? I thought you were never going to leave!”

Mist’s eyes widened, “You’re not saying that everyone’s gone without dreams for a whole year, have you?”

“Of course not. The old Sender, Mrs. Farrow, is quite perturbed that this bothersome mistake has cut a year out of her retirement, though.”

“Oh.” Mist pulled the finished fish off the kabob and set the metal thing back onto the table as she sipped her water. “Well then, we can leave tonight and go to the Dream World, right?”

“Right.”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“There’s already a copy of your cabin there. It was strange that it transferred your cabin nicely enough to the Dream World, but the spell didn’t transfer you. Mrs. Farrow and I were confused beyond all measure.”

The cat shook his head, apparently not comfortable with the notion of being confused, and jumped off the table. Mist left ten coins for the waitress and got up as well, her head full of wonder and fear at the thought of going to another world. It’s funny, she said to herself, this morning I thought there was only one world, and now I find that there’s at least three… And I’ve already been to two of them!

“Is it lonely there?” she asked aloud.

Samson was only half-listening, though, so he responded with, “Where?” before amending it by continuing, “Oh, no… Not really. It has quiet times, but it’s a traveler’s place, you know. People and creatures are always wandering in and out each time they fall asleep. Most don’t stay very long, but Mrs. Farrow – as you can tell by the name – managed to find herself a husband in one who did.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Mist’s prior worries of loneliness dissipated quickly. “It’ll be fascinating to see new people every day… How do we get there? Could I ever come back here, for the festival? I love the food, and the dancing is really great…”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” Samson grumbled.

It was getting dark. Mist really had missed out on some things by not arriving very early. Pretty soon, she assumed everyone would either be heading home or into one of the many inns and tens situated within the gates of the city.

What Mist thought to be fireworks a year ago sparkled overhead in flashes of green, red, and orange. When she looked up, she saw that they were actually sparking lizards that hissed and buzzed and made loud, blasting ‘POP!’ sounds in the sky before falling back to the ground in a blaze of multicolored fire and embers. Once they landed, the still-smoldering reptiles scurried into the bushes, apparently unharmed.

“This place is weird,” Mist muttered, and smiled. She liked it very much.