A sneak peek at the next thrilling Lore of the Underlings episode,
which I’m writing as we speak (Episode 4 ~ Preview 2)
A nebulous blue bled down from above. It seeped from the sky through a hole in the ceiling. A beam the chameleon moon slipped in.
“Now tell me of your dreams, John Cap. What are those for a man without sleep? Whether ones come true or not…”
It took John Cap a while to speak, as if hoping the silence would answer for him. But sound of a drip from overhead filled the void with time instead. Like a tick, tick, tick in the timelessness. The marking of moments by drumbeat drops of rainwater falling from the past. Somehow it became unbearably loud.
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Because… I’m not sure what a dream even is.”
“Reveries? Flights of fancy?”
“Now you’re really losing me.”
“The vision that comes when you close your eyes?”
“I see the back of my eyelids — it’s black.”
The room, it seemed, had turned slightly lighter. The seeing was bluish but better now.
Morio shifted his seat from discomfort then, crossing his legs, sat back. His torn shirt stuck to the sticky wall.
“Has your mind never journeyed to faraway lands?” he waxed with a rip and a sweep of his hand. “Imagining sweet drink and foods never had? Or creatures and wonders beguiling to see, all the while battling bravely a foe as evil as can be? With allies of legend, the subjects of song, who sing every rite and right every wrong?”
“Hello?” John Cap sang, “You’ve got to be joking. Just look where I am. What’s left to imagine?”
The young man ran his hands through his hair then held them there atop his head. His blond locks looked all precious silver — a trick of lunar alchemy.
“Then what of your past or your home, comrade? Do your thoughts never conjure up scenes to play out in places with faces you’ve known or loved?”
“I’d just as soon forget all that.”
Morio sighed, a tad deflated, for the moment admitting himself defeated.
“Well, I have a dream today my friend — to get a drink and best this thirst. A swig to wet my whistle. All of our absorbing talk has left me o so very parched and scratchy as a thistle! Dry as the vast Western Desert of Merth. Believe you me I shan’t be picky. Pom wine, brewn ale, a cup from the saltless sea — anything.”
With that he lay down and fell back asleep.
John Cap must have thirsted too. He held out his right hand, palm side up, and caught a few moments of refalling rain, which still leaked down from some pool on the roof. Then he raised that cup to his lips and drank. The overdue drops were warm on his tongue and salty like tears of remembrance.
… to be continued. Stay tuned!
Previous previews of Episode 4:
1 ~ The watchman