A Good Citizen

1257 words

Rated PG; pain, violence

Prompt: Write a story where a character runs into someone they've seen in their dreams, or enters a building they've dreamt about before.

I’m walking to the grocery store, just a block away from home, when they sharply turn the corner. I can’t get a good look at them. All I see is a blonde head--wet and messy--and sweat dripping from a face obscured by shadows. Those are the features I can make out on the figure before they bash their head into mine.

I fall backwards. It feels more like flying than falling. Sort of like I’m a football thrown to a friend. I wish. I envy footballs right now. They have the good fortune of not feeling pain.

The back of my head bangs against the sidewalk. I hear the thump as my skull makes contact with the concrete. Following immediately afterwards is the throbbing agony.

I sit up, closing my eyes and rubbing the back of my head. A bump is already starting to take shape. I massage it with my fingers, in hopes that it will go away, maybe torment anyone else. There should be a spell for that. Not that I could use it here.

 You know what, the pain shouldn’t just go to anybody. It should go to-

“Can I help you with that?”

I stop and squint upwards. I see them more clearly now. They look to be in their early 30s. They have shoulder-length blonde hair. Their eyes are light brown. They have a pencil-dotted birthmark right next to their nose. They’re wearing a black, collared shirt with a picture of an owl in flight on the front. The short beige skirt they have on has a tissue sticking out of the pocket. It’s been used to wipe their face as they run.

I know that because I know them. Not in the real world, though. From my dreams.

I can focus on that later. Right now, they’re offering to help me. Not with the head pain, which they can't do a thing about, but with my bag. My phone, wallet, nail clippers, chapstick, flashlight, headphones, swiss army knife, and bracelet have fallen out, and are scattered on the wet grass.

“It’s the least you can do.” I huff.

I don’t let them do it alone, of course. I’m not stupid. I join them in picking up my things, snatching my phone and wallet first. It’s a good thing that I left my celestial band at home. It would have glowed when they touched it, which would mean they would want some explaining. Not that I would give it to them. I would hit them on the head--an eye for an eye--and run off. I might have even managed to erase their memory. that would have been a powerful thing for me to do.

True, I might not have figured out why they looked like that stranger in my dreams. However, a magics must always do what it takes to keep the secret.

With them handing me the watermelon chapstick, I stand up. I dust myself off by hand. No magic in front of them.

“Sorry for bumping into you.”

“You should be sorry. You need to be more careful. Running isn’t safe on the sidewalk.”

I look at them disappointedly. Unfortunately, their face is so familiar I have to turn away.

“Again, sorry.”

“You need to move to the side.”

They’re blocking my path. They do so, hopping to the side.

I stare straight ahead as I go past them. However, before I can turn, I sense something. I see it in their eyes for only a half-second. It’s a shine. A green one. It makes a ring around their iris and then disappears. It’s like a flame. I stop and turn again to face them.

I know that spark. Every magic does. I see it each morning when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep. I watch it dance between my eyes in the bathroom mirror when I’m bored. It’s the spark of a spell caster.

“Wait a second.”

They raise an eyebrow. They’re confused as to why I would want anything more to do with them.

“Have you been casting yourself into my dreams?”

They frown.

“Huh?”

I grab their shoulder and give them my worst scowl.

“Have you been entering my dreams without my permission, you crow-breeder?”

It’s the insult that gives them recognition. 

“You’re a magics?”

I want to squeeze their neck until their tongue pops out and smacks me in the face.

“Yes, I am. You need to stop casting yourself into my dreams. It’s highly illegal. I’m going to report you.”

They push my hand off their shoulder--with immense difficulty of course. They shake their head.

“I didn’t know you were a spell caster. If I had, I swear I wouldn’t have done that.”

“It is even more illegal to do it to an oddie.” 

I feel like yelling, but we are in public. I keep my voice calm. Taking their arm, I mumble a spell. Their eyes go wide as I say the final syllable. They start hyperventilating.

“It was just a prank. I really thought you were an oddie. There’s no reason to call the defense.”

I scoff.

“You are a piece of garbage. You tried to be mysterious and aloof, but even in my dreams, I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at you.”

The incantation has a grip on their body now. I let go of them, to let the spell do the work. red chains go up and down their arms and bind together. Their hands are now fused. Next, the chains go for the legs. They twist and tie. I whisper a few things, and the chains tie a big bow. It makes me feel better, at least.

They fall over and hit the sidewalk, just like I did. The oddie concept of karma, where you get done onto what you do unto others.

Time freezes. The clouds stop moving. The cars stop racing. The oddie across the street stops walking, with their scarf stuck out behind them.

A defense agent jumps through a portal to my left. It scares me a bit.

They have on a black cloak that disguises their whole body. I see only blackness behind the hood. Without moving their arms, which I can’t see anyway, they bring the criminal to them. They start coughing.

“Ilene Buroslez. Accused, and found guilty of, dream casting.” The defense agent states.

“You say you are a victim of them?” They turn their cloaked mass in my direction.

I straighten myself and nod. “Ilene has been casting themselves into my dreams and nightmares for almost a week. They say they did it because they thought I was a smoke flinger.”

The defense agent takes the arm of Ilene, still in a coughing fit.

“You have been charged with attempted dream casting to an oddie. How do you plead?”

Ilene says nothing, as phlegm spills from the corner of their mouth. The phlegm is red. They really did do it.

“I shall be taking the perpetrator to This-World for their execution. If you have any other instances in which they are in your dream, call the infirmary immediately.”

I nod. 

“Of course.”

Ilene is thrown through the portal, the defense follows. Time restarts. The scarf flaps. The cars race. Clouds drift.

Did they say execution? 

I shake my head. That is none of my concern. I need to get cauliflower and pasta from the supermarket. That is all I have to do, regardless of other events.

I continue my path, ignoring the feeling ripping my stomach apart.