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Fermius Firefly

A Dream Log, whenever I remember the dreams I've had.

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Location: San Marcos, United States

Fermius is a pen name drawn from a series of short fiction I wrote when I published the small press magazine Stellanova (on paper.) I play RPG games to escape from my daily grind as a technology wage slave for the state of California. I eat out a lot in order to do my part in supporting our increasingly service level economy. I am butler to 2 feline masters. If you ask them they will tell you I'm not very good at it, late with dinner, don't have enough hands with brushes in them, and sometimes I even lock them out of their office.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Cecil and the Alien Apocolypse

In this dream, I found myself behind the wheel of Cecil, my old '69 Plymouth Satellite. I'd found it parked on the top of an abandoned parking garage, and had, for some reason, taken the old keys as a sort of good luck charm when the aliens attacked.

The aliens were long gone, having either been defeated, or having found what they were looking for, gone on their way. The human world had been pretty much left in a complete shambles, however. Oddly, a rather largish group of aliens had also been left behind, but not voluntarily, it would seem. One of them was now traveling with me. It climbed into the passenger seat after tossing it's collection of bags into the back seat next to my rollie and backpack. After I put the pair of 5 gallon cans in the trunk, I climbed into the driver's seat. I turned the engine over, only slightly amazed that it started on the first try. The V-8 rumbled in the enclosed space, setting off car alarms several rows in all directions.

"That's my baby, I missed you." I patted the dashboard, it had been restored, as had the seats, and was now a plush dark brown pile. The beige vinyl seats had been redone in dark brown and grey herringbone, very attractive. The steering wheel had also been replaced, a bentwood wheel polished to a high gloss. I carefully backed the car out and started down the ramp to exit the parking garage. I had it in mind to head back towards home, to check on family and friends, and to switch over to Little Red, who would be quite a bit more quiet, not to mention getting fifty MPG versus fifteen.

I tried to explain how the seat belt worked. To a creature with no true permanent form, I suppose it seemed an odd thing. Their own craft "seats" were essentially buckets with padded holes around the top rim. After a bit I gave up and just told it to "hold on a best you can." It oozed down into the floor area.

We drove past the other empty cars, only occasionally setting off a car alarm as we drove by. My companion slouched down further in the passenger seat floor, apparently frightened of the noise. I suppose I should have been a little more worried about the noise as well, just as we exited the parking structure to head down the four story exterior spiral, there was a loud explosion on the exposed part of the exit ramp. The structure rocked and I managed to get us to a stop before plunging into the wrecked and still smoking hole in the exit ramp spiral. Still, one of the front tires dipped onto the abyss. I was glad the Plymouth was rear wheel drive and was able to pull us back up to safety.

"What the hell? It's not like we're a threat to anyone!"

We got out and picked our gear up, back on foot, I lowered our bags by rope down to the bottom of the spiral, then, trying to stay on the sturdiest parts of the rubble we scampered down as best we could. I'd left Cecil parked with the keys in him. Thinking I would go back up and try pushing him over to the entry ramp, and this time just letting him coast down silently.

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