Doctor Who?

But not as you'd think. (Also I should add that I was at the beach with friends at the time of this dream, and apparently I sleep-wrote a very sloppy synopsis in all-caps in my journal. And then went back to sleep.)

I am trying to get my dad to watch it for the first time. A new episode is airing, one with Martha Jones and the 10th Doctor, and I am hoping that if dad likes it he might invite Laila and I over and we can watch it together more often, thus spending quality time in something 2/3rds of us already enjoy...

Unfortunately, this episode is so far out of cannon that I almost start retching when I see the beginning credits.

Instead of the typical shot of the TARDIS whizzing its way through the TimeVortex, it begins with a close-up shot of Martha and the Doctor inside the Tardis, as explosions and fire ring around them, making out... It's crashing. And they are making out. On the console. So, the TARDIS is DYING, and all they care to do is mess up the coordinates while she tries to land, by sliming themselves all over the friggin' console! (This is supposed to be a family show!) She eventually does crash. The episode begins, and Martha and the Doctor immediately wander outside with no thought of sympathy for the poor sentient machine. "She'll  heal," the Doctor says dismissively. "Let's go explore this forest."

I don't know who wrote this, but it's starting out pretty terribly.When dad's not looking, I leap into the screen. Let's see if I can't make events a little more interesting-- and a lot less disgusting...

They traipse through the jungle hand in hand, thwacking away innocent brambles and vines when there is actually a path right next to them. I decide to make them notice it. I grab a hunk of grass and dirt and chuck it over their heads and onto the path. They follow the new plot change like good lemmings.
It leads to a strange, cage-like cave, with stalactites and stalagmites grown together like bars over the entrance. Strange runes and ancient-looking paintings of alien animals litter the floor and walls, though the ceiling, high above, is too rough for art. The figures all appear to be leading in one direction. The Doctor follows, curious. Martha stops to examine something interesting. (Classic separation before DOOM...)

Then something changes. For some reason, quite imperceptibly at first, the runes on the floor begin to look brighter as the Doctor steps over them. More vivid. More...alive. They peel themselves silently away from the floor, growing into three-dimensional beings of strange shapes and doubtful significance to the typical semi-rational sci-fi plot: dragon-riding sentries with surveillance camera heads, men with the lower halves of their bodies carved into canoes, strange eight-armed goddesses with cats in their hair... and then the buzzing.
It starts slowly and imperceptibly, but grows over time until the very air is vibrating with the gusts of wind from the wings of a thousand giant:

Killer Bees.

"Run!" shouts the Doctor, grabbing Martha's hand, and finally they do something sensible. They run for their lives as the sacred bee protectors of the cave-temple zoom after them, and I am forced to come out of my silent role in the tail.  I disguise myself as an Indian warrior priestess and leap out with my sword.

"I'll distract the bees, Doctor!" I shout as I run towards them. "You figure out how to give these vengeful drawings peace!"

The Doctor looks down. In his hands is a small pack of crayons. He looks up again, the familiar old sparkle in his eyes. "I've got an idea..." So while Martha wails in the background like a disgruntled horror movie actress (shame, I really admired her before), the Doctor scribbles furiously upon the ground creating pictures of light and harmony, to balance the forest. And once again, the world is saved with crayons.

So then we pat ourselves on the collective back and head off to the Tardis, except she is nowhere to be found. She is angry over the Doctor's complete lack of sympathy. (Turns out, he had a parasite in his brain.) We call the Tardis back and apologize, and then debate the thought of our recent actions, of killing a creature that develops out of a drawing: for, in such a world, would it not be abortion, rather than self-defense? They were as of yet not fully real, nor did they truly understand their instincts. In a world of crayon sketches, life begins the moment the drawing is conceived. We leave the planet quickly so we won't have to deal with a tribunal over our hasty actions.

The Judgement Place

There is a marble platform centered on four white pillars that stretch downward forever, obscured by cloud and mist, hanging in the void of space. It is the last concrete form of existence in this plane at the end of all worlds. Countless lifeforms, trillions beyond trillions, huddle clustered together at the outer edges-- for, in the center the platform is sloped inward, to the mouth of a vast, dark hole. I watch as a seal, hissing, is pulled down toward the inevitable. It flails desperately to regain ground, and in doing so, knocks the girl next to it down the slope as well. Together they plummet toward the creeping darkness, screaming the same fear in their separate native tongues.

At the last moment, the girl manages to grab ahold of something at the edge of the Pit-- a small bit of shrubbery, perhaps-- while the seal goes sailing past her into the darkness, I leap from my place as an observer in the sky and plummet toward the girl. I know I must rescue her. Just as I reach her, however, the branch snaps, and she falls. I have no chance but to fly down after and hope to catch her. As I emerge below, the scene changes. I look above me-- there is the locked, tangible, wooden face of a trapdoor. I am holding a small oil lamp, and lift it before me to see a series of steps leading ever downward. Horrible smells, and the faint echo of screams, waft up from the below. As I go farther down, the steps seem to increase in size and roughness, so that soon I am climbing backwards down a steep ravine, then traipsing along a flat meadow-like land filled with dead flowers, then descending upon a cliff once more. There are strange carvings in the stone which make for good, deep footholds, but are occasionally filled with slime or seem to pierce so deeply into the rock that a cave-dweller could make them his home. It is unearthly, to say the least.

Wails of banshee terror grow in intensity as I descend, and I almost feel as if they are coming from the rock itself. I decide not to climb, but rather fly down more quickly, since the girl fell rather fast, and may not have found the steps, and may be falling still... I would hate to think of her body, broken on whatever ground this Abyss must eventually have, all because I could not catch her in time. Suddenly, a giant wall of flames rears up before me, blinding me. The glass of my lantern shatters. I drop it in surprise, and try to shield my face from the heat, searching for a way out of the Maze of the Beast which has arisen from the flames. I am beginning to feel a little out of my depth.

Then, I see Him. He comes from a door on the left, and cools the flames in his path as he walks. Beside him is the girl. She clutches something tightly in her hands, and tears stand shining in her eyes as she gazes up at the Man. He stops in front of a studded bronze door, turns to hug her, then pushes it open. A sharp cacophony of yowls and cackles and screams issues forth, then it is closed again.

The girl, shuddering, turns away, and notices me. "Hello?" she asks cautiously. "Who is there?" I step closer to her, now the flames have died down and I can safely walk. I lift up my hands in a sign of peace.

"My name is the Dream Weaver, but you can call me Art. I followed you here because I wanted to make sure you were okay. But, I see your Friend has already taken care of that."

She sniffles, wipes her nose on her sleeve. "He was so brave. He found me when they were about to tear me apart and just commanded them to stop and they did. Then, He spoke to the Beast and got him to accept His life as repayment instead of mine. I will never forget what he did for me." She unfolds her hands, and in the center of her palms lies a small, golden key. Suddenly, the stairs behind me start crashing down, dust filling the air. When it clears, a golden door stands tall, shining with an even more unearthly light.

I want to follow the girl, to make sure it is not merely another trap, but the calm in her eyes convinces me this is a real goodness. I bid her farewell, and take the secret tunnel exit behind the door that leads back to my own realm. I sit on my hammock, mulling over the things I have seen, and wondering whether the end of our Universe will come about in a similar fashion. And whether I, too, will someday get to walk through the Golden Door...

Making Friends in the Grocery

I've been waiting for mum for over an hour, and she said she was only getting milk. This situation is far too similar to real life, so I get out of the car and head inside. I meet a little boy, and we comment on the unusual appearance of turkeys in the bread aisle that are apparently on sale. In fact, everything in the store is weirdly well-priced, almost as if they want you to stay there, shopping forever to satisfy your heart's desire...meh.

There is a giant cardboard box at the back of the store marked "Free Things," and we rummage through it and manage to find some pretty good comic books, suspicious-looking candy, and most prized of all, a Guide to Meeting Moon Mermaids, which I have been looking for throughout the galaxy, and am super-excited to try out. The mermaids on Earth's moon are particularly shy, and you have to know the right kind of rites to entice them out of their hermitage. I am hoping they can perhaps show me how to grow some moon plants, like the glowing mushrooms and moss I've dreamt of before...

Then I slip off into another trance. I can see a mermaid, fallen to earth, and a foolish prince riding his horse on the sand assumes she is a regular one. He tries to throw her back into the sea so she will live, but I know the salt water will kill her-- already the thickness of the oxygen chokes her in her unprotected form. She grabs the mane of the horse and absorbs its essence into her being, takes its shape. The prince, now unhorsed, sits on his rump, befuddled. He looks over at the horse, which now appears to glow in a faint, translucent sort of way. He tries to get back on it. The horse whinnies, rears, and gallops down the beach, and the sand-coated prince is left to run after it, while I sit in the background, chuckling to myself.

Neighborly Relations...

"I don't mean to seem rude, but that guy is really weird," Becca says to Mary as they both stare out the front window at the man walking his pet deer up the road. He glances repeatedly around with shifty, red-rimmed eyes, and stares up into the sky.

"Yeah, who exactly is he?" Mary queries, helping herself to more salsa and chips. "I mean, I've seen most of your road. I know your people. Is he a new neighbor?"

Laila comes over to the window as well. "Yeah, he just moved in across the street five days ago. And ever since, the light's always been on in his house. I've a mind to tell him to turn it off and conserve some energy." The rest of us smirk at her polite-seeming but secretly intensely passionate words. Of all of us, Laila is definitely the most in tune with the earth, and all its species, at this point. She wants to be a counselor, and her super-pseudonym has changed from "Electra" to "Lisirena," as she intends to heal wounds, not create them. She will be the balm for ills both both physical and psychological, with a combined herbal, meditative, and discussionary blend of super-therapy. She's stopped messing with the weather for fun (there were some very annoying incidents which I have chosen not to record), and is a passionate advocate of conserving energy, food, and friendship. The most important resources.

"Well,  I think he's very odd beyond what he chooses to do with his lights," continues Becca. "I mean, a pet deer? Isn't that illegal?"

"Uhhh, I think so." I reply, stretching out on the couch and trying defend myself from Amanda's sneaking up to poke me in the stomach. "But what does it matter?We haven't always followed the law ourselves. Besides. That deer is cute."

"Still, something's not right," Mary insists. "I think we'd better investigate."

"Okay," I laugh as we jump up to plan our scouting mission,"But don't just go burning the place down on the first sign of suspicion."

"Oh, for cryin' out-- it was ONE time!" she retorts. The others laugh quietly as we sneak out the back door.

While the new neighbor is engaged walking his pet deer, we lift up the garage door and creep into the house which used to be the Benders' until a very unfortunate cougar accident...
To find rows upon rows of a beautiful fan-like plant, hung in bunches from the ceiling and stacked in neat, clear boxes in shelves. "Cool, he's like a natureopathic physician or something!" I exult. "See, guys he's not that weird." Mary gives me a look.

"Hannah? That's marijuana."

"Oh..."

Laila paces back and forth in the crowded space. "Great! Now we have a grower on our hands! What are we supposed to do about this? He could be growing anywhere, on anyone's property. If we call him in, WE could get arrested! Granny could lose her home!"

"You appear to be in quite a predicament," says a deep voice from behind us. "Allow me to lighten your earthly burden." We turn around to see the guy, and his deer, both holding crossbows.

"Run!" Laila shouts, and we dash up the stairs to the second story, break out a window and fly across the field and into the forest, the man with his cache of long-range weapons in swift pursuit.

"Ya know, we reeaally need better surveillance systems," huffs Becca.  "That guy prolly saw us coming a mile away, and here we are being chased, instead of chasing him? What's wrong with this picture?"

"Right!" Amanda  says, and turns to face the small-time villain, when we realize he is nowhere to be found...
"That's kinda creepy..." Just then he jumps out from behind a fallen log. Instead of screaming, however, we ready ourselves for attack. We are, after all, professional heroes. Or will be. Eventually.

We manage to subdue the guy, then spend a few hours hiking around to find his plot. Thankfully, most of the plants were on his own property, so we won't get in any trouble...As we head back over to our house, Becca says, "We really need to get team efforts going more often. I mean, just one of us facing that guy, and we coulda been skewered...besides, you know none of us has the gumption to work alone." So we decide, once we graduate high school, we are going to move out together and get regular jobs and an apartment in Portland. "It sounds pretty cool to me," I say, and I don't yet tell them all about my own secret base in Mare Insularum on the moon, and Laila doesn't volunteer the information, so for now I will keep it to myself. Just so I have at least one place for peaceful, solitary refuge. I can still hang out with the gang on weekends. Plus, I can get really cranky, especially around people I love, when cooped up inside the same walls for a long time...

Relax...

I've been having pretty bad dreams lately. Dreams where either I or my surroundings are completely out of control. Dreams where I am so tense, or bumbling into something stupid, that my skin starts peeling off in strips or my eyes become infected with an incurable disease or my feet turn into solid gold and prevent me from flying and rising to greet the dawn...Or, where the serial killers run rampant and nobody cares, and I cannot stop them because I am normal...They look in my eyes and laugh at the futile courage, sapped by fear, that I've managed to muster, which is nothing against the oncoming threat... Can it be a sort of dream-depression? Still. I am resolved not to let it get the better of me.

Laila and Amanda certainly seem to see it in me as well, because in my next dream, we are about to embark upon a routine patrol of the nearest city when Laila turns to me and says: "You look a little worse for wear. Let's take a break and do something fun."

"Fun?!?" I cry out in defiance. "There are people out there who need our help, and you talk of fun? We can't take a break from saving lives! We're superheroes, for whales' sake! We keep on fighting the good fight until we're DEAD!" I think the use of the antiquated exclamation clinches their theories about me, because the next moment we find ourselves on a secluded stretch of beach near Laila's college, soaking up rays and chilled Martinelli's apple cider...

 "Guys!" I insist, scrambling off of my towel. "Seriously, I'm fine! We need to get back to work, there are nefarious plots to be foiled!" They ignore me and keep reading their books.

I try a different tack and start slowly sneaking away, but Amanda, out of the corner of her eye, catches me, and with the lift of a finger raises a force field in the sand. "Nah-ah, Art. Just sit down and enjoy the sun. We're not going anywhere until you've calmed down a little. We know you haven't been sleeping well. You have the eyes of a rabid dog." I slump back down in defeat. Her force fields have always been stronger than mine. There's no way I'm breaking through.

"At least let me listen to the police scanner," I whine. Laila takes it out of the picnic basket and hands it to me, and like a spoiled and grumpy child, I curl up with it in a small ditch of sand, my back to my friends, to sulk over what I am missing.

Just then, a shadow falls over our beach. Something huge is rising from the water.

"Yes!" I exult, jumping to my feet and preparing to meet the monster. "Finally!"

"Pack your stuff," says Laila, grabbing her basket, shoes, and umbrella."We're leaving."

"WHAT?!" I cry in shock. "But that thing is coming towards the houses! We have to stop it before it destroys them! It is our sworn duty to protect the people!" I break out of the field with a muster of energy and rush toward the oncoming behemoth, leaping into the air, preparing to deal a glancing blow on its strange and unseemly head. Just as I am landing, I notice something strange. The monster appears to be...sliding apart...

The monster is not a monster after all. It is a whale. As the collected algae and coral and assorted sea life slides off its back, I can see the normal shape of a small whale, its side pierced by the weight of a hunting spear. It is already dead. I sink to my knees in the shallow water and place my hand on its rough skin. I was ready to attack this thing, when I didn't even know what it was. I could have hurt something innocent. My mind is obviously not ready for work right now.

 Amanda comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder, and I don't have to hear her words to understand. I stand up and help her push the poor whale back out to sea, and together we gather up the rest of our belongings and go home to watch movies and relax, and build ourselves up for the fights of tomorrow. The world and its troubles will always be there, I have discovered, but you cannot always be there for it if you do not first care for yourself.

Why we fight.

"What are you doing?! Give him back to me! You can't do this. We belong to each other, I need to be with my brother to take care of him, don't you see? He's fragile. You can't take him away like this! YOU MONSTERS!!!"

The girl stands in the center of the orphanage, pulling on the coattails of one of the four men carrying away her little brother, who kicks and screams with all his might. The man at the head of the awful procession, a tall, pale fellow with a spotless white tie, says dismissively: "We don't need the girl. We only want to-- adopt-- the boy. Remove her grasp from my associate's clothing so we may be on our way. Our time is a precious commodity."

The orphanage manager stammers politely, avoiding the eyes of the men, and firmly but gently pries away the clutching fingers.

This is when Syca jumps down from the ceiling.

"In what universe does kidnapping mean the same thing as adopting?" she asks politely, hands clasped demurely behind her back on the hilt of her concealed sword. "Just release the boy, and I won't tell the police about your little definition slip."

"Who are you?" scoffs the leader. "I wasn't aware this orphanage housed common ruffians as well as children."

I jump down beside her. "We're not ruffians, and we're certainly not common. We would rather think of ourselves as Protectors. We're here to defend the weak, the young, the innocent, from being abused or manipulated. The girl says she doesn't want you to take her brother. It would be wise to listen to her. We don't like to use force. Well, actually, we do, but it's frowned upon in most centuries."

The men give an assortment of not-so-charitable laughs, and then quiet down immediately as the leader lifts a gloved finger. "I don't think that will be necessary, or effective. You have no jurisdiction over us. We have acquired this boy by the usual legal methods. He is now the ward of our company CEO. He shall be treated fitly for a boy of his-- nature-- and that is all you need to know. You have no evidence to dispute our claim. You have no power to deny us our due. Now step out of the way."

This is when Laila also comes down, on a rope rather than risking the considerable distance, since at the moment she has no sheild or flight to lessen the impact. She produces from her pack a series of photos of different children, hooked up to terrible machines of light and wires, their eyes haunted. In the background, on the wall, stares the insignia of an eye gazing boldly out of the center of the sun.

"You work for SolarFlare? The solar energy plant?" Laila questions.

"Perhaps," replies the Tie-Man stiffly, "But I don't see what this has to do with--"

"Are you aware that your machines are harvesting the energy of certain children's imaginations instead of the energy of the sun?"

"Why, that's preposterous! We would never--" I jump into the conversation.

"Save your breath. Already, pictures and videos of your crimes are being leaked to news sources around the world. What you did to these special children will be seen. It will be heard. The eyes of parents and grandparents and single mothers around the world will be watching you. They will not judge lightly your conniving abuse of these orphans, not to mention all the children that went missing from homes around the world. Your time for exploitation is over. Hand over the boy, and no one else will get hurt."

The villains decide, of course, to make a run for it. The leader slips a small device out of his pocket and, deploying it and flinging it to the ground, runs away into the ensuing chaos and smoke.

"He's headed for the back door!" Syca shouts.

I dash toward it and manage to catch sight of the fleeing coat. The man hastens to a waiting car, but I pursue it with all the muscle and brainpower I can possess this early in the morning. There is no way I am letting a criminal this terrible escape. Those who would willingly hurt children earn a special place in my book...

Tackle. Crash. Scuffle.

I do pride myself on being able to subdue an ordinary, weaponless human in three action words or less. Besides, longer fights are too exhausting...

We head back inside, my new prisoners and my own ragged-looking self, to meet the inevitable swing of Justice which the manager called on the phone during the fighting. As police sirens wail increasingly louder, I sneak over to have a chat with the sister.

"You defended your brother quite bravely today."

"I wish I had superpowers like you guys. Then I could really keep him safe from harm."

"I thought the same thing when I was your age. Turns out, most of these things are in your head. When you need them, and fervently believe in their power, they'll come to you. Or, perhaps, when you least expect it."

I get up and walk back over to the others, leaving her to develop that small, untapped potential of imagination dwelling in her brain. We have to wait here until the criminals are processed, then return for trial to make sure they are well and truly put away.

A Superhero Doesn't Need Family

I'm in New York.
I've never actually been to New York before, so this is my brain's very stylized version. Walkways on the ground and spiraling into the sky are filled with people of all kinds, bustling to their destinations in complete ignorance of the other people around them. There are vendors with hover-carts chasing the pedestrians, trying to sell their wares-- hot greasy foods and cheap nicknacks and second-hand jewelry. I really want to enter one of the third-tier bookshops to browse around, but I am here, like everyone else, for a specific purpose. I keep on flying through the crowded streets, searching for the sign that will say "Mulligan & Son's Time-Repair Shop." I have a message to deliver.

At last, I spot it-- a dinky, run-down shop on the bottom level of the city, the windows boarded up, the "Closed" sign swinging half-heartedly in the wind made by passing cars on their way to the Skyramp.

I knock tentatively on the stained door, peer in through the window. I know he is here. Syca told me he would be, and she is not often wrong.

"Hello?" I call out. There is a slight lull in the traffic behind me, so I quickly extract one of Prof. Willa's new devices, and unlock and open the door without ever having to touch it. I don't want fingerprints here. That might give some indication of exactly who did what I'm about to do...and I don't want him to become biased by that knowledge.

I slip inside and make my way to the back of the shop, where a pile of old clocks and assorted clutter dominates a small workdesk. Using the device, I carefully lift the Object from my coat pocket and place it on top of the pile. I place the Letter beside it. Sometimes, you see, super heroes can save lives in obscure and non-aggressive ways...

I expect that when the Hermit Child comes tentatively out of the back room to discover who has come, he will immediately notice the new items, and their significance. He will realize that the loss of his father does not mean he can no longer do the world any good-- that he can perpetuate his father's legacy through his own struggle for right. I remember his sardonic comment that "A superhero doesn't need family. While they are busy out saving the rest of the world, their family gets left behind or held prisoner or killed. They trade the lives of those close to them for the power to defeat what most people suppose is the greater evil. The truth is, they invite pain and destruction upon themselves. They ignore their loved ones in the pursuit of glory. They are nothing but hypocrites." The Hermit told Syca that he could never forgive the pain caused when his father was murdered. His father who just happened to cross the path of a supervillain. The villain who just happened to desire information on the lower-tier super force his son had recently and not-so-inconspicuously joined. It was one of life's unfortunate happenings, and no one could have predicted its emergence-- but now, with this letter and gift from his father, which he never had the chance to send, I hope to inspire Daniel not to grow embittered at the world, but rather to keep fighting that which distracts us from our greatest priority of love, both in our foes and ourselves.

I cannot say what was in the letter, nor can I divulge the nature of the object. All I can say is: with an open mind, they have the power either to heal or destroy the world. It is the heart which divides this power. I hope that he makes the right choice. In the end, we are all one big family, the Human Race-- though a very large, dysfunctional, maniacal one. We tend to get in scraps too big for us.