Dei Dreamer

By Bethlehem Steele


When you love someone sometimes you have to let them go.
Well, what emotion brings them back again?


-Chapter 1-

Nine year old Dei Dreamer rubbed his wrist where two metal links once grasped at his skin. The handcuffs embrace had been so tight even after the guard had removed them he could still feel their cold bite. The guard gestured daintily for the child’s hands and with a full twist of the key the cuffs sprang open. The prisoner felt his wrist expanding as blood raced to the blood starved phalanges of his hand. “Finally!” The child winced. Grasping at his wrist one at a time. His hands tingled like thousands of tiny carbonation bubbles where being released from a shaken bottle of soda pop.
“Got a little pinch to them huh?” The guard grinned. His mucky teeth made Dei’s eyebrows arch and caused great concern in his face. The boys eyes rolled to one side and his tongue released from his teeth making a harsh noise like that of Velcro when it’s pulled apart quickly. ‘Little!’ The boy taught, balling up than relaxing his hands repeatedly. “I still can’t feel them!”
“Well they’re there so hush it up,” the guard snapped. “What you do to get in here anyway boy?” The guard smiled curiously at the boy as his mouth steadily worked over a brownish glob of chew. “I’m really wandering cuz nobody in here knows squat about you.”
The jailers country accent made the boy think of the movie “Life” with Eddy Murphy and Martin Lawrence for some reason, but he couldn’t answer. Because for some reason the chew the guard was so frantically working on had captured his attention.
“What the hell is you starring at boy?” The guard replied spitting the smelly goo into the boys face.
“There yeah go youngin!” He smiled whipping his hand across his chin to gather the excess.
“Dayum youngins”, the guard replied placing the key ring back on his belt loop. And with that he left whistling his way back down the cell block.
Left by himself the child prisoner wiped the brown sauce like goop from his face. The catchy tune he had been listening to faded as the guard made his way down the tier. The youngest inmate in Peel Castles glorious history flopped down on his cot and began dry spitting the horrible taste from his mouth.
In his hands he held some folded up blankets for his bed and a change of clothing. Threadbare sheets and faded prison stripes. The boy thumbed through the linen as if the guard who had handed it out put a surprise in-between the neatly folded squares for him. Like the prizes found in so many boxes of Cracker Jacks. Perhaps something with a splash of color or maybe even a file…perhaps.
Nothing!
The cell the boy occupied was small. But what did he expect? He was a prisoner. He had a right to nothing nor was he a law abiding respectful citizen of the United States any longer. “This would be great if I was a rapper,’’ he mumbled to himself as he lay back on the unforgiving springs. They nudged at them like a bully in a schoolyard. Placing his hands behind his head he looked upward; the way of forgiveness, the way of piece, at least for a religious person, which he was not.
With nothing better to do the prisoner decided to figure out the dimensions of his cell. He wasn’t particularly good with math so he usually guessed or choose ‘C’ if given the opportunity. Without that option, and no ruler or tape measure, he had to improvise. ‘If I were to lay flat on my back long ways,’ he eyed the room, ‘The cell is two of me. And than halfway up my calf I suppose.”
“Okay, and I’m like five feet no four…,” he jumped up. “And this place is two of me wide cutting off half my body maybe.”
Mrs. Concubine always said of him, “If math was video games on a PS3 you would be in abundance Dei Dreamer did you know that?” He excelled in division, multiplication, subtraction, and addition. It was everything else after that he had a problem with. “Get it a problem with math?” He busted out saying at a parent teacher conference one day. The joke fell short on his parents too, well one of them at least.
“Mrs. Concubine,” he stated humbly. “I don’t have a problem with math. Math, has a problem with me! Why can’t I just use a calculator?”
“Well what if you can’t find one?”
“Well I’ll just wait til’ I do.”
“Well what if it’s urgent and your diagnoses of the problem is urgently needed than what? Are you still going to wait till you can find a calculator? Somebody’s life could be at stake.”
“Over math?” The question sounded just as hosh posh coming from his parents’ lips just as it did coming out of his teachers.
“Yes over math!”
“Well,” the boy took some time in serious though. “I don’t think I would be in a field such as that honestly Mrs. Concubine.” He could sound incredibly articulate if need be.
“Well all that smooth talkin’ isn’t going to save you all the time Dei.” Her scrawny index finger was aimed straight at the class room door. “You know the routine.”
If he knew that finger would have pointed here one day. He would have had serious reservations about that entire conversation after the phrase, ‘Why can’t I just use a calculator?’
The prisoner found himself starring absently at a huge poster of a woman whose entire look was dated. The bright, cheerful, education rich, class room was no more. He was back inside his prison box. Back inhaling the earthy smell of dust and rock with hints of piss and body order thrown in accordingly. The woman in the picture was sitting with her legs crossed on top of a tool chest. Her due was pulled away from her face and looked a lot like Wolverines except the edges were rolled over into a bun, not spiky, and was shiny and healthy and jet black all the way around. She wore bright red lipstick and a one piece baiting suite and had a country mile of leg showing easily. The most important part of the picture, to him at least, was the fact that she was smiling down upon him. “Won’t be seeing a lot of those in here.” Hers would be the only one for quite sometime.

-Chapter 2-

Before the child could speak an alarm rang out off in the distance from another part of the prison. The boy pressed his face to the cell bars and grabbed a hold tightly. It was like witnessing a school fight, but with death being more of an option.
The prisoner heard one of the guards yell out C Ward as he raced by clutching his night stick with one hand and holding onto his cap with the other. All of the guards were heading towards C Ward.
C Ward was Peel Castles most secured and notorious building. Vile, low down, rotten, filthy, scum’s of the earth where all sentenced to their faiths there. It sat like an island in the middle of the yard surrounded on all sides by vast stretches of manicured lawn. Twelve foot high fences topped with concertina wire and two watch towers on either side. C Ward, also known as the Gatehouse to guests, held most of the world’s most notorious, most diabolical, most cut throat, murderous, hooligans locked away from the rest of the world. They were under thumb twenty-four seven. There was no wiggle room like there was where the boy stayed. Most of these carnivorous individuals he had never even heard of before. But he was eager to get a glimpse. He imagined the criminals looked like their names like in the cartoons. Like in Daffy Ducks Quack Busters or something.
“Got dammit!” An officer yelled out as he took off down the tier shouting, “Its them damn mobsters again ain’t it?”
“Mobsters?” The boy mouthed. His eyes grew bigger.
Dreamer followed the guard as far as the cell bars would allow. When the guard was out of site of the boy he could listen to the sounds of his polished dress shoes smacking off the metal rafters.
Out in the world, beyond the brick walls and steel bars of A Ward, Dreamer could hear the many whistles going off as officers closed in on the alarm. They were like the old policeman of London. Who carried batons and wore whistles around their neck to alert other officers nearby of law breakers. The guards here carried no guns too.

Guard Teasdale Side grabbed at the night-stick clinging to his side as he rushed down the metal stairway leading to the pit. His breaths were heavy and deep and drowned out the siren bellowing just ahead. The boy had noticed the prison took a liking to the highly egregious alarm from the movie Silent Hill which sounded like an air raid siren. The child prisoner nodded his head in appreciation. A World War II staple, that siren saved many a life with its fluctuating serenade. Plus it sounded hell-uh-cool!
Officer Teasdale gulped down hard, tightened his grip around his stick, and nodded at the orders given by the captain of the guards. Five officers stood in a line, leaned with their backs against the chilled brick of C Ward and waited. The guards hand trembled as he pulled the scuffed night stick from its holder and rested it at the side of his leg. The nicks scratched in it, eerie reminders of the inmates it came in contact with over the years. Teasdale’s face became gelid. His focus was on the door. Like a star athlete during the big game, everything around him faded into oblivion. Heated breaths escaped into the salt filled air as the searchlight shinned brightly at the officer’s side. Pupils widened by the night and consumed with fear looked on as the captain reached out for the door knob and twisted.
The landscaping around Peel Castle was refined, and typical of English yards. Roses, Stone Fruit Trees, Crepe Myrtles, and shrubs were just a few of the plants that grew in and outside of Peel Castles walls. On any other day prisoners, during their yard time, would be sitting out in the yard chatting amongst the colorful array of flowers. But as of right now they were vegetation crushed beneath the soles of the guards’ boots. There would be no plucking from the lavender garden for the misses today. If these flowers were to end up anywhere tonight it would be atop a wooden casket.

Teasdale’s eyes lit up like saucers! Small flashes of light popped from inside the heavily secured building followed by sporadic gunfire and laughter. He turned and saw his fellow guards crouched down against the wall. They had their arms protecting their head as pieces of brick and dust tumbled down on top of them. He was sweating profusely and looked pale as a ghost as heavy breaths left his lungs. They were as unarmed group of men, and stood no chance against projectile fired weapons of any kind. Most couldn’t even remember the last time they had saw one on the grounds. Like an eloquently designed masquerade mask the guards’ faces were equally lavished with worry and fear. Teasdale turned back to his front, “Sir we can’t stay here…” his eyes grew curious, “…sir?” The captain lie still on his crisp beige shirt. For you see the captain was a stickler for appearance and wore a crisp new shirt daily. It was even said during his eulogy that the creases were so sharp in his shirt that they cut his perspiration in-half as it dripped from his body.
“99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer! Shot one down he’s on the ground-98 botles of beer on the wall!” He finished his verse with robust laughter and a few more pulls on the trigger.
“He’s a lunatic!” One of the guards said scrunched down.
“Bloody mad he is!” Said another guard.
The captains’ eyes lock in on Teasdale and he scurries to his captains’ side-crawling like a new born baby at his mothers call. He propped the captains’ head on his forearm. His mouth opened but barely anything came out except shallow breaths.
“Don’t try and speak,” a teary eyed Teasdale said softly, “I have you! Help is coming! Get me some help!” He screamed into the monsoon.
Another foray of automatic fire raced through the door leaving a debris lateen trail of dust and damage on the wall above the guards.
“Tommy Gun!” A guard shouts.
“We don’t have a shot as long as he’s inside!” A guard shouted from a watchtower.
“Well I’m not flushing him out that’s for sure!” A guard shouted back.
The officers’ faces were pallid. The searchlight had picked up the fears etched into the hardened lines of their faces and revealed their worry. Teasdale’s face grew distraught. Time seemed to have slowed down for him and the men he now controlled. Who were now wondering what the hell to do? “Fall back,” Teasdale shouted. “Take cover!”
Another round of gunfire smashed into the chilled brick followed by another verse as a guard fell to the wet earth while trying to escape. “97 bottles of beer!” He laughed.
Officer Side laid his captain back to the ground and with his hand securely on his hat ran with the rest of the guards to the nearest cover.
The gatehouse door busted open and out ran a man popping off random shots as he disappeared into the night towards A Ward.
“Would you look at this bugger?” One of the guards replied peering over the stone barrier, “Where ‘d you suppose he got that from inside here?”
Teasdale Side stood up from his hiding spot more confused than concerned. “Why is he running the wrong way? The front gate is in the opposite direction!” The question left him taken aback for the slightest of seconds. Suddenly he took off after the prisoner disappearing into the night after him.

-Chapter 3-

One of the steel doors in A Ward opened with a violent bang. Walking inside along with the chill of night is an abomination of a man with an unforgettable scowl. The ground aches beneath him as he scans the tiers. He is on a mission. You can tell by the focus in his eyes. It would be hard to imagine the sort of person who can make a man such as this do their bidding. But there he stood, all three hundred sixty pounds of him itching for a fight.
The dried tobacco leaves in his cigar brighten with an orange intensity as a fresh rush of air, or as fresh as air can be inside a prison, fill his lungs. He snaps the lid of his Zippo closed extinguishing the flame. He reaches out with one hand grabbing the edge of the steel door and with remarkable ease slams it shut again. The nearly seven foot brute slides the drum shaped magazine, which looks like a donut in his hand, out from beneath the gun and checks inside. He has more than enough ammo to complete the task given him. With a click the drum locks back into place. He begins to move laterally peering into each cell-his cigar glowing bright with oxygen as he squints through the sweet smoke. Men who are usually never unnerved are unnerved, and scurry like rodents to the backs of their cells. This freakish monstrosity is so huge he has to hunch over to peer inside the cells.
The tiers and its inhabitants literally shake with his every step.

A man with a past straight from a Robert Ludlum novel. Tommy Gun’s past had to be laid out like a cop investigating-a Rico Case just to get the jest of it. Every door you opened led to three more, and almost none led to a dead end. Most criminals had a file associated to their name. The Bursa authorities however, were working on his second storage space. What has become clear from out of the muck is that he spent most of his child hood in orphanages throughout the Moroccan city of Fe’s. His first police record has the tender age of 6 on it. Were he was associated with a ring of low level criminals that dealt mostly in shop-lifting and protection “taxes”. The police arrested him believing he was thirteen, the gang thought he was 9. Until a smoke damaged birth certificate surfaced from the ashes of a burned down orphanage just outside of Rabat, which he was also suspected of doing, that clearly listed his date of birth at 1936. Which in 1942 would have made him six. From there on he has made an appearance in police jails and prisons throughout the Mediterranean. At his arraignment a Bursa Inspector stated, “It’s like we (the police) are throwing daily parties and he is always on the guest list!”

The tiers are narrow. So narrow in fact inmates have to walk single file. Like school children at the elementary level, they must always walk against the wall equal to their right shoulder. The boy was apart of one of this line several times. The guards always placed him at the back because his stride was far shorter then most, and he always threw off the lines cadence like timing. These incident, amazingly, were very vague in his mind.
Dei Dreamers two body lengths measurement minus half his second body, which is a modest estimate to say the least. Was definitely not sufficient for most of Peel Castles prestigious guests. Who easily towered far beyond his four foot frame. When they sat up against the wall they only need to angle their feet forward, in most cases, to reach their beds. This only accounted for inside the cell of course.
Officer Teasdale stood at a steel door and looked to the ground at droplets of fresh blood which appeared black under the intense stare of the search light. Dropping to a knee he collects a drop on his finger then smears it between his thumb and fore finger. ‘Oily,’ he thought, ‘definitely blood.’ If this was sometime ago officer Teasdale Side would have called in an entire team to run analysts, look for evidence, and deduct a theory. But none of this was necessary now. The man he is searching for has already been caught and his name catalogued. He wipes his hands across his thigh and stands back up. He rested a hand on the door knob and worked up the nerve to continue inside. The steel door closed again with a restless whine. A Ward was once again rushed by the chill of night.
Dei Dreamers’ neck hurt along the sides and back from staring up at a man who could barely see inside his cell. The thought of asking him what he wanted had entered his mind before he saw the weapon. Which stuck out from his grubby fingers looking like a Popsicle stick. But fear of the Tommy Gun-well the giant, kept him from speaking what was on his mind.
The tobacco in the large mans cigar lit up with an intense heat, and sweet smells clouded the cell. The smell was heavenly indeed. It was a smell a woman would want to wear. And would travel quite some distance to obtain. “Like Saks and 5th…”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Dreamer quickly apologized. “I was simply thinking of something totally unrelated to you kind sir!” His feat barely kept up with his back tracking. ‘Kind sir?’ He thought to himself.
The giant let out a huge sigh and grabbed a hold of the guard rail to his back. Taking careful measures he eased himself to the ground like an old man into bathwater. Once settled his legs were bowed dramatically at the knee and his back pushed the guard rail back a good two to three feet. He looked like an over grown kid in a kiddy ride at the amusement park. But the boy dare not laugh in such confined quarters. Especially when the man just outside could rip open the bars like a candy wrapper.
“Is it dinner time?” The child replied with a slight nervous smirk on his face. It was in fact six on the dot.
“No!” The large man replied laying the Tommy Gun across his lap. “I thought I was coming to kill a man, but here you are, a boy! Damn the Devil to hell,” he shouts, slamming his fist into the guard rail.
“The Devil? The Devil is here?” The words shot from his mouth.
“He’s every where child. You will come to find that out one day.”
“Well,” the boy paused. Surprised at how easy communication leapt from his lips. “Why does he want me dead? I just got here!”
The giant looked at the boy with a stern face and after a short period replied, “One doesn’t ask questions of the Devil. They just do as he says.”
Just below Officer Side hears the boy and giant conversing and quietly slides his baton from its holder. He walks up the stairs along the wall taking soft gentle steps. He walks along the side of the step were the support will make them less likely to wine then if he were to step in the middle. An old police trick.
“What have you done child to infuriate him so. I was just going to come and kill you, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me so I must ask.”
Dreamer shrugs, “I don’t know. I don’t even believe I’ve met him actually.” He paces his cell, “A big red fiery guy with horns and a tail. I would remember meeting someone like that!”
The giant lets out a great humph! “He’s not fiery at all! Or red! He is the most ordinary person you probably will ever meet! All that being red and fire nonsense is complete rubbish!”
“Really?” The boy eases closer to the bars and takes hold. He is so intrigued with the giants story he forgets the ordeal he is in.
“Hell! I almost whacked him a good one when I first saw him.”
“So why didn’t you? Then maybe I could stay alive.”
The beast points to his head, “He puts terrible thoughts up here! Simply terrible!”
“Well…if you guys did tussle around for a bit. Who do you think would have won?”
“Me for sure! The Devil is a scrawny bloke. He couldn’t weigh more then eight stones!”
Officer Side stood at the top of the steps. Peering around white-painted rusted railings, he sees Tommy Gun sitting like a child being told a story. A line of guards creep up the stairwell; Teasdale waves his hand telling them to keep quiet. The two convicts pay them no mind. They are steep in conversation.
The huge goliath rests his hand on the gun in his lap and lets out a discouraging sigh, “Well it’s that time my friend…”
‘My friend?’ The boy thinks to himself. ‘I’ve had friends steal toys from me, and killing them never crossed my mind.’
“…If I don’t do this. I’ll never get him out of here.” He aims the weapon to his head. “You understand right?”
Dei nods his head, ‘You can shoot yourself! Go ahead,’ he thinks to himself.
The nine foot tall man grabs a hold of the guard rail and Dei can see it give in his grasp. Watching him make his way to his feet is like watching steam travel though old pipes. At every joint some escapes sighing as it does. The con levels the gun off on the boys’ chest, “Sorry my friend…”
“Just wait!” A voice replies from the side. Officer Teasdale managed to sneak up on the pair as they talked. “It don’t have to be like this. We’ve already lost two men. We don’t need to lose another.”
“It’s the Devil. I can’t stop!” And with that a teary eyed Tommy Gun turns back to the boy and squeezes down on the trigger.”
Dreamer screams.
Teasdale Side screams and presses down on the trigger of his weapon.
Tommy Gun stumbles back into the guard rail. The guard rail makes a loud strenuous noise and with little warning snaps backwards taking the convict along with it over the side. Teasdale looks down into the pit. Sprawled out on the concrete is a huge man. A red halo surrounds his head. There will be no more terrible thoughts for him-just peace. No more at all.
“Boy are you okay?” The guard whips around to see tuffs of cotton gently falling in the cell.
Who would have ever thought that all you would need to have Christmas inside a prison was the incarceration of a nine year old boy.
“Boy?” Teasdale Side grabbed a hold of the bars. “Boy?”

-Chapter 4-

“Nice to see a man living up to his name-” He stopped suddenly to pick up something very odd for his room. “And where did these feathers come from?” He asked looking at one strangely.
The familiar voice awoke Dreamer from his sleep. The harsh sun was a change of scenery from the constant darkness of his cell, and his eyes had not quite adjusted yet. The blurred faces of his classmates were all around him-staring. They were smiling, he could tell that, and quite possibly at him. The boy rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slowly things began to take shape. First a chalk board, then cheesy school posters, and finally his teacher.
“Hello there!” He stood right in front of Dreamers face looking his pupil dead in the eyes. The boy followed his teachers face to his shoulders, then to his outstretched arm-to his harry hand, and finally to his extended index finger. Which he already knew was pointing to the door and indelibly the principals’ office. He gulped down hard. It felt like a huge piece of moms dry turkey had disappeared into his stomach. He was doing that a lot lately-gulping down hard. He gathered what little books he had and slid from underneath his desk.
While walking down the hall he ran his hands against the lockers; a thought entered his mind. It was a saying the principal had used on him the last time he was in his office. Principal has pal on the end, because that’s what we are! “We’re your pals!” He could still envision the huge phony grin he carried on his face at the time. It was a PSA announcement if he’d ever seen one.
A line of combination locks swayed back and forth as Dreamer went past. The principals’ office was around the next corner and straight down the hall. At the intersection hanging from the ceiling was a huge orange banner that read, ‘Happy All Hollows Eve’ in black bubble letters. If he was tall enough, and could jump that high, Dreamer imagined he just may have ripped it down. ‘All Hollows Eve,’ he thought. “Kids everywhere else called the holiday Halloween! But not us up here in Smaller, Alaska!” He mumbled. But the town name says it all! He had once taken a trip, not too long ago, to the greater DC area to visit relatives. They visited the museums: Air and Space, Smithsonian, and Natural History, to name a few. And everywhere they wound up small talk eventually followed. The conversations usually went like this:
Hi we’re such and such from blah, blah, blah! They smile big as they say this of course.
And my moms’ incredibly big smile goes here. “Oh we’re the Dreamers from Smaller, Alaska.”
Enter silent awkward pause here.
Oh, is that in America? Well I’m sure it is since it has to do with Alaska right? Queue the cheesy nervous laugh.
Everybody always thought it was another state. Like the secret fifty first state or something. And I’m like no it’s a town inside of Alaska hello hence Smaller, Alaska! But that’s how we act in Smaller. Like the secret fifty first state, especially by doing things like this-trying to be all different and what-not. We are probably the only kids in the whole world to refer to Halloween as All Hollows Eve, or even know that it actually means Halloween! He looks to the banner with disdain. ‘Man I wish I could reach that cheesy banner! I’d rip it down and be a hero,’ he thought.
The principals’ office was stuffier than usual. As if alternative rock was a panacea for all that entered through these doors. If music did indeed sooth the savage beast, the boy doubted it was ‘Yah Mo B There’ they were referring too. Dreamer sat in the waiting area and looked on to the bickering grown-ups huddled like wildebeest in front of him. The secretary usually would have noticed him as soon as he walked in, but she was to busy being a flibbertigibbet to notice. With the big party coming up the office was overrun by over protective moms, and nonchalant dads who were doing exactly what he was doing, sitting and watching. Only a pride need enter this herd. For a single adolescent male would be crushed under the hooves of their never-ending babble.
“Oh my God Dei,” she finally said. “What have you done now child?”
He shrugs.
Shaking her head, in torpor no doubt, she picks up the phone and presses a button. “Yes. You know who is here again…yes again!”
‘I haven’t been here that much. Just eight times in the past two weeks!’
“Well Mr. Lightwind is too busy to attend to you right now. So I guess you’ll just have to stay here until the end of classes.”
‘Great!’
“Pull out whatever you were studying in Mr. Peach’s class and get to it.”
Misses Tape was a rather nebbish woman. She always did what she was told even if it was from someone other then her boss. She was also very obese. She didn’t just sit in her chair, she poured out from it. Her face left a very small section for her eyes, noise, and mouth for her cheeks required much of it. Her arms were thick and soft and her hands looked to be swollen at anytime of the day you choose to look at them. Her legs were left up to the imagination because they were always covered by some sort of flower printed dress. But the consensuses in the school was that she taped two naughty children, one to each leg, and kept them there until they promised to be good. Ralph Upperbottom is the only kid sane enough to confirm this. The others are believed to be in mental institution somewhere far, far away-out of the reach or nosey investigative reporters, and curious law enforcement personnel. The school children called her Jabba the Hut in secret. But if she ever found out that they did call her this, I do believe she would be so ashamed and hurt she would quit right there on the spot.
Dreamer began to slide his math book from under the stack he had on his lap when a bit of brilliance hit him. To countervail Misses Tapes request he thought to tell her he had lent the book to another student in the class who had forgotten their own book. But a simple call would debunk, his scheme not to mention put a tingly sensation in his bottom, which he often got before a whooping. He tilted over and slid his hand across his back side. He was surprised he had not gotten the tingly sensation already. Then he realized no one threatened to call his mother yet either. He looked up, like something inside him had said too, and a sudden rush of heat consumed his body. There sitting across the room was a brown eyed starlet covering her giggles with her hand. ‘Oh man.’ His face was flushed. Now she was using both hands. The giggles were coming out even louder.
“Checking for a tingly bottom Dreamer?” She whispered.
His bottom wasn’t tingling but his stomach was in a knot. How did she know his name? This was the first time he had ever seen her, so it must be the first time she has seen him. But nonetheless she had known his name. But what to say, for he didn’t know hers. Another bit of brilliance hit him and he turned to Misses Tape. “I have to use the bathroom!” He hoped up out of his seat so fast the woman hadn’t even a chance to part her lips to begin to state a reply. All his books slid to the floor. He had forgotten about those in his attempt to make a hasty retreat. She was giggling again, he was screwing up badly! The boy collected his books and with his head down proceeded to the door. He was not at his coolest today. As a matter of fact this was his most un-coolest day ever.
“Psst!” The little girl summoned his attention. Dreamer paused. He wanted to say something, anything, if not to bolster his image, at least to restore some dignity back into his quixotic self. But his mouth was shut tight. Embarrassment can do that; it also empties all the saliva from ones mouth and dries the lips. The little girl leaned forward as to tell a secret, “This is the most fun I have ever had in the principals’ office!” Her smile was so beautiful he had’nt caught himself starring until it was too late. “You know there are other parts to my face!” She smiled. Dreamer, completely saturated in embarrassment at this point, bolted through the door and down the hall. Forget that the bathroom was in the opposite direction. His was not a flight of necessity, but one of haste. With his back against the wall and his heart beating thought his chest he felt he was far enough away to try and regain his composure. A quick peek around the corner to make sure no one, and especially not her, was following and he was free to express himself the only way he knew how.
“Holly Jesus sweet mama!” He screamed.
“Little boy what us your problem?” A voice to his left asked.
Dreamer eyes grew like muffins and he stiffened straighter then a board. Just barely able to turn his head around he saw the janitor starring at him in complete bewilderment. Dreamer turned the corner without hesitation and was once again blazing a trail down the hall. At least this time he was headed in the right direction for the bathroom. “What the hell is wrong with these children today?” The janitor asked himself while clicking the buffer back on. “My goodness! Just going to scream like that?”

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.01.2011

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