Teddy Finch had once read that people dream in black and white. He knew that to be false as his nighttime encounters with Mae B. Naughty were always in glorious technicolour.
Finch would look out from Mae’s eyes as she strode confidently through her life, whether that be shopping at Macy’s or dining with Marilyn. Whatever dreamscape Finch found her in, Mae was invariably dressed in her trademark jade cocktail dress complete with matching elbow-length gloves. At the top of each finger, glittering red spinels spelled out the words ‘Love’ on the right hand and ‘Life’ on the left.
Mirrors were not required for Finch to know that Mae’s face was elegantly made up, cheekbones accented with light rouge, vivid scarlet shimmering on her lips, black eyeliner and long false lashes commanding attention to her bright eyes.
Mae stepped onto the stage and the crowd roared its enthusiasm. Finch knew it was Lemon Splitz, the small club where Mae had made her debut, though the dream setting had transformed it into a larger, more spacious environment. Round tables dotted the area, each boasting a half-dozen chairs whose occupants gazed up in adoration at the drag queen.
As she delivered her routine, littered with double-entendres and sprinkled with filthy songs, Mae gazed out at the audience. From left to right, her fans were festooned in glittering reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, indigoes and violets. Together they made a human representation of the LGBTQ flag.
With the exception of one.
At the back of the room stood a tall grey figure. From this distance, with the footlights obscuring her vision, Mae was unable to make out the stranger’s features but saw the silhouetted head was bubbling and writhing. Mae was reminded of Medusa, the serpent-haired gorgon of Greek mythology.
The figure raised an arm – an arm which did not end in a hand but a lobster-like claw – and touched the person closest it. The sunflower-bright yellow leeched from the man and he turned the same insipid grey as the monster. His head fell to his chest as he jerked forward, heading for Mae. He moved in a straight line, ignoring the tables which, along with the attendant revellers, faded to nothing at his approach.
Mae’s patter stopped. Her legs turned leaden.
‘Come this way,’ comes a feminine voice from the side of the stage.
The grey man was much closer now, more than halfway across the room. Dark shapes unfolded from behind his shoulders, extended up and beat down. He lifted from the ground and soared to the stage on dragon wings.
As he passed over the footlights, he reached out a hand to snatch at Mae. Mae held up her arms in defence and felt him grip her wrist.
To her left, a woman screams. It is a cry of rage and frustration rather than fear.
Mae felt something collide with her, knocking her away from her assailant. Her hand flared in pain as it was snatched free from the vice-like grip.
Disentangling herself from Mae, a small redheaded woman gets to her feet and pulls Mae up. ‘Come this way,’ she repeats with urgency.
She pulls Mae away from the winged man who issued a gurgling ululation as he advanced on them.
Bending over, the strange woman pulls open a trap door – a trap door which Finch knew did not exist in Lemon Splitz – and pushes Mae through.
In his darkened bedroom, Finch’s whimpering ceased as he left REM sleep.
Benjamin’s middle school had been two storeys and therefore the staircases at either end of the long building had only ascended one flight. In his dream, he was on his hands and knees as he crawled up these stairs for two miles. There were no handrails so he kept to the centre to prevent from falling off the edge. Though he dared not even look to the side, he knew he was surrounded by wispy white clouds.
‘Just keep going,’ Benjamin said to himself as he stared upwards. ‘Got to get to chemistry class.’
Above him, a step raised up and a large woman in a green dress tumbled out. She was followed by a smaller woman with a red bob who pushes the stair tread back into place and looks around.
‘What is happening?’ said the first woman in a surprisingly husky voice.
‘No time,’ her companion answers brusquely. ‘This way.’
She grabs the other woman’s hand and leaps from the stairway. Despite himself, Benjamin turned his head to follow their progress as they jumped from cloud to cloud. Thirty feet from him, the women stopped. The redhead points at something at their feet through which the taller woman disappeared.
Before she follows her friend, the smaller woman looks directly at Benjamin and mouths two words. He heard them as clearly as if they were uttered next to his ear.
‘Wake up.’
Breathing heavily, Benjamin clutched the mattress beneath him, thankful to be on terra firma.
There was a tin of chicken soup in the kitchen which Mbali was determined to find. So far, she had searched the wall-mounted cupboards and numerous drawers. With none providing the prize she sought, she had despatched each to the waste disposal to ensure she wouldn’t spend time checking them again.
Opening the oven door, she shone a torch into its cavernous depths. The space offered nothing aside from a teetering pile of paperwork, so she lifted the oven and dropped it into the sink. Turning to the fridge, she tapped four digits on the keypad to release the locking mechanism and pulled at the door.
A man in a green dress stepped out, quickly followed by a woman.
Sucking her teeth in frustration, Mbali pushed the two figures away from the fridge. Seeing the look of bewilderment on the man’s face, Mbali turned on the redhead and asked, ‘Have you taken my soup?’
‘What’s happening?’ the man asked.
‘Are you okay?’ the woman says, ignoring both questions. ‘Did he hurt you? How’s your hand?’
The man raised both hands and inspected them. One was gloved, the other bare. Mbali saw bruising on the man’s naked left wrist.
‘You’re okay,’ the woman says with relief.
‘Where’s my glove?’ the man said. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on.’
‘No,’ the redhead replies, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘But you won’t remember.’
In an instant, both strangers were gone leaving Mbali alone. She returned to her task. Somewhere in the kitchen was a tin of chicken soup which she was determined to find.
The grey light of dawn poked around the curtains, providing some definition to the dark shapes in the room.
Finch looked at the bedside clock and groaned. It was 5:47, thirteen minutes before the alarm was set, but he felt exhausted, as though he hadn’t slept all night.
He considered phoning in sick, wondering if he was coming down with the bug that was doing the rounds. He certainly felt achy, particularly his left hand. When he pulled his arm from the duvet to inspect it, he was shocked to see the wrist disfigured by a deep purple bruise.
A few hours later and seven thousand miles away, the sun was almost touching the South China Sea. The heat of the day was not yet dispelled but the light clothing Tala Santillan wore prevented any discomfort as she pulled in the day’s catch.
Brushing her dark hair behind her ears, she hauled in the lines her younger brother had cast out that morning. She dragged the baskets ashore and transferred crabs into a large container which she would take home to their father. The creels also trapped other sea life which she returned to the ocean.
Reaching for what she assumed to be a length of seaweed, Tala was surprised to find it was an item of clothing. An elbow length, jade green glove. Across the fingers, she read the word, ‘Life.’
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