Mar. 10th, 2017

Over there, in my family's house, in dreams as long as I can remember, there have been secret rooms. The slide in the church basement (age 4), the extra room between my bedroom wall and the washroom (10? 12), the club washroom with a hatch into the underworld and the red-headed psychopomp's friend (27?) until last night where I remember remembering another dream. My dreams build on each-other you see.


Here, tonight, in the basement/crawlspace there was, if you shimmied around enough, a thin 2' high 2.5' wide corridor with two 2' x 1.5' vertical shafts in it. If you went down there, you would finally know - is it a vestigial chute from unfinished construction collecting trash or the secret extra basement? The one you've thought about, wondered about. But if you went and checked it out, you couldn't get back out without help. And if no-one know you're down here doing some domestic spelunking... well, that'd be that. And even if they did, its a maze and your voice might give out before they found you.

Anyways. That house, in this dream, was my grandparents', now always somewhere not in the Okanagan but between Ioco and North Van. And if I (in this case also Spiderman) went there, I could not get out on my own. I needed a camera on a pole, or a waldo or a drone or some damn thing that I had only parts of in a trash bag with some laundry. So I was going to cross the street to get the Kingsway bus West, home.


On the opposite corner, we were readying for war amidst the migration. The evacuation. Not 100% real, wait-around-then-piss-yourself-in-fear war, but more like the Battlefield games. And I'm there and my hair is pinned back above my BDU collar in a nice dark women's NCO reg cut, I had... let's inventory... full spectrum field glasses, a smart map and an entrenching tool. Great. I'm an indispensable geographic/spotter/observer unit without a fucking gun. That's more like real warfare for you - we're the ones who win this thing, but who will -play- as this class?

The Sergeant, a balding redheaded man who has a gun and needs to go use it because this is getting less like a game every second, yells "Hyun-Sing - get in the one-man!" I guess he means me? Deadname of Eun-Soo? Lunar compatriot of Emily Watkins, now back in time to launch the apocalypse? Sure. Anyways, he needs me to escort the civs out. The one-man, once his now mine, is a nice low-profile Scuttle Tank about 70cm' high and 1m wide. Great for swarm tactics. The inside is like slipping into a shopping cart. But it has a full-colour HUD and it trundles along the walkway where the crosswalk would have been if we were an early 21st century city.

We don't bother with encryption. The enemy can't understand us and vice-versa. I know my signals, and the Scut's directional antenna is picking up fast approaching Queen chatter at 6-high. I could turn to level the main gun now that I have one, but that's the one direction that my damn vision is blocked by the red and blue entry plastic. My feet can direct the Scuttle so I reach out and pick at it and light shines through. And more than light. I calmly see the enemy's shadows, hovering in fast. I know my comrades have our rear.

Onward? Onward. I'll try to get a clear view.

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the_fantastic_ms_fox

March 2017

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