Last Dream

Annie took a deep breath and sat up before she opened her eyes. She contemplated her new day and the new life she would have. She thought about the key in its safe spot under where she sat. She hoped she would have enough time before her interview to rest a little...to practice...to check on her—"

"Get off and clear station!" scolded a raspy, nasal and creaky voice.

Annie cringed at the shock. She opened her eyes and sadly shuffled through her end-of-shift routine. 

"Clear station and be careful! take all personal!" added the unpleasant voice.

Annie thought about her key as she cleared the bed and took a foolish moment to look at her last dreams. There were two big and one medium-big. They shimmered on the dream dish, impossibly smooth and shiny, like drops of syrup. One was cloudy gray and purple. The other two were—

"The dots are product placements. Take personal! You go over THERE!" 

Annie shuddered again. The voice was right behind her. She could feel hot breath and spit droplets hit her in the neck. She smelled the blunt sourness of old sweat and compost. 

She shook a little as she scooped up her water bottle, dreams and laundry and scurried to get away. 

She felt a sharp jab in her lowest rib along with hearing, "ALL PERSONAL." She squeaked in alarm and looked back at the cot. The squeaky voice chuckled. Annie saw her key, sticking straight up out of the center of the cot.

Annie grabbed it and continued trying to flee, taking the usual path out of the sleep room. As she took each familiar turn, she felt another sharp jab in her ribs, urging her to go in the direction she was obviously already going. She juggled her belongings in anticipation of pushing the button to open the door.

Then she hear the button push sound and the door opened. She felt the sudden force of a hand hitting her, hard, on the butt and shoving her out the door with just a slight squeeze. She thought worriedly about her key, her laundry and her dream dish, urgently careful not to lose any of them. By then, the door was closed and clicked locked forever. 

The dreams wobbled on their dish, which she had placed carefully and habitually on top of the laundry wheeler. The key had pressed a red likeness of itself into her hand. Yesterday’s liquid skin had split and was bleeding freshly. 

Chapter 2: Annie’s Final Dream

Annie

Annie woke up for the last time and stretched. She would get her locker key from its safe spot and look at her last dream—or dreams—

"It’s not your last time," said—what’s-his-name—as thought invited, or necessary. She reminded herself to grab her locker key from its usual place in the upper-right side of the bed—

"You’ll probably still have regular dreams and sleep every day for the rest of your life." He smiled proudly. Annie sighed the short, snort of a sigh people make when slammed in the stomach. She tried ignoring that guy and concentrating on the last dreams. They sat blobbily in the incubator. In a moment the trap door clicked open and they tumbled into the dish. Then she remembered the key again. She went to reach for—

"Make your bed and remember all of your belongings," snapped what’s-his-name after Annie moved to do so. He beat a tone of voice onto ordinary statements that made Annie shudder. He chortled when she shuddered.

"Ms. Esther will see you in the drummer room," He fired off. The syllables pummeled her. Annie picked through the sharp words pounding her back to piece together what he was saying. He spoke the words quickly and forcefully, but not intelligibly. There was a think, sharp accent. She was ignorant of where he was from, but he managed to speak using only the most irritating sounds.

She nodded in the direction of the voice and gave a thumbs up. He snickered again and she heard sloppy footsteps patrol the room. She pulled the sheets off the little cot and tipped them into the wheeled-bin at its foot, but she kept her eyes on her dreams. Her last dreams came as two big and one biggish-medium. They shimmered on the little dish. They were impossibly smooth and shiny, like drops of syrup. One was a cloudy gray-purple. The other two were—

"The dots are product placements. Let’s go," he ordered. His words were a fresh round of machine-gun fire right into the back of her head. Some tiny, warm droplets of spit hit her neck and ears.

She hadn’t been looking at or asking about the dots, but he had come way into her personal space to tell her. Annie carefully placed the dreams into grooves in the dish, facing her serial number and the colored dots upward before fitting the clear cover. She picked up the laundry sack by its drawstring and hoisted it over her shoulder before gently picking up her dreams and filing out of the room. She was halfway to the door before she felt a jab to her side. She was startled to be touched at all, let alone so violently. She choked in surprise as she turned to look at her attacker.

He looked...not as she had expected, but— He jabbed a pointing hand toward her now-bare sleep station. His face was screwed up with reproach, as though she had stolen something valuable and destroyed something even more valuable. She sighed as she remembered. Sticking right up out of its safe spot was the locker key. Annie shrunk in shame and turned back for it. He was stepping right up behind her as she grabbed the key. He was still there as she turned and stumbled.

"Be careful!" scolded the voice.

The top of his face pleated into a smirky forest of crow’s feet so deep and curved that Annie couldn’t tell which folds were his eyes. Still, somehow he was staring her down. He jabbed a pointing hand toward the door Annie had already successfully walked toward. He followed breathily behind her, and continued jabbing low at every turn, after she was obviously turning in the right direction. He extended his whole arm without bending the elbow, like a stern, pruny penguin. He even jabbed towards the door as she walked through the door. She turned her head and moved to push the button, shifting her bag. He dramatically wiggled his fingers and poked the button. He pushed her out the door by smacking her butt and the door whistled down to lock behind her.

She couldn’t get back in. The entrance was on the other side of the unit and she would never be allowed there again. She couldn’t even report him by name or ID number. She’d barely even looked at him. She stumbled down the hall, merging with the trickle of others carrying laundry sacks and covered dishes. She started to notice how hungry and thirsty she was.

Kris and Lac

The house was overwhelmed with the smell of cooking onions and the sharp, sterilizing smell of the herb; Sharp like lemon or chive, but sterilizing like mint or raw ginger. Together it made Kris feel sweaty and hungry, but also clean. It was like a high-pressure shower that kept switching between too hot and too cold.

Kris was cutting open a watermelon by slicing off the top. Then she stuck a little faucet into it and made it into a drink dispenser.

"I hope this doesn’t make the drinks taste like onions," she muttered to herself. "But I really think it will."

Beeb Betty was cutting another onion and telling a sad story. They both had a trickle of tears going.

The screen flashed with two names.

Two young men had brought the meditation tent. They also had candles for the shrine. They carefully crossed the house with the tent and stopped at the well. Kris picked up the watermelon tap and carried it out into the yard behind them.

Annie

She stopped behind someone at the chute. He swung the sack into the cubby and shut it in one smooth motion, then turned the knob and effortlessly caught the token. Annie breathed out a slow and focused stream of frustrated breath. She shifted her key to the hand holding the dreams. She laboriously worked the burden off her shoulder. It dove suddenly and beat its meager weight against her calves. She lifted it shakily to the cubby. It dropped in with a thud that made the little door chomp down on her hand. She was too shocked and embarrassed to even cry out as the gritty plastic bounced loudly off her knuckles and banged back against its pocket. The sound echoed throughout the hall. She checked the liquid skin on her cut finger and found it was intact.

She gingerly pulled the lid down again with her bruised hand. She then reached up and started turning the knob and it wouldn’t budge. Trying to be subtle, she turned it the other way. No. She switched the dreams and key to her injured hand and turned it the original way with her good hand. It gave slowly and then jumped. The token pinged off the spot it was supposed to land and skipped across the floor. She started towards it, where some knotty fingers were picking it up.

"Heh, heh. First time, eh?" Started the voice of the fingers as Annie scooped the token up and hurried away.

"No. Last time." She muttered sadly to herself, cradling her last dreams in her straining elbow as she busied herself fitting the token into the slot in the key. She walked jerkily toward the locker room. She bashed her hip turning down the row where her locker was. With equal clumsiness, she started to juggle her affects before she realized with embarrassment that she should have cashed in her dreams first. She drank a bottle of water and put on lotion.

She sighed, rearranged everything and put her backpack on. Before closing her locker for the last time, she slid out the panel with her code on it, leaving a long rectangular window in the door. She looked critically at every corner of the empty locker, anxious she might leave something. She almost closed it, looked at it again, then closed it for real. She peered through the window, but it was complete darkness. She sighed and worried, told herself she shouldn’t worry, felt guilty for worrying and then worried some more.

She juggled the code panel and the dream dish and backtracked down the hall to the dream cashier. She stopped and took note of the dreams. She counted the dots. She would have to remember to check the receipt before she left. The window was open. She sat on the stool and set her dreams on the counter. She made an effort to smile at the dream cashier. She was about to glance at the sparkling dreams one last time, but with a swoosh they were out of sight. She bent in to see they were out and being weighed. She heard the register beep. She heard clicks as they went on the reader. She hear four ticks for the dots on the biggest egg. She heard a scrape as the cashier turned the screen so she could read it. It took a long time for the light numbers to make sense.

The cashier coughed, so Annie held up her bruised hand to the scanner. The cashier grabbed it roughly, igniting the developing bruises, and clicked the little opal into place. She continued trying to decipher the screen. Three quick beeps told her it was done. Her hand clicked free and a noodle of paper extruded towards her. She took it and studied it. She stayed seated, reading the receipt. The segmented door screeched shut, so she stayed on the stool and read the paper.

"Three" (3) dreams:

1. 45g, *** color: 0.8, *** ads: 4 *** = 760

2. 43g, *** color: 0.9, *** ads: 4 *** = 787

3. 32g, *** color: 0.8, *** ads: 3 *** = 556

Tot: 2,103.00

Annie struggled to remember if that made sense. She had counted 11 dots. The size seemed right. She had forgotten to complain about what’s-his-name. She would have to tell Ms. Esther in the drummer room. She jumped up with a creak and went in search of the drummer room.

"The guy in the dream lab did something that made me uncomfortable..." Annie rehearsed to herself. How could she describe him other than, "uh, he was brown, like he was from..." Racism would be just as bad as the sexism she was protesting. She stopped at the darker end of the hall, where an overhead bulb was burnt out. The door had no rectangle beside it will a number or a word, only a crooked framed photo.

Next Chapter: Training Expansion