floating

Warning: Inflation fiction follows. Well, kinda.

It was a cloudy night over Turgidia city. The moon occasionally peeked its glowing visage through the broken cumulus clouds that seemed to strain with the burden of heavy rains seeking release. It was the kind of night that very few women would brave alone on foot, and with good reason...

I didn't know the first thing about Dreaming.

Sure, we all dream. Twisted in sweaty linens or clutching a pillow around our ears, usually. That's the bad dreams. But Dreaming, so I found out, is a little different. That was the best name they had for it, I guess. Other names were too tedious or weren't elegant enough. I didn't make the rules.

My name isn't Tracy, either. But it helps me to tell my tales if I'm just a wee bit annonymous. It doesn't make them any less fetching. Most of the time, I'm not even Tracy in my dreams.

Saturday mornings were a calm slow time in our household. That was really surprising actually, given that the house was in fact a converted water tower ten stories above the ground and it was also the secret base of the local superheroine, Airtankgirl. Me. I liked to spend my Saturday mornings doing nothing more than sitting in my jammies, reading magazines, and ignoring the doughnuts for a grapefruit. Which was exactly what I was doing at the moment.