In my dreams alone...

Chapter VI. Metropolis

When I came to, I found myself looking at the sky face down. I felt no ground, and yet, when I tried to stand up, it was as if there was the invisible presence of it and my foot found a landing for it. The clouds phased through me like the wistful material that it was, and it felt like a fresh cold shower that never makes me wet.

I walk forward to the endless skies, looking at the infinite blue everywhere hoping to find something. Except for the skies and the clouds, I have not seen a bird or life anywhere. It went on and on, but I lost all concept of stamina, and so it didn't matter how long I walked.

In the distance after a walk of perhaps hours with nothing to see, and the constant showers of clouds, I saw a silhouette in the distance that looked to be a collection of buildings. I saw the tallness, the wideness, and the depth of it all. I ran towards it, whether from the joy of seeing another sight other than the endless skies, or perhaps the urge of the dream to connect one scene to another without much reason.

The silhouette grew larger, and by the time I got into this odd city, the darkness had enveloped me, and it seemed that I have entered the city conquered by the night. Not that it mattered whether I could see or not, for from here on out, I hadn't control of my direction, and instead, something urged me forward towards an unknown destination.

A door made from the same silhouette material opened before me, and inside a land emanating of greenish light beckoned me in, and I hadn't a choice, so I went in.

There was a white corridor which greeted me, which dimmed rather than shun. Here and there, whether on the floor, the walls, or the ceiling, were these people wearing trenchcoats and bowler hats. They may not even be people, for they remind me of mannequins, though the way they seem to look at me made me feel like I was being scrutinized.

The hallway went on in this fashion, with eyeless faces judging me without remarks. Nothing came before or after, just one continuous line towards infinity, where I seek no ingress nor egress.

It goes ever further, it must have been days, and nothing seems to vary. THEY KEEP LOOKING. But where are their eyes? I can't read them, but they can read me.

It keeps going on, and on, and on!

I wanted to go back, but is there a point in going back days towards the endless skies? Nothing can better anything, and nothing can be made interesting.

Empty faces, everything empty.

Even my dreams seem to realize how boring this all seemed to be, for soon my dream eyes began to close. I realize I hadn't blinked at all throughout this whole thing, and I only had to blink once.

Upon opening my eyes, I found myself in a city I have never been in. It was noisy, and gargantuan, and oppressing. The noise of cars, bebop jazz, and the ceaseless chatter of clashing voices reaches the ears in a premade symphony of the modern age.

Someone called out to me in familiar terms. A person I have never met before, wearing a white navy uniform and a beret came close to me, and was soon taking me somewhere along the labyrinth of the city.

"How easily you get lost! Look, I know you like what you see, and you are new to the city, but if you get lost in Sonnilo, then the devil knows how I'd find you. And besides, as you wished, we are going to Willie's Bar and see Luna."

As if I had such a memory of it, I agreed, and followed him to this dilapidated brick building, spiced up with some neon lights that tells us that we are at Willie's Bar.

The bar was located in the basement, damp and cool. The sound of typical lounge jazz permeates like a Kerouac novel, and the smell of multiple perfumes, cigarettes, and alcohol, gives the atmosphere of those pre-war days.

We made our way towards the front of the stage, where we somehow procured seats for it. The bar wasn't a full house, and thus the sound it creates resonates unlike the open stages of Glastonbury, even with stacks of amps to increase noise.

Some guy who I am supposed to think was the emcee climbed up the stage, and with a cough to signal the band to stay silent a while, began his words of entry.

"Well, folks, I hope you've had your drinks and your fair share of jazz, but you ain't heard nothin' yet! Just you wait, for you know who will come now. To those living under a rock, better not slack your ears and listen to the heavenly tones of our next performer! From the depths of the Flowery Fields, she who can make a drop of water tear up in all emotions, here she is, the one, the only, Luna!"

Applause. Footsteps from the shadow to the light. A lady in red clothing, with a familiar look, lips, and hair came. Flaxen hair. She looks at the near empty bar. Our eyes lock in. A look of familiarity. Grey eyes. She smiles.

"What a lovely night, ladies and gentlemen. Well, I have bored you enough, so let's get this started. First song is something you all know, and I dedicate to a certain gentleman."

The band begins to play in a slow ballad style. She is singing Misty. Her voice penetrates. Her voice seductive to a certain extent, enough to make all attention to land upon her. Her voice is music itself. Was this my idea of a perfect voice? Her voice enveloped me in a curtain of mist. And as the song ended, and the applause came, I felt myself falling.

I felt the touch of a hand. Warm, soft, tender. Her smile was like the shining moon. She held me.

"I hope you enjoyed that..."

Her red lips were all I can remember.

I woke up then.