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Friday, September 27, 2013

Escaping the Dragon, entry 2 (fantasy blog serial)

September 29, 2012

Locale: Redacted SciFi World Name

Feeling so much better today. Marched right into the Monk Academy, grabbed a Leche Azul drink from the first robot I saw in the hallway, and waltzed into the children's holographic training room just like any other day, without even a flicker from my shadow. The GrandTeacher nodded as I walked in; I flipped him my casual two-finger salute and called to my student. Just an ordinary day visiting the academy, a day full of sweaty, sticky mats, smooth sweet zinging Azul in my mouth, and Arol's bad attitude. (Arol--that's my student's name) The trick to dimension-traveling, of course, is that no one knows you've ever been or lived anywhere else--when you travel it's like you put the whole world on pause. Of course, it's only on pause to you. Can't actually stop time, far as I know. Not in most dimensions, anyway. 'Course if you tell anyone about your dimension travels you sound like a demented day-dreamer. That is, until a drooling megalomaniac extremist finds out the truth, and uses your brain to open rifts in time and space so he can take over--

Yeah, that's happened before. He's dead now. Or trapped in a null dimension. I don't remember exactly.

I do remember that we saved this pretty world. I love the city of <redacted>. I love standing at the tip of the monks' spire, arms spread like a phoenix, toes clenching the orb atop the pole under me as I scream into the wind because I can. I remember my heart racing the first time I climbed that spire; I remember teetering as the silver bullet-shaped Civvies zipped by. They're my favorite surface-cars, Civvies, just because they're pretty--they're honestly not very sturdy, and I'd never bet <currency name redacted> on one in a race, but the back tail swoosh makes me think of sharks, the concave sides make me want to run my hand across the smooth metal, and the open roof reminds me of every time I've ridden in one, all decked out in shimmering blue ripples as the Senator's "legislative assistant." (Actually her bodyguard every time) All pretty with the make-up on my shining eyes. It was a translucent glittery veil covering my lower jaw then, not this respirator, not this heavy chest plate keeping me alive--no bad reputation to forget, over and over, while my friends remind me I'm "past that now."

"It was just a rough phase for all of us, with the Witch attacks and stuff. And your friend died! And it wasn't fair what happened to you. And you're okay now! And we love you." And so on and so forth. How I want to uphold that, to prove them right.

It's good to have someone believe in you.

Those days aren't exactly gone, but I'm not in town much, so I guess the Civvies make me nostalgic for the sweet days of childhood. Not that these days are bad: I pilot my cargo freighter crew all over the known--and unknown galaxy--and Arol travels with me, dragging all his tough-guy-ten-year-old issues along. Glad shapeshifters hit puberty around the same time human boys do, so at least I've got some time to prepare before THAT happens. In the meantime, our travels educate him well, and keep us both out of trouble in the capitol, which I'm sure makes GrandTeacher very happy.

So, the dragon. Yeah, I was s'posed to go to the GrandTeacher about that today. Arol wanted to go get wurms--think sushi, but chewier--and I wanted him to finish the flight simulator and meditation before we went back to Form II sword technique, and it's taken the whole day. But I've invited the GrandTeacher for dinner and sent Arol to bed--he's with my best pal, Onraka, my navigator and sometime boss, sometime partner in prankalicious crime--and yeah. I'll let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, it's been a good day. It's okay that I jump every time I see my shadow--long as I don't talk to it, right?

Read Page Three

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