Dreamweavers: Awakening

by P J G Robbins

he did not know it, it was his body’s burning desire for sustenance that had cut short his time at the Academy. There was light coming from behind his curtains, but not enough to convince him it was really time for him to be getting up. A quick glance over at his alarm clock confirmed it; 5:39am. Way too early.

  However, Ryan was feeling a hunger the like of which he had never experienced before. It was as though something was gnawing and scratching at the walls of his stomach, causing a great deal of discomfort. After a couple of minutes Ryan knew there was no chance getting back to sleep. Yawning, he tried to push himself into an upright position but found no energy in his arms to do so. His skin was clammy and his muscles shook in objection to any physical exertion. The only time he had ever experienced anything remotely similar was when he had come down with a fever and lost over a stone in body weight in a matter of days.

  This time, though, Ryan’s body was the same size and shape it always had been; it was just that his batteries had run totally dry. Strangely, he could visualise quite clearly the day his mother had left her car’s lights on overnight and had not been able to start it the following morning. It was exactly the way Ryan was feeling. He lay on his back for a further minute or so, taking long, slow breaths whilst trying to minimise the movement of his ribcage; anything to store up enough energy to get him to the kitchen.

  When he felt ready, he slid his left leg out from under the duvet and let it hang limply over the edge of the mattress, his toes just brushing the carpet. It felt horribly gritty and reminded Ryan of how much junk-food had been consumed in his room since his mum had last cleaned it. Perhaps there was something left that he could eat. Anything would do.

  Buoyed by this thought, he slid his other leg out and over the edge. Then he allowed their weight to drag the rest of his body down onto the floor. He landed like a sack of potatoes and was barely able to prevent his head from thumping the carpet. Flat on his back, he tilted his head to the left, then the right, but could see nothing remotely edible in either direction. His vision swam as a fresh bout of hunger tore at his insides. He had to get something in there fast.

  With quite some effort he managed to rotate his body round so that his head was pointing towards the door. After some further exertion he had managed to get himself close enough to open it. Fortunately he had neglected to close it properly the previous evening, which allowed him to grab the edge with his fingers and pull it towards him. There followed an awkward few minutes while he and the door competed for the same area of carpet, but finally he found himself lying in about the same position with the obstacle successfully removed. He gave himself a moment to recover and then continued on what was turning out to be quite an epic journey.

  Little by little, he edged closer to the top of the stairs. It seemed so stupid; what would usually have taken him only a few seconds had taken nearly twenty minutes. Ryan was surprised he had made it so far, given his condition, but now he could feel what strength he had left dwindling and began to wonder whether he really could make it all the way to the kitchen. He thought about calling out to his mum, but she would only think that he was trying to get out of going to school and serving his detention, so he continued to suffer in silence. His only saving grace was that the next part relied on gravity and when it was over the end would be almost in sight.

  He reached the top of the stairs and hung his head over the edge of the first step so that he had an upside-down view of the descent before him. The stairs were clad in the same carpet that covered the landing and downstairs hallway. Each step was prematurely worn in the centre where Ryan had repeatedly slid down them as a youngster, so he knew what the next stage of his quest had in store for him. He had even done it head-first on his back several times in the past, but with little energy left there was a real risk of him hitting his head hard on the way down. He gritted his teeth and prepared for the ride.

  Clump, clump, clump his body went as it flopped from one step to the next. In the stillness of the house it resounded loudly but, surprisingly, it did not wake his mother.

  As his limp form slithered to a halt at the bottom, he was grateful to have suffered little more than a knock to the funny-bone on his way down. He lay still while the tingling subsided, then he craned his neck to take a look at the final part of his journey.

  ‘Come on soldier!’ he muttered, trying to imagine himself as one of the war heroes in his games; wounded in battle, but bravely fighting on regardless. He could see the open door to the kitchen just a short stretch of carpet away. Beyond it was the smooth, tiled floor that would provide much less resistance. He was nearly there.

  Summoning what strength he had left, he twisted his body round and pushed himself the rest of the way. The coolness of the tiles felt welcome after the heat generated by his movement across the carpet, and he enjoyed the sensation as he edged across the floor in the direction of the food cupboards. Now only one more challenge remained; reaching the food.

  The main problem with the kitchen layout was that all the lower cupboards were filled with pots and utensils, while all the food was higher up. Only the freezer was within reach and there was little in there that would help him. He needed a quick fix.

  Ryan was now feeling sick with hunger. The mere thought of trying to stand up made him dry-retch and, having come so far, he was now faced with the real possibility of falling at the final hurdle. His head was pounding and his vision was starting to blur at the edges. It was quite frightening.

  ‘Pull yourself together Private Butler!’ he scolded himself. ‘A real man would just reach up, grab the work surface and pull himself up.’

  Ryan had nothing left, but a sudden vision of how pathetic he looked, floundering around the house on his back, steeled him into one final effort. Fighting the ever-growing nausea, he grabbed hold of the handle to one of the cupboards and began hauling himself up, inch by painful inch. Eventually he managed to get one arm onto the work-top, and in one final effort hauled himself to his feet.

  The bread bin was closest to him and he guzzled down a thick hunk of crust in seconds, despite the dryness in his mouth causing it to stick to its roof. It was like a nitro boost to his exhausted body and, with the assistance of the work surface, he was at last able to stand fully upright. He edged round to the sink and stuck his head under the tap to slake his thirst, feeling renewed strength with every mouthful. Then, for the next five minutes, he simply went berserk. Bags of crisps, bowls of cereal, toast, chocolate and even a banana passed his lips as he sought to tame the raging beast in his stomach. It was as though some feral instinct had taken over as he piled it all in, grunting and snorting as his body fought for breath between mouthfuls.

  When he finally felt like he could cram no more in he slumped into a chair and closed his eyes. He felt whole again. He was no longer a slave to his body’s desires.

  As his insides began to settle back down he cast his mind back through his experiences that night and tried to rationalise everything that had happened. It was a struggle to try and remember it all, but there were a couple of things that really stood out.

  Firstly, he had been asked to become part of some secret organisation and use a gift he had been given to fight the forces of evil. It sounded so corny that he couldn’t help laughing; it could have been plucked out of any number of films or computer games. Normally he would have written it off without question, but the fact that there were people he knew going through the exact same thing forced him to reconsider.

  And that brought him to the second point: he shared something in common with Billy Richards, as well as Daisy, which stood to put his hard-earned school reputation in jeopardy. Daisy was an outcast and Billy chose to isolate himself, which meant that any association with them could be catastrophic. Somehow he had to keep it a secret, which would be no problem for him, however there was no telling how Daisy would act towards him now. His only saving grace was Sophie, who he would have to call upon for support if things went belly-up. Plus, their connection was certainly go
ing to give him the upper hand in his ongoing contest with Jack.

  ‘Ryan? Dear God, what happened down here?’

  Ryan jumped violently at the sound of his mum’s voice.

  ‘Jeez Mum, don’t sneak up on me like that.’

  He turned and saw her standing in the doorway in her pink dressing-gown, her mouth agape as she surveyed the carnage he had wrought upon the kitchen. Food wrappers, spillages of cereal and milk, and uneaten bread crusts were scattered across all available surfaces and parts of the floor. He had to admit that it was in a bit of a state.

  ‘Ryan, what’s going on?’

  ‘I was hungry,’ he shrugged, thinking she probably wouldn’t buy the story of him nearly starving to death.

  ‘Didn’t you eat last night?’

  ‘Yeah, I had whatever that stuff was you left in the oven.’

  ‘That stuff was shepherd’s pie. So why are you so hungry all of a sudden?’

  ‘Dunno. Just growing up I guess.’

  ‘Christ Ryan, what a mess!’ she shook her head. ‘I want you to get this all cleaned up by the time I’m out of the shower. I don’t get what’s wrong with you. It’s one thing after another at the moment.’

  She sighed and plodded back upstairs.

  Ryan