Outsider by W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh Page A

an
understatement of mega size. It’s a Victorian mansion.
    She is in no hurry with such sunshine and
such gentle breeze. With the booted tip of her left foot she
attempts to straighten a poster made out of flimsy paper to examine
it leisurely. That’s when the cop turns up and starts shouting
abuses at her, attracting punters’ attention. At first, Sid stares
at him blankly. He is accusing her of unlawful littering, claims
she has to pay a ten-pound fine, on the spot, or get arrested. She
sighs at the unimaginative threat and suddenly the wolf in her
reacts. She shouts back and loud that he’s just narrow-minded and
prejudice, and the only reason he’s asking her to pay a fine is
because he knows she hasn’t got a tenner. She briefly considers his
bruised ego in need of restoration but decides it unworthy of
mention. As suddenly, she walks out on him.
    “ Way to go, Wasgo!” It’s a tall blonde
woman she remembers from another of Terri’s parties.
    Upon waking up, she briefly thought about it
with a look at her old-fashion clock, went back to sleep and
dreamed another dream. After all, she was about to see Second Look
in the evening, and remembering nothing requiring her attention
before the afternoon, she could afford the extra rest.
     
    * * * * * * *
     
    When she re-opened her eyes later on, her
mind struggled to keep them shut and succeeded on not analyzing the
memories of her latest trip to the Dreamworld. Oh yes, she so much
wanted to stay in bed with this new dream. More exactly the main
character of her dream. Well, she meant, blushing scarlet in the
solitude of her bedroom, going back to the dream and indulging some
more, perhaps forever, in the company of the main character of this
dream. Who had said you HAD to get up every morning anyway? The
idea instilled her with a subtle mix of grumpiness and rebellion.
Now she remembered she had an appointment to reluctantly attend,
with the young, but definitely stuffy psychiatrist she disliked
because he never listened to what she had to say about
anti-depressants, their side effects, and her personal experience
of life on legal drugs. The four walls of her bedroom were a
thousand times more receptive and friendlier. With the starry
ceiling, the dark curtains and the black-carpeted floor, they
shaped a box, a box where she could dream any time. As long as the
drugs didn’t mislead her brainwaves.
    This new dream had been so sweet, with a
peaceful adagio excerpt from Carl Maria Von Weber’s collection. Oh
yes, a thousand times yes, the dream would have never been so sweet
without the presence of the Second Look musician, the mysterious
and talented Dawn Ferndale herself. The simple thought of the
memory made Sid melt.
    Imagine…….
    Sid is dreamily asleep in her bed, cozy and
naked under the tiger quilt as usual. The heavy, dark velvety
drapes clear off the windows let the first sunlight of a new day
spread into the room, like a stealthy invader. Not as subtle but
definitely more intrusive, a male cop with blonde short hair and a
blue suit, the blonde musician with gray eyes, and some other woman
Sid cannot identify, burst into her flat. It is 6 am, apparently
legal time to arrest criminals. The cop, whose blue eyes are paler
than his suit, informs her of her rights while telling her she is
under arrest for associating with a controversial political group,
whose name gets garbled and fuzzed by her not entirely awake brain
transmitters. He steps out of the bedroom to lounge in her living
room and wait for her to get decently enough dressed up for a visit
to the cop shop. Dawn pushes the door shut behind the others and
squats on the bed, a simple mattress on the floor. Sid doesn’t mind
Dawn’s presence when she moves the quilt away from her bare chest,
because with all her tattoos, Haida totem poles down each limb and
a few Navajo symbols on her front and back, she is never naked. She
has a brief thought for the several photos of the grey-eyed
musician