Greetings and salutations!

My fictional dreams, they dance behind my eyes, and whisper tales of deep oceans and blue skies, waiting for me to wake.

Strange I know...so very strange it seems almost beyond my control...and I wish not to frighten anyone...but they are so friendly to me....

They take me so far as quickly as they come and for my part, I know not from where....but still they remain, clarions of ancient imaginings there, in my fantastic visions.

These are the dreams that weave through me as I reach out to them, and they in turn to others bare exciting tales of possibility it seems, but that is all for they are merely dreams.

Or are they?

Fictional Dreams

It was them, that long ago dreary day, at the train station. I couldn't be sure at first, but one can hardly forget the cold stare of two pairs of grey eyes. They were as haunting as the twilight shadows over Manchester. And here we were again, 7 years later, at the same train station. What I had planned as a simple holiday in Wales was clearly to be anything but. I honestly felt as if they had been waiting for me in that very spot all these years. A shiver ran down my spine as I walked toward the desparing duo.

Of course I wasn't born in England, but having spent so much of my childhood here I quite naturally adopted many of the tendencies. My speech and mannerisms would match those of any Briton, and I observed high tea even after my return to America. Though I returned often, I admit this was the first time a letter had brought me here, rather than my own longing for the country, but the sad overtones of the correspondance had dampened my spirits, and I wondered why I had really come, in the end. But then there they were before me, deadly silent. Of course, there was no need for introductions.

I hadn't noticed the Bently parked off to the side. It was an older model which meant it was much more elegant than the modern counterpart. The pearl hues complimented the shiny chrome perfectly. "Come" was all they said as they beckoned me to the car. I suppose I did wonder then, why I was following them with no resistance or concern for my welfare, but then, had they meant me any harm there was likely little I could have done to prevent it. You got the feeling, just from looking at the chaps, that they could snap your neck in a flash, and nobody would be the wiser.