Nyus attempt at writing in english

Prologue

      There is something disturbing about dreams. No matter how simple the dream may seem, when faced with it while awake, it would drive the sanest person insane. Dreams, against the common belief, have a set of rules that they run by, not very logical rules, but still rules. Thanks to them we still feel safe in the dream world, we know that no matter what happens, once we awake, it will become nothing more than a shade of a memory. Every now and then however, a master of dreams is born, and that's when things start getting complicated.

Chapter 1

      Jesse woke up with a horrible headache. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to remember what exactly happened in his dream. He remembered a really nice lady that seemed to have taken a likeing to him, suddenly interrupting what was going to be an extremly interesting, and possibly impossible to perform in reality, sexual act, to try to tell him something. It seemed important and shocking enough to wake him up. Jesse grimaced as he felt a migrane aproaching. He sighed and got up. It was 4:33 am., there was no point going back to sleep.

“Another day starting with a headache, you should have it checked out, it might be a tumor, or something. Seriously, see the doctor” the voice of a hypochondriac in his brain suggested, as he was setting up the percolator, but didn't manage to get through all the other voices in Jesses head. They seemed to be screeming at him, as if trying to direct his attention at something he missed. He ignored them. Someone once told him he should listen to thoughts like those.

“That's intuition, man”, he was told. Jesse didn't believe in intuition, and he certaily wasn't planning on believing it after being told it exists by his stoner friend. Suprisingly, they got along very well, Jesses talent for ignoring anything that didn't fit into his world made him the only person that could stand Jack for any longer period of time, and Jack was happy that he had someone to preach to. Jesse would be the first to admit he wasn't very likable. He wasn't charming, handsome, or smart. He was... average. Average, and proud of it. He always believed that not being special made life easier, so he tried his best not to stick out. He wore plain clothes, his short, brown hair were always neatly cut, and his ties were always as boring as possible.

      As he poured his cup of coffee and turned around, he stopped bewildered. An indian chief was sitting at his kitchen table, sipping on what looked like tea with milk. He looked slightly angry, but Jesse assumed it was because of the outfit. The indian was wearing a war bonnet, made of what seemed to be eagle feathers died red, a plain, slightly worn out blue T-shirt, with big words „Apaches, fuck yeah!” written on it, a leather vest, jeans and moccasins. Tucked behing his belt was a peace pipe, and a tomahawk was sitting on the table right next to a porceline teacup that Jesse has never seen before.

„Morning” the indian said, „would you like some tea?”

Jesse pointed at his coffee mug, still speechless. After a few moments of silence, the indian, apparently getting impatienet, waved his hand.

“Well, aren't you going to say anything, boy?”

Jesse hesitatated. A lot of thoughts and questions were running through his mind. He picked one at random.

„So... um... I can't help but notice you're an indian chief” he stuttered.

„Indeed I am” responded the chief, reaching into one of the many pockets on his vest. He pulled out what looked like a slightly stale cookie, dipped it in his tea, and bit of a tiny piece. Jesse watched astonished, as the chief chewed on it for a minute, with a blissfull expression that suggested it was a delicacy worth of kings.

„I'm an apache chief, to be exact” the indian continued, “but I can understand why you wouldn't know this”

„Oh. Umm... „ As weird as this situation was Jesse decided to make the best of it. „Sir, please don't be offended, but I'm pretty sure that Apaches don't live in Europe, and even if they did, I cannot possibly think of a reason why one would decide to apear in my kitchen in the middle of the night. This leads me to a simple conclusion, I must be dreaming, and if so, would you be as kind as to turn into a female version of yourself, slightly younger, and maybe a little less clothed?”

      To his disappointment the indian started laughing. It was a laugh of a person that doesnt have a care in their life, loud and histerical at first, and turning into more of a giggle as it progressed. It was the long-distance runner of laughs, very pleasent to hear, almost contagious, but with a hint of a threat to anyone stupid enough to interrupt it.

      When the indian finally calmed down, he looked at Jesse, suddenly serious. His eyes were dark, almost black, and the stare that he gave Jesse reminded him of his childhood. It was the look his father would give him when Jesse did something he disapproved of, the tired look of a disappointed parent.

„Sit down Jesse, we need to talk” the words seemed to skip Jesses consciousness, and go directly to his knees which gave out under him, causing him to sit down on the floor, suprised and confused.

“What I'm about to say will change your life forever, and I'm afraid there is nothing you can do about it.”