In the winding streets, she was a pale speck against the pavement. Beneath her feet the ground was hot from sources unknown, and the air was cold from forces above. Cars rumbled by, making the ground shake and quiver to life with each passing second. Right in their path she stood, but not one made contact. Headlights flashed by above her head. Tires crushed the dark ground where her feet stood. Not a thing touched her.  

Nothing touched her, because she wasn’t there. Around her neck was a thin golden string, leading down to an indescribable gemstone. The stone of dream walking, in possession of Dreamwalker herself.  

So, who’s dream was she in? She didn’t know, as she wandered her small space in the nonexistent world. Aimless wandering in hopes she would catch a glimpse of sentience. Hopes she would see an odd one out in a crowd without consistency. After all this was a dream, and dreams had no order.  

The sky had been night, but now it was day. She didn’t even glance up and acknowledge the change. Why should she, when time was a concept that didn’t apply to dreams nor reality. When the sun and moon were in the power of separate minds, time was unpredictable. 

Finally! A figure in the streets, a figure strange in their normality. The looked around in confusion, they dodged the cars, they acknowledged the sky. That was how Dreamwalker knew they were real. No illusion would think the cars a threat, no ghostly dream figure would care what the sky looked like. 

His name was Siveril; a statement he wouldn’t have doubted one year ago today. Now he had other ideas. He paced back and forth as he contemplated who he really was. He remembered being born half blind, half deaf. He remembered getting his eye stabbed out and losing his hearing to a sound he couldn’t identify. Heart beating, feet clicking on the golden marble. The sound rang through his mind, sudden and unexpected no matter how many times he relived it. A horn, a siren cut short, a scream. 

It was his own scream, and his name was not Siveril.  

Dull pain swam through his head and his eyes as he used every brain cell to its full capacity. Nothing. Nothing. A blank mind, an empty brain. His brain cells weren’t going to work today. A soft puff of air floated from his tiny nose, a testament to his defeat. He walked out of the room with the thought that a drink might help clear the messy ideas shambling around in his skull.  

The walk to the bar was quiet and uninterrupted, allowing him a reprieve from his hard thinking. Approaching the bartender, he pointed at his choice from the list of drinks. No words spoken. The sound of his coins sliding across the table was the only noise in the desolate room. Liquid pouring, the little clink of ice against glass. One claw reached out to accept the bubbling drink, mango orange and sweet smelling; he basked in its scent as he chose his table. Not that it was a hard choice. Only one other bird occupied the room, and she was the bartender. That wasn’t a bad thing though, not now at least, when he wanted nothing more than to clear his head. 

He tipped his beak down to sip some of the liquid, and he sighed in pleasure as a fruity taste filled his mouth. This was a nice break, he thought. Thinking was hard and drinking was easy, a philosophy he figured he should follow better to avoid frying his poor little brain. Eyes slipping closed, he basked in the relaxation of the moment...