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Dreaming - The view of an optimistic, blonde hippy!

Summary:
Dreams are funny things...
Some people dream of Money.
Some people dream of Family.
Some people dream of Love. Me? I dream of gettin to Forks to meet my friends in one piece.
I doubt it will happen. Catkin's view of Charmingal's Dreaming.


Notes:


3. Chapter 3 - No news is good news...

Rating 5/5   Word Count 636   Review this Chapter

After having to move again for Delia’s return trip, I sat down for the fifth and LAST time.

“Catkin…?”

“Tasha I’m not getting up from this seat. Wild horses could not drag me from this seat. A troll attacking my mother could not drag me from this seat. I’M NOT GETTING OFF THE DAMN SEAT!”

She looked a wee bit startled. “I was just gonna say that your shoe lace was undone…”

I looked toward the floor and felt my face redden. Indeed my lace was undone. I gave Tasha what I hoped was an apologetic look.

“Um… Sorry Tasha…” She didn’t seem to hear as she was laid back in her seat with her eyes closed.

“… Tasha?”

She suddenly stood up and at the top of her voice yelled,

“WERE ALL GOING ON A SUMMER HOLIDAY! NO MORE WORRIES FOR A WEEK OR TWO!”

She was soon joined by Delia, followed by the rest of the cabin. Ruddy Marvellous. A not so lovely air hostess ran out of the cock pit in a fluster. She had an attempt at calming down Tasha and co, but to be honest, she would of at least needed five straight jackets and enough tranquiliser to put a large horse to sleep.

After threatening to take away ALL of the moon sugar and shooting the pilot, everyone calmed down a smidge. I drew my seatbelt across my lap and laid back in my seat. There was a ten minute wait and we were off!

***

It was raining sugar! It fell down in sweet rows of multicoloured sweetness! It landed around me in glorious circles of yumminess! It fell on my head and on my nose. I sneezed. And smacked my head on the seat in front.

“What the hell…?” A howling Delia sat next to me with an empty Moon Sugar tube dangling above my face.

“DELIA! FOR THE LOVE OF… umm… ERIC BLOODAXE VIKING WARRIOR!”

Que Tasha burst out laughing.

I walked up the isle towards the toilet. I searched in my rucksack for a suitable cup, with no such luck. Great. I sat on the teeny loo and flicked on the tap. I used my hands to tip water on my hair and wash out the majority of the Moon Sugar.

When finished, I made my way back to my seat.

“Where are we? How long was I asleep for?” Tasha leaned over and whispered,

“Were flying over the ocean. And you’ve been asleep for about four hours.”

Thank the lord! (Not that I believe…) It had been about an hour before I fell asleep… That meant five hours journey time gone… That meant…

“ONLY SIX HOURS LEFT!” I couldn’t help but punch the air. There was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a guy of about twenty with a weird tee-shirt and tie combination. The Arctic Monkeys came to mind…

“What you mean there’s six hours left Miss? There’s only four.” His accent was strange, and straight out of a western movie. I shook my head.

“The trip to Forks is eleven hours… Not nine…” I was beginning to get slightly confused.

He laughed. “To Forks USA maybe. But this plane is going to Forks TEXAS.” I stood shell-shocked. He was still laughing, but faltered.

“Was that not where your headin’?” I slowly turned and sat in my seat. I lay my head in my hands and sighed. Which turned into a growl. Which eventually turned into a howl of frustration. I punched the seat in front of me. A rather large girl stood up.

“Do you mind Dummy? That’s the second time you gone an’ done that!” again, she had Texan accent.

I rustled in my bag for my passport. I grabbed the ticket stubs I had shoved in there earlier.

We were indeed heading to Texas.