Free Dream Chasers (Dystopian Scifi Series Book 1) by Logan Stark

awe.
    ‘Have you ever seen Dream
Energy?’ Midori asked. No response. ‘Of course you haven’t.’ He leaned back,
taking the moon glow with him. Peter didn’t want the glow to go; he was like a
moth seduced by a pretty light. Midori had the syringe close to his face, eyes
squinting. ‘Thing is,’ he said softly, ‘most people don’t really care.’
    ‘Is …’ Peter knew it had to be
so. ‘Is that the energy I extracted from the dream?’
    The syringe covered Midori’s
left eye, and Midori peered with his right, past the glowing white. ‘Thought
you’d never ask.’ He opened his mouth until two or three or four teeth revealed
themselves, and then he snickered long and maniacally.

-11-
     
     
    Peter’s newest friend, a man
he’d come to know as Spotless, was a slim Asian (most of them were, but he was
extra slim) who wore dark-brown overalls with the letters TOKYO’S FINEST
embroiled at the back in gold. Mr Spotless was a tad different from his comrade.
    ‘So I told my momma,’ Spotless
said, throwing his weight forward, ‘why you gotta hate my new GF? (Pronounced Gee-Eff ).
She’s a nice little pretty girl—’ Spotless laid the mop against his hip and
gestured a thin waist with his hands ‘—you know what I’m talkin bout, right?’
There was silence for at least five seconds, Spotless waiting wide-eyed. When
Peter didn’t answer, Spotless grabbed the mop from his hip and dipped it into
the red bucket, which had to be cold by now, because when it came an hour ago,
it had steam swirling around the rims.
    Spotless pulled the bucket a
little back, the wheels burping (wheels tired of being pushed around). The mop
went back in, splashing murky droplets. He leaned against the stick. ‘That’s
what I don’t get. Get this, okay. I think it’s cauz my momma big and ugly, no
offence. My new GF ain’t like that. She’s as thin as this cleaning stick.’ The
mop landed on the floor where Noni Makaratzi’s head had once lain. There were
still splotches of blood that needed cleaning. “Not to worry,” Spotless had
said. “All you need is hot water, a good soap, and a mop with hard bristles.
You don’t wipe the blood, you scrape it.”
    Peter was getting hungry, and
the smell of hot takeaway wasn’t helping. The basketball players had stopped
shooting hoops and were crowded on the spectator benches, eating rice and meat.
    ‘What do you think I should
do?’ Spotless asked. He pushed a wave of red water toward the bucket. ‘Should I
tell momma that she’s acting crazy again? I mean, she did say she was gonna cut
her throat with a carrot peeler, and that ain’t no joke, I tell ya.’
    Peter carefully looked around
him. He was still on the Dream Infiltrator, tied and upright. ‘Hey,’ Peter
said, trying to get Spotless’s attention. It didn’t work, so he tried again.
‘Hey, why do people call you Spotless again?’ Peter already knew, but he had to
butter his ‘friend’ up.
    ‘Cause,’ he smiled a big one,
‘when it comes to cleaning up bodies, there ain’t no one better than me. I
clean em away, almost like magic.’ He leaned against his mop and gestured a
silly magician hand gesture. ‘Now you see em, now you don’t.’ Spotless laughed,
mouth wide open.
    Peter thought: your teeth are
fucking ugly. Peter laughed with Spotless, hoping that his laughter didn’t
sound too forced. Spotless didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed happy to
have a laughing buddy. But when Peter looked behind, he saw faces looking at
them, and they didn’t seem too happy about the laugher. Fortunately, they went
back to eating whatever they were eating with their chopsticks.
    Don’t draw too much attention,
Peter thought, and don’t make Spotless laugh like that, draws too much
attention. Albeit, it’s not really that hard to make the man laugh. Peter
looked around him for any sharp objects. There was no way he was going to be
their little cow for milking purposes. He was getting out of this