RebarGold

Dry-Dock Bullets

The entire world around me is dank and misty. The houses are gloomy and reek of mildew with vibrant green vines trailing up and down the walls. I can see moss growing in brick molding cracks from the giant U-shaped roadway I'm standing in.
I'm, oddly enough, wearing a vibrant blue T-shirt like an Under-Armour and coal black sweatpants tied up around my knees that I was certain hid actual coal smudges. My feet were bare and I had a weird metal wristband with runes etched on my right arm. The mark on my left hand is still present again.
The road branches off in two ways, one leading to dry docks and the other passing by a small house that is slightly less dilapidated than the rest, with a painted sign creaking in the wind. It's one of the few houses with lights pouring out of the windows.
A young boy, probably about ten, walked out of an alleyway in the dry dock direction and walked towards me with that cheeky grin little kids have. You know that grin, right? He's dressed conservatively, with his sweatpants rolled down and a longer, thick dark shirt on. Grime coats his cheeks and a little hat is crooked on his tangle hair.
"The next ship came in. Figured your name was on it." He's got a definite English accent and he doesn't wait for my reply. I'm just left to wave a thank you as he walks down the other road and I'm taking a long stride to the docks. I don't run. You don't want to run in this place.
The sand is a more fiery red than the calm beige we're used to. It looks as if the entire beach is a raging fire, glinting in the sunset against a very pale grey-blue ocean. The docks are huge, branching off in forty paths after making it to the even level. A woman curled up in a chair with the heaviest cloak I've seen points me in the right-most direction towards a giant Galleon. A part of me thought this was suitable. The boards creaked under my weight, and I had to drag out a second board to board (I'm just trying to say board a lot here. So I don't get board. Get it?) the ship made out of boards. A little trap-door leads down to the hull where most of the cargo is stored, but I don't give it a second look. The grand door to the Captain's Quarters with ivory carefully laid into its carved channels catches my eye instead. I wanted a lockpick, and immediately reached into my pocket to retrieve a knife, several needles and other weird metallic instruments. I'm not quite sure how I held the knife and everything else in my left hand, but I did, and after a minute of fiddling, the door swung open.
A small chest sat in the middle of a table. Papers and overturned chairs littered the room, but I paid it no attention and applied my picks to the chest. It opened far easier. Long, turquoise stems stood stacks tall, bulging suspiciously. My picks fell back into my pocket as I slit the first plant open and a large, heavy bullet dropped into my hand. It reminded me of a shotgun shell, save it was a steel-brass mix that was obviously only one bullet. There were hundreds of these stems, but I only took as many as fit into my hand before I left in somewhat of a hurry back down the streets.
I was slipping into the almost cozy house down the second road as the young boy was slipping out. He gave me a tilt of his hat and was gone into the darkness of the night. Inside was far cozier than outside. Two counters stood on either side as you walked in, forming a hall-way that led to little wooden tables for four. An elderly lady and one in her teen years stood opposing each other, cleaning bottles and wiping the table as the elderly lady's counterpart dusted down the furniture. The torches made it more comfortable than a small, barren inn may have otherwise seemed, at least. I grabbed a small bag of my things near the entry-way and slung the satchel over my shoulders. They all gave me a short note of recognition before returning to their work, each too preoccupied with their work for talking to a leaving person.
The house just across the street had strong vines, and I found myself reverse rappelling up the side of it until I firmly on cracking shale. I could run across the roofs, having nothing to worry about at this height, and did so freely, jumping over tiny alleyways and climbing up and down houses. A small, cloth rope spiraled down from the tallest building into a tiny niche on a beachcliff. The houses cut off the other pathways, and the ocean crashed far below. The only way there was the rope I left.
I was like a monkey. A really awesome monkey. I just slid down the rope and threw my bag to the side to enjoy the view. It was pretty, even thought it was a subconscious thought. My hands found their restless way into my bag to pull out a letter that was quite clear and is quite clear in my memory, though I won't type it up. Let's just say, even my dream hurt.
And then I woke up!