Subject: [OTL]: Dreamer's Gift [Metafic, G] Date: Fri, 02 Feb 2001 08:56:39 -0800 From: Joannie Milligan This is just a little thing that I think is nice. Disclaimer: Don't own anyone, nothing, anything. Not making big claims. No money, either. Thanks go to Andrea. Thanks, DreaDrea! Dreamer's Gift In 1933, a tall, dark stranger came to a nineteen-years-old boy in his dream. They stood there on the bare dream landscape and looked at each other somberly. The stranger was thin and eerily pale, his long black gown ended with a trail of flames and his eyes twinkled like stars. He was the kind of thing the boy wasn't surprised to dream about, because he usually had very strange dreams. The boy also had a very active imagination. Something, though, was different this time. The boy stood very quietly and waited, even though he didn't know for what exactly. He had a strange feeling that something big was going to happen. "Child," the stranger said in an odd, booming voice, "I have come to grant you a gift." "Um, thanks, but I don't need gifts in dreams. It's such a bum when you wake up and..." the boy replied very uncertainly. "This gift is one you can take with you to the waking world," the stranger explained patiently. "It's very important that you would listen carefully. Listen to what I tell you." The boy listened. The stranger's voice echoed across all the pure white surface they floated or stood or flew in. He spread his arms wide as if to indicate the world. "There is a new form of art forming on your mortal plane, the Earth," he started. "I believe you call it 'comics'..." "Well, sure," the boy, who knew all about comics but didn't care much, answered. "But it's all in black and white papers. It's boring. No one cares much for it." "Indeed. That is about to be changed, however," the stranger said calmly. The boy said "huh?" and he continued. "Child, I am about to give you something precious and unique. I will give you an idea. And you will turn this idea into a story and in turn -- into a comic book. And this idea that you will be given will start a new era for this new form of art, give it its life and give it a soul." The boy considered that for a moment. He thought comics were rather boring, but he liked ideas, and he could write, so he thought. He thought an idea could be very nice, but he wasn't sure why a comic book. "But why comics?" the boy asked suddenly. "I mean, you got books, you got music, you got films, comics are no fun. Why comics?" The stranger smiled slightly. "Why? Partially, because I am protector and patron of all arts -- and I will not have one ignored or disappearing," and then he looked the boy in the eyes, only for a moment. "And partially because while I am Prince of Stories, there is no story which is mine. What you will start will inspire hundreds of men and women who will follow your path and your enterprise. Writers, artists, admirers. And one day it will inspire and support another dreamer -- and he will write me a story of my own." The boy thought about that for a while. He was almost about to say yes. Then he recalled, then he thought about something else. "Hey, wait a minute," he told the stranger. "Sure, you get your story, but what do we get from all this? All of those writers and artists and fans and all... this idea you're gonna give me, what if it'll be complete crap? What if all we get of it is pain and dull jobs and lives?" the boy felt very confident now. He remembered how back in the waking world people were going around depressed over wars and the stock market and how bleak life seemed in his neighborhood, and he felt that any idea that wouldn't help him and them wasn't worth the effort. "No, I want an idea that's worth something -- that's gonna make things better, or people better, or at least make us hope." For a second the stranger looked angry -- then, he smiled again. "You want an idea that will make people hope, child?" A faint laughter escaped from the stranger's pale lips. "Very well, what kind of idea did you have in mind?" The boy thought. He had a good imagination -- he knew that. A good but none too spectacular imagination. But there, with the stranger standing in front of him, with the creator's passion burning in his mind, he thought of things he never dared imagine. New, wonderful things, new ideas. "I don't know... someone who can make it better... a hero," he said, and saw in his mind, the proud determination, the superhuman power, the cheering masses and a better world. "A guy who's always there for people who need help, who can beat up the bad guys and save the world. That kind of guy. Someone who can fly and see through walls and lift whole cars..." the boy's imagination carried him places that seemed nonexistent a moment ago. The stranger stood before him and his smile grew wider as the boy talked on. He smiled, and then he took a small leather pouch and spilled some glittering sand into his ivory palm, and blew on it until it flew into the cold dreamscape air and settled in a shining, sparkling cloud around the boy, who was lost in the realms of imagination. When the boy woke up, he remembered his idea, though he forgot the stranger (who is another story for another dreamer in another time). And so he ran to his close friend and told him the idea. His friend liked it, and got excited enough to want to draw it. And together, they created something new and wonderful. Time passed since 1933, a long time. And today, we remember the two very well. Because the two boys were Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, who revolutionized comics and created Superman, the first super hero. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well...? Here's to the great debate! Joan Milligan