The whining, rumbling echoes of several motorcycles rebounded off the cavern walls around me. I was in a mine shaft, cold and dark except for small pools of light spilling from lanterns sporadically spaced along the walls. The biker gang had been chasing me for what seemed like hours, and they were catching up. With no choice left, I stood to the side and hid behind a wooden support column.
The sound of a throttled engine grew louder from down the tunnel, and I crouched in anticipation. As the biker came into view around a corner I leaped, thrusting my foot out in a vicious ninja kick that launched him from his seat and into the wall with a crunch. Barely pausing as I landed, I picked up the bike and jumped on, twisting the accelerator hard for more speed. The rest of the gang was in close pursuit.
Lanterns on the tunnel walls blurred past as I accelerated to extreme speed. The motorcycle began to shake violently. The wheels suddenly flew off and the handlebars came apart in my hands. I cringed, awaiting the brutal crash, but it didn’t come. I continued flying down the dark tunnels, the now silent and dead engine the only thing beneath me. I realized I didn’t need the motorcycle at all, I could fly! The concentration required to stay aloft was intense.
There were no more lanterns now, but I could still barely make out my course through the mostly straight tunnel via the glowing veins of amethyst minerals in the walls. Soon I caught a faint glimpse of daylight ahead. The tunnel was ending. As I blasted out of the end of the tunnel, I rescued an old friend sitting stranded on the mountainside. She clung to my feet and we flew off, now at a much slower pace with the added passenger.
With a jolt of inspiration, I realized I could collect water from clouds around myself, forming a water bullet that propelled me at super speeds. My friend and I could still breathe easily in the water, and we used my new water bullet flying technique to scream over the countryside at supersonic velocity.
In short time I was flying over the ocean alongside an African port. I skimmed just above the water and reveled in the exhilaration. I whipped up over a large cargo ship, its deck covered in many different colored containers. Descending once more to fly just above the water’s surface I noticed some large fishing nets in the water. Seabirds took to the air as we approached. With growing concern I watched the birds begin to lift the nets out of the water directly in our path.
There was no way to avoid the nets, and they enveloped us as we flew into them. My friend somehow managed to escape their grasp, but my hands became knotted in tough nylon strands and I was dragged down into the water. A nearby fishing boat began hauling in the nets.
We were caught. These weren’t fishermen, they were pirates, and they were intent on chopping up our body parts for sale on the black market. They hauled me into the boat and looked down at me with malevolence. I lay huddled, soaking wet with a hole in my shirt. They thought I was poor.
At this point the dream inexplicably changed to third person, with me observing everything like it was a movie. I was no longer “me”. Instead a late teens/early-20’s kid replaced me.
The pirate captain raised his machete and asked one of his several prisoners who would be missed the most. Snatching the young man’s arm, the corsair slammed him up against a shipping container. Whatever answer to the pirate’s query that may have been coming was interrupted by the violent descent of the machete into the cringing man’s head. A fountain of blood cascaded down the victim’s face, nearly as terrifying as the scream that issued from his lips. The captain savagely ripped the machete back out and struck again.
Instead of spraying yet more blood from a grievous wound, the kid’s head began to turn black as soot. What had so recently been a smug look on the captain’s face turned to one of utter confusion. The kid no longer screamed, but seethed with anger. He grabbed the pirate’s wrist and squeezed. Acrid smoke curled up where the fingers grasped and before the captain could speak his skin was graying to ash and flaking away. Without a sound, the captain’s charred body collapsed to the ground.
Now fully healed of the machete wound, the enraged youth calmly walked from one shocked captor to another, briefly touching them. With each touch a pirate burst into flame and was reduced to ash. Buildings joined in the inferno and struggled to reach a heat as intense as the young man’s rage. Turning, the kid noticed a battalion of soldiers drilling on a parade ground beyond a nearby chain link fence. Their feet struck the pavement in perfect unison as they marched, clapping hands to rifles.
The fury boiling within the man reached a point beyond heat. It chilled with a cold to freeze magma. A raging blizzard picked up around him and somewhere in a distant corner of his mind he realized the very weather was his to command.
He extended his arms to the sky and black roiling clouds simply appeared. With a violent thrust of his hand, columns of lightning erupted from the heavens, plummeting down into the soldiers. White hot death split the air as thunder threatened to crush everything near. When the lightning finally cleared nothing remained of the soldiers, only a scorched patch of barren earth.
His revenge sated, the young man lowered his arms. “This is a fishing town, they should have no problem,” he said.
And with a blast of wind he took to the skies.