dream journal

Dream Journal: Star Trek meets Pokemon

Ok, so I’m in Star Fleet (totally like from Star Trek) and I’m on leave, chilling on Earth, hanging out with my cousin as we watch Harry Potter movies when the alarm goes out to scramble the fleet.

I race to change into my uniform then hustle to my waiting ship, but when I get there, I have new orders to check in at this random room I’ve never even heard of before. And my gut sinks because our ship is HUGE and now I’ve got to find this room pronto because it’s freaking Red Alert and I’ve got to GO.

So I’m racing through this ship, the interior which looks suspiciously like the interior of the Titanic (all glitz, glam, and gold) with this slip of paper with the room number I’m supposed to find as the ship takes off and light speeds across the galaxy.

As I’m running, I slide past this fancy dining hall (because to make a bit of extra money for Star Fleet, the higher ups decided to bring tourists on board and that totally made sense to my dream self because exploring battle cruises are hella expensive) and get stopped by this rude woman and her dining compatriots demanding service. I try to apologize, say I’m busy, explain I don’t do that, but they insist I help them even as they’re complaing about EVERYTHING. AND I WANT TO PUNCH THEM IN THEIR BEDAZZLED FACES.

But I can’t.

So I don’t.

But I grab one of the wait crew staff and I’m trying to be all polite but the freaking Red Alert is still blaring and I NEED TO CHECK INTO MY STATION. Or bad juju will follow.

But they just won’t shut up and don’t care one bit about the alarms! In fact, they’re pissed because the warning alarm is running the ambiance of their dining experience.

Finally, eventually, THANK GOD, but I slip from their grasp and I’m still frantically combing through the ship for my station, screaming at everyone if they’ve even heard of Room 1531 when I hear another girl shouting that same room number. We lock eyes. Meet up. And keep racing along glam hallways until a janitor points it out to us. Racing to it, we throw the door open.

To a broom closet.

Me and this other chick share a quick confused look before something we missed before comes hurtling out of the closet.

And it’s a Pokemon.

It’s a straight up little wolf type Pokemon. Cute as can be. Yawning and stretching like it doesn’t have a care in the world.

BUT I’M FREAKING OUT BECAUSE WE KNOW POKEMON AREN’T ALLOWED ON SPACE SHIPS!

But the janitor pops back up and is like, “You’re gonna need those,” before he disappears all cryptic-enigma-ghostly like.

So the girl is like, “Gimme the wolf,” because I’m holding it in my arms and it’s licking my face and even though we’re not supposed to allow Pokemon on board (because they could destroy the ship so easily with an ill-timed fire sneeze or something), I’m getting attached to the little guy.

She goes “Gimme” again and I look into the closet and I’m like, “I think that one’s yours,” because I’m not about to give up my cute little wolf, especially because the little guy is cuddling into my arms. She looks in and there’s a flamingo.

A. Flamingo.

But it’s not standing tall and elegant on one leg, but it’s sort of collapsed into this heap with this dazed look on its face. She asks me what’s wrong with it.

And the little wolf is shaking its tail excitedly in my arms and I just shrug. “Wolves can be intimidating.” Then I turn and march off with my contraband Pokemon.

And that’s when I wake up.

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