4 Dreams and Jobs

Alex awoke to the sounds of war. He was laying down in the mud as arrows flew through the air and giant balls of fire crashed to the earth like meteors. As Alex stumbled to his feet he saw many men fighting all around him. He looked around and found he had no weapon to defend himself with.

"A-Alex," Alex heard a familiar voice behind him. He turned around slowly to see Beret standing behind him, a grave wound in the center of his chest. "No… No, this isn't real! None of this is real." He closed his eyes and pinched himself, but when he opened them he was not greeted by the real world but by Beret. He felt a shiver down his back as Beret smiled.

"Pain is real, my friend." Beret put a bloody hand on Alex's left eye. He tried to remove it, tried to run, but it seemed as if he was nailed in place. Alex winced as he felt a pain in his eye. Beret pulled off the patch and the pain grew worse, "Something is coming, and you will need your sight for when it appears. This will not help you." Beret dropped the patch in the mud and walked away leaving Alex in pain.

"W-Wait? Don't go, wait! What's coming?" Beret didn't stop to answer him and a black mass rose out of the mud and covered Alex, "Wait. WAIT" Alex rose out of bed gasping for breath. He looked around not knowing where he was and tried to calm down. He laid back down trying to understand what the dream meant. After recollecting himself he raised out of bed and studied the room.

It was small, but large enough for a bed, a table and a drawer to be tucked in nicely. There was also a door at the end of the room. He got up from the bed and stepped on something. It was his patch. He picked it up and laid it on the table while he walked to the door in the back of the room.

Lights lit up a bathroom as he walked in. It was a simple bathroom holding only a small shower and a sink. Alex looked in the mirror. He still had bags under his eyes and he felt as bad as he looked. He raised a hand in front of his left eye. Nothing, as always. He sighed and began the shower.

After drying off he found a set of clothes laying on the bed with a note. Someone must have come in while he was showering. He picked up the note and read it out loud. "After you get done with the shower put these on and head downstairs." He laid the note on the table and carefully strapped the patch back onto his face.

It was a set of waiters attire. A white button up, black slacks, and black leather shoes. He sighed as he realized what he was about to do and reluctantly put the clothes on. The clothes felt stifling and tight. He refused to tuck the shirt in or button the top up.

He noticed his bag laid by the bed and reached in for his comb. He winced as he nicked his finger on something metal. He pulled his hand out and studied the scratch as it stiched itself back together. It left a small itchy brown scar.

He shook his head and pulled out the object that had scratched him. It was a picture of him and Beret sitting on some rubble together overlooking a wheat field. Alex smiled at the memory.

He and his company were stationed in a town somewhere in northern Alfronese where a man was showing off his new invention. He told them he was a Photographer and was documenting the war. He was taking pictures and Beret convinced Alex to take one with him. After a bright light the man gave him and Beret both a picture and a frame. He laid it down on the table, some memories were worth keeping.

He reached back into the bag and pulled out a white comb and slicked his hair back. It was long and annoying if he kept it in the front. After placing his comb back in his bag he walked out of his room. He ended up on the balcony overlooking the dining room and kitchen. He looked down to see Grace cooking and Flint talking with another man.

Grace looked up and smiled, "You're awake, good. Breakfast is ready, you'll need it for today." Alex found the greeting friendly but menacing. He nodded and walked downstairs and sat at the bar where Grace laid a plate of food out for him. Sausages and eggs with a side of Toast. Grace smiled and laid a glass of milk on the counter for him as well.

"I don't believe we've been acquainted yet. Names Grace, owner of this fine establishment." "T-Thank you for the room. How much for a night." She shook her head, "Don't worry about that, you'll make it up." She smiled devilishly and Alex concentrated on his food, it felt like he hasn't eaten in days.

Flint laughed, "Sorry kid, you said you were looking for a job and Grace doesn't let an opportunity slip. Besides, she's getting old. She doesn't need to be waiting all those tables by herself." Grace gawked, "Oh, I'm not the only one with gray hair you know." Flint raised an eye, "I'm only fifty two, you wench." She raised a cooking knife to the old man's throat from across the bar, "If you're so young, then I better see those toilets as sparkly as a gem in five minutes."

The old man gulped, "R-Right away Honey!" As he hurried to the rest rooms the other man laughed, "Put him in his place Grace." She smiled and put the blade back on the table and set out preparing the morning menu. The other man looked at Alex, "You holding up ok kid? Saw you last night, hope you're feeling better." He held out his hand, "Names Turner."

Alex shook his hand, Turner seemed in his late thirties with well trimmed hair and a goatee. Alex noticed the man had a peg leg and a small medal hidden under his Jacket, "You served." The man nodded, "26th Infantry division, Major Turner, or Former Major." Alex didn't know why but the peg leg reminded him of something but he didn't know what.

"I served during the Ellington War, lost my leg there too." Alex knew the war from his studies. The northern Rebellion was led by Ellington, a mage from the northern noble houses. He managed to pick up support from many of the local lords and landowners and staged a rebellion against the king. They say the man was mad, but others say the exact opposite.

He was nicknamed the Mad Strategist for his success during the war. It has been said that he would have succeeded if he hadn't been betrayed. His betrayers have capitalized on his failure since the rebellion, many who rule over his land to this day. He wondered where exactly he served during the war, but was cut off by Grace.

"There is no time for your war stories, Turner. The boys got a job to attend to." She took his half eaten plate, "Not going to eat." He shook his head, "I can't eat very much nowadays." "I see," she put the plate down, "Well you can add it to your supper."

After that she gave a quick run down of the menu and seat placements. She had a system for serving food which was complicated. All the tables and booths had numbers so he would have to remember them when writing down orders. She also had a rather large menu for an Inn, honestly it reminded him more of a restaurant. Each dish had a number so that made it a little easier for him.

The first few customers started to enter for breakfast and Alex was sent to work by Grace with a pat on the back. At first it was hard writing down orders, for one the people usually didn't use numbers and had more specific orders like extra cheese or no pickles. He also found writing in general to be a challenge.

The last time he wrote was nearly 3 years ago for a replacement program in the war. He also found his hands to be unbearably shaky and it only got worse if he tried carefully to write. Grace seemed to understand and chose not to yell at him for it, but he bet she found it annoying to make out his hieroglyphs.

Turner stuck around all day for some reason and talked to him during breaks. "That shakiness, it's your nerves. Your hands are so used to a sword there having trouble readjusting. Give it a couple weeks and you should be fine, just make sure to practice." Alex studied Turner's and Flint's hands and found them to be just as shaky as his, maybe he was just trying to reassure him.

During the afternoon thing's got much busier. He was taking orders left and right and trying to focus on writing was taking up more time than needed. After messing up an odor he had another one of his attacks. He couldn't breath and he felt like passing out. It was about this time that Grace took the reins and he could sit for a spell.

These attacks were becoming even more frequent in the past days, he wondered if he was getting sick. He sat in the back booth and tried calming himself as his heart rate skyrocketed. Flint came by with a glass of water which Alex downed quickly while waving cool air into his face to cool himself down. "You're having another attack." Alex nodded trying to hide his state, "I-I'm f-fine. J-Just t-tell Grace Ill b-be fine i-in j-just a s-second."

Flint nodded and got him another cup of water. After a few minutes he was able to control his breathing again and his heart beat finally leveled out, but was still high. He wondered just how frequent these attacks were going to be. He got up and thanked Flint before taking the odor of another table. By the end of the day he had three more attacks and nearly passed out during the last one.

Experiencing another horrible headache Alex sat in the back booth holding his head when grace came up to him and rubbed his shoulder, "Hun, are you alright." He looked up and nodded, "Yeah… Just… need a little longer, I'll be back out on the floor in a second." He must have looked terrible because there was a great amount of pity in her eyes, "I actually just locked up. Good job today, here."

She laid a bag of money on the table. Alex opened the content's and found it held a great sum of money. "N-No, Grace this is too much for just one day." She sat down, and laid another smaller bag on the table, "Actually those are tips, this is your payment. Do you know how much business you brought in today? I made a quarter more than I usually do, and today was a slow day."

Alex's anxiety flared, "Slow day!?" In truth he was thinking he was costing her money by sitting out and messing up orders. Flint walked up, "Tomorrow you're only working half a day." Alex looked over, "What, why. Don't you need me here." Grace held up a hand, "We need to get those attacks under control. Turner talked to us about a guy who was treating symptoms like yours in other soldiers who came back."

Alex hung his head, "I see." Flint gave him a cup of ale, "We need to go and get this checked out before it gets worse. And besides you'll be back before the day is done, so no harm done." Alex nodded his head.

The attacks do seem to be getting worse, maybe it wouldn't be a bad Idea to check it out. "OK." Grace smiled, "Come and get some supper. You can also have some left over pie for all your hard work."

After eating Alex went back to his room for a shower and some rest. He laid down to sleep after turning the lights off and looked at the picture of him and Beret. Something about it eased his mind a little and he went to sleep. He had the same nightmares as always, but something about them seemed different.

It felt as if something was watching him, far off in the distance. For some reason Alex felt like it was waiting, pondering, and planning. Something about it felt familiar and yet so alien. In the end it drifted away leaving only the faint memory of his friend in it's wake.