“I’m Tailgate.” The mainly white Autobot with blue flames on his armor said. His optics were green not blue.
I stood stoically. There’s a slagging ghost in my dream; he needs to get out.
“Get out of my dream!” I said, actually capable of seeing in this dream. “I want to enjoy my eyesight.”
The Mech, who resembled Cliffjumper, laughs while shaking his helmet.
“I didn’t figure this.” TailGate said. “You are the selfish type.”
When you don’t have eyes, you want to enjoy having them back as much as you can.
“Get out!” I yell at him. “Or else I will kill you worse than Airachnid did.”
The dead Autobot appears to be amused, of all things!
“Relying on threats to get what you want?” Tailgate questions me. “That’s rude to ask a dead guy,” Tailgate moves his large foot forwards. “Who’s been offline for longer than you’ve been around.”
“Hey!” My hands went into fists. Jeeze this guy knows the right buttons to push. “Using your death as an excuse is immoral and very disturbing. Death is not fair, but using it as an argument for ‘relying on threats to what I want’ is unfair.”
Tailgate shook his helmet.
“Why do you hold around a machine that is a spoon with a screen?” TailGate asks.
I look down to my right hand that is holding this really weird machine. Technically it is a weird spoon with a wide screen and glowing buttons. So this is what my IDS looks like to everyone else. Heck, glad I can’t see what reactions are coming from people.
“I don’t have optics.” I said. “They were stolen.”
TailGate, a dead Autobot, doesn’t seem to believe me.
“You are a joking.” TailGate said.
I stare at him. The tall Autobot who made me feel smaller and in awe to his alien gigantic robot appearance.
“Oh, so you are not joking.” TailGate took my glare for serious.
“I demand you get outta my dream.” I said, pointing the other way. “I have some really odd dream to finish; I wanna know what happens next.”
“I’m a ghost.” TailGate said. “So your odd dream-- usually made by what happened in megacycles you had been awake—is over.”
My hands relax from their grip.
“Why are you in my dream?” I had to resort into calm and wary attitude.
“I don’t know anymore.” TailGate claims.
I sigh, folding my arms.
“Liar.” I said, my eyes narrowing at the Autobot.
There is a period of silence between us. I saw a squirrel go after a raccoon holding a bunch of nuts.For a first in the name of comedy I hadn’t witnessed a moment like that in any comedy movie out there in the world of film making and media. Pearly, white gates were behind a vast assortment of trees. Perhaps the memory of describing gates has gotten the best of me. A tear randomly comes up in my eye—where the slag am I getting this emotional? I wipe it off.
“I’ve heard you’ve been talking about Ironhide.” TailGate finally said.
“Oh!” I squeal, as the pearly white gates disappeared from my view. “Did ya know him in the war?”
TailGate raises one of his big optic brows at me.
“You just spoke differently.” TailGate points out.
“I am not Irish!” I shook my fist at him. “Do not acknowledge me as an Irish person.”
“Okay, Irish organic.” TailGate teasingly said.
I slap my forehead.
“Anyway, why are you interested about Ironhide?” TailGate asks.
I rub the side of my shoulder.
“He was supposed to be in Transformers Prime.” I said. “But the stupid producers thought it would be confusing to have a dead character in the show.” I emphasized at the ‘dead character’ part. “Come on, he didn’t die in Transformers Prime!” I walk back and forth waving my right hand in the air while speaking. “He died in Dark of the Moon!”
“Dark Side of the Moon?” TailGate said what should have been the title of the third movie.
“They don’t share the same fragging universe.” I add.
Tailgate laughs, shaking his helm and leaned against a random oak tree that appeared outta nowhere.
“So, you like him?” TailGate asks.
“I’m still standing here, duh.” I said. TailGate is perplexed what I had been implying, apparently. So much for dead robots having an IQ. “You don’t see me crying, don’t ya? Okay; it’s like I have a coat of iron or titanium on me, but it’s all part of being me. One day I might get a trigger for not expressing my feelings. Hanging round the Decepticons sure didn’t pile on to my snowball; hanging around them was actually fun.”
“Do you have an IQ?” TailGate said, after a while.
Let’s all guess he thinks I am insane.
“I have a 97 IQ.” I said. “And perfectly sane.”
I got a stare from the mech.
“I need some proof about that.” TailGate said.
Oh wow this dude really wants to hear how I know about my own IQ.
“I sort of had a IQ evaluation . . . ?” I suggest, shrugging my arms meekly. “I ain’t stupid.”
“Hanging around the Decepticons?” Tailgate repeats, leaning away from the tree. He sounds like a parent more than Arcee could do; for short, this dead Autobot sounds like a concerned father. “I call that stupid and reckless.”
“Update: I can’t die.” I said newsflash style by flashing my hands open and closed at the update mention.
“That is impossible.” TailGate said.
“Update: Snooze, you lose.” I mockingly said. I didn’t make sense at the moment because a fragging undead cybetronian is in my dream.“Decepticons may be the most undesirable faction, but . . .The desire to mess with them is unbreakable.”
Pun intended with the unbreakable part. Cause I’m unbreakable!
“Hm?” TailGate lowers his gigantic optic brow.
“. . . Ding dong do you ever want to mess with everyone before death ever came?” I ask, rubbing the side of my forehead.
“No.” TailGate said. “I preferred to get the mission done before I had been offlined.”
I look up, staring at the sky with an annoyed sigh. Then look back to the undead Autobot.
“Spill why you came into my dreams before I summon a vast majority of dream Scraplets on you!” I threaten him. “I mean IT!” I stomp my right foot on the ground dramatically. The undead Autobot took a step back. “As long as you are here; my dream can summon scraplets, like that kid from Shark Boy and Lava Girl.”
“You’ll meet him.” TailGate said. “Just not now.”
“Don’t go vague; explain!” I wave my arms.
“The day pigs fly.” TailGate said.
“Pigs CAN fly on airplanes.” I said.
Tailgate shook his helmet.
“But they don’t have wings.” TailGate tells me.
“So, next time we meet.” I said. “Is it gonna be a dream?”
I honestly don’t know where that question came from.
“We probably won’t meet again.” TailGate said. “But . . . don’t force me to come.”
“I’ll yell for you.” I said. “Because you are seemingly the Obiwon Kenobi and Yoda combined.”
“I don’t know everything, child.” Tailgate chides me.
“Yes, yes you do.” I argue back, taking four steps forward.
“The phone is ringing.” Tailgate said.
It returned to darkness, except for the annoying bleeping sound of a phone vibrating on a counter. My hand grabbed the phone—I did a little math in my head where it could possibly be on—and then pressed the left hand side button. I put the phone to my ear feeling tied and pretty irritated about losing the ability to see; again.
“What time is it?” I grumbled.
“4:37 AM.” Joyce said—that one friend of mine who called me before the scraplet incident—over the phone.
Sleep is calling me to return! Just kidding.
“Bye.” I hung up then fell my head back on the pillow
The phone rang, again. This is intruding on my beauty sleep; I mentally complain with a logical argument.Since when do people call four in the morning? People are sleeping by four. There is only one person I know who can do the unexpected, and that is Joyce. Irritated, I grabbed the phone then pressed the right hand side and put it to my ear.
“Give me a straight answer why I should not scream into this phone.” I said, really grumpy.
“Pond, stop hanging up on me!” Joyce yells through the receiver.
Joyce refers to everyone by their last names; everyone. Her voice somewhat jolted my ears awake; well barely, that high pitched voice caused me to drop the phone on the bed. You know phones make a light tap when landing on a bed. I clumsily pick up the phone feeling it slip and slide through my hands. Eventually my right hand won the clumsy illogical fight not to drop the phone.
I put the phone to my ear.
“Since when have I been hanging up on you?” I ask.
“A few days ago Sydney came into town and she wanted to know if you were up to hang out for the rest of the day.” Joyce explains fast as she usually did. “Like; I called you about like twenty times until you, like, answered me.”
Joyce uses the word ‘like’ a lot. I am not kidding around when talking about her favorite word ‘like’.
“And what did I say?” I ask.
Joyce paused, and when she paused that usually meant a list.
“You said something about; camping, painting, and fleeing.” Joyce is a person who is more specific than me. I could imagine Joyce swaying her pink sharp fingernails that are really decorated with jewelry like it wasn’t enough. “You were snapping orders like a maniac!”
Now I remember; she called me when barking orders to a couple raccoons who had invaded my apartment.
“Which part did I hang up at?” I ask.
“The ‘like where are the hell are you’ part.” Joyce said.
Sydney is a woman who’s in the field of acting and recently had gotten out of high school. I did a couple plays with her, some of them were even for some official movie during the ‘no robot appearing’ drought was going on in my part of Jasper. Well Sydney is a young woman; an interesting character for sure. For your information Sydney dumped her high school drop-out boyfriend when he apologized for cheating on her. She is independent enough to stand on her own two feet.
“Oh that.” I recall, with a laugh.
“Like where the hell are you, Pond?” Joyce repeats herself, again.
“Nebraska.” I lied.
“Your brothers claim you are out camping, but your parents say you ran away.” Joyce ignores my comment like it were pepper spray—she knows karate—and continued. “Like which story should I start off believing?”
I paused, thinking why she ignored my previous comment.
“Nebraska.” I repeat.
“Pond, I know that there’s a gigantic air plane in ther –“ Joyce began.
“That’s at Navada.” I interrupted her.
“So does JCPenny.” Joyce said.
“No, that’s Penny from the Big Bang Theory.” I said.
“She came from Nebraska.” Joyce said.
I decided right then and there to do a little trick Sydney usually did with Joyce to end the conversation.
“Girly, you don’t know that there are horses and thing women are allowed to do for men in there . . .” I trail off into the conversation. “It starts with a P and ends with a ‘n’. Now get your E off the phone.”
“If you hang up on me one more time—“ Joyce said, as I pressed ‘end phone call’.
I put the phone on the counter and returned to sleep.