An old rusted window rested on top of a brick. Wooden frames of the window were cracked in so many places it seemed like they had vessels that could start bleeding at any moment. The glass inserted into the frames danced in its place every time someone was walking up the stairs, which made loud croaking noises after every step taken, as if someone was walking on frogs. I was making my way up the stairs into a room, which was not occupied but someone inside refused to let me in.
Last night I walked
A long-known road
Where a house resides
I lived in before.
I looked up at the sky
And did not even dare
To look back down
Onto the bare ground.
The sky drowned in stars;
All of them so bright
Promising me to be
Showered in luck and light.
I was going through this one folder on my laptop – ‘Writings’ – where I store all of my little and often ridiculous spontaneous texts. There was another folder within that one called ‘Dreams’ and I found a couple of dreams I’ve had and it was an amusing read, I must admit.
The funny thing about dreams is, after you wake up and try to comprehend what was going on in your head, everything is so clear and everything makes so much sense. Once you quickly write the dream down, it still makes sense. Now, I’ve read about a dream I’ve had about a month ago and I had no recollection of it in my mind whatsoever. I was reading it and thinking ‘did I actually ever have a dream like this??’ Weird stuff. Anyway, here’s a disturbing dream…
I remember the tide coming in onto the shore. The sand was a lovely shade of beige, kissed by the sun, yet I cannot tell whether it was a sunrise or a sunset. My friends were little figurines, like in some sort of a game, it was all very strange, yet seemed perfectly normal in that stage of a dream. I controlled the game, but I don’t know what the rules were or what the game itself was. I remember deep in my unconscious imagining myself kissing my best friend and it felt so real. I suppose my sexual drive is somewhat high, as it is per usual; that is no secret to me. I remember being in a nostalgia shop and picking up this booklet in which was a CD with a soundtrack from Bram Stoker’s Dracula – I started listening to it, as the booklet turned out to be a CD player as well; oh, I wish such things existed in real life. I was reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula before falling asleep, which explains this fascinating detail in my dream. My mum did not let me purchase the CD, which did upset me greatly, yet the location in a dream turned into our home, where I was listening to the soundtrack and humming along with it, whilst making little bunches of flowers – miniature ones, and showing them to my mum, who I do not know if was fascinated by or completely bored of my creativity. I woke up feeling very confused; there was still a hint of the music from the dream somewhere in the background – very faint, but somewhat real. I heard my mum sipping her coffee in the living room and there was a quiet sound of something playing on TV. When I finally sat up, trying to wake myself up completely, all the sounds started fading and the rooms were filled with silence and a soft snore of my mum who was peacefully asleep as well.
I had a glass of wine And I was tempted to reach for another. Never have I done this; I don’t know what it is I want to drown in the Sorrowful river. I lied to myself As I lied to you Saying you’re my friend A mate for my soul A companion till the end. After those horrific words That escaped your metallic mouth With no emotion in your face There is one thing, And one thing only That I think of you: You repel me. You repel me Your appearance repels me Your voice repels me Your way of speaking; That pretentious wording As if I am a fool Who doesn’t know a thing – Oh how much it repels me. The truth is; you are foolish. You are a conformist. You are nothing but A hateful sheep That pretends to be An intelligent wolf With that way of attacking. That repels me more than Anything ever has. You used me, and that repels me. Your letters That were once on my walls Are long lost; Their words repelled me. Those dishonest words You wrote with gritted teeth. Your name repels me. Your name is that of an angel But it means a devil to me And that repels me.
She was walking down the wavy path, not knowing what is going to wait for her around each corner. ‘That’s why the curves of landscape are so beautiful’ she thought, ‘you never know what comes next’. The bright sun rays shone onto her, making the bronze of her hair shimmer. The warmth gave her cheeks a rosy shade of pink. Her breath became heavier as she started making her way up a hill. As the road started curving to the right, she saw something on the left side of it. There was an old inn – ‘The Greyhound’ it was called. Even though it was old, it was taken care of rather well. The golden patterns of the big letters and sides of the lamps that probably emphasised the letters at night looked almost as if they were polished. There were large baskets hanging down from the hooks fixed at random parts of the façade, filled with various flowers; yellow, white and purple violets, lantanas with colourful clusters of pink and yellow and red, the blue lobelia plants as well as bright orange begonias. She stood there for a moment, observing the inn quietly. It was like a small shelter, blooming in the middle of dense greenery of trees and bushes. It was a place where one would come to look for safety. She raised eyebrow at such thought; this whole land seemed to be the safest place her eyes have ever witnessed. She started making her way forward and walked to the left of the inn where the road started going further up. The road was almost enclosed by the trees that arched over it from both sides. The sunlight that made its way through the branches and the leaves created patterns on the dark surface of the road, which almost made it look like a shadow play. There were sounds of birds singing with their high voices, flies buzzing as they were dancing in circles in spots of sunlight and somewhere in the distance, she could hear faint music. She kept walking upwards, with her breath deepening as she made each careful step, until she reached the top of the hill, where the road stretched forward. She stopped there for a moment, to catch her breath and made her way further and deeper into the woods.
It was a small town, purposefully built on the highest hill on land known to man. The church was right at the centre of the town; it was known as a godless place to the locals for its dark appearance both on the outside and on the inside. It had countless arches stretching towards the sky as if in an attempt to reach the clouds. When it rains, the raindrops seem to form a river in-between the pointed arches of the church, which rapidly drops down almost like a waterfall, onto the ground, flooding the rest of the town. It rains almost every day; thus the locals have to commute on boats a lot of the time. When it is sunny, barely anyone leaves their home. Those who arrive to visit the town from the outside world, only hear whispers and see no inhabitants. Their impression is always of a mysterious and secretive nature. A lot of them get lost, and when they do…very few of them make their way out, no one knows why, not even the locals. The houses are very small in comparison to the church, but they are built in a similar fashion; pointed arches at the doorways and the windows, slightly arched roofs with what looks like swords at the tops of them. It is a strange place to be in, very strange indeed. It attracts you like a mindless magnet but at the same time wants to get rid of you. The only thing that could ever make you stay is curiosity, which sometimes is overshadowed by mere fear.
A personal little note to remind myself why I set this blog up in the first place;
Remember that cold morning when you realised you just wanted to write, and at that very moment you were feeling unmotivated, because there was nothing else you wanted to do. Writing for you was an escape from the pathetic thoughts that bothered you to move forward in any creative process. This is something you genuinely enjoy and decided to share with whoever is going to read your ‘silly, unworthy’ texts. Keep doing this, no matter how you’re going to feel. Just don’t stop ever again.