Writing in your sleep

The best time to write

Is in your sleep.

When you’re thinking of nothing

And everything all at once.

When you live in your dreams,

When you see, feel and taste

All that it is you wish.

When you let your heart open,

To desire,

To temptation,

To experience.

When you are not chained by predispositions,

And what should and ought to be done.

When you sense everything so deeply,

That you laugh and cry in your sleep.

When you fear nothing and everything,

But anyway continue the dream.

When you can be anyone and anything you want,

Without fear,

Without reservations,

Without regrets.

Because the best time to write

Is when you feel free.

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Hope is a waking dream

Alison went to bed with a dilemma: should she make the call the next day or not?

Should she appear bold enough and take the risk, her heart pounding as she dialed the number and waited for someone to respond; her throat drying up as soon as she heard the greeting at the other end of the line; and improvising whatever she needed to say, although she had already practiced it in her head so many times?

Or should she just forget about it all? If it was meant to be, they would call her themselves. Wouldn’t they?

Should she just leave it up to fate? Or should she give it a push herself? Maybe they did need a reminder. But what if they thought she was too forward by calling?

She tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, the “what-ifs” circling in her head.

Alison managed to sleep for a couple of hours.

In the morning, the dilemma was still in her head. But in the spur of the moment, without thinking too much about it, she took the phone and dialed. All she could do now was hope.

If it worked out, great; if it didn’t, then at least she tried.

“Hope is a waking dream” – Aristotle.

The second time around

The first time it happened was during a full moon in a dimly lit French bar down town. He was working behind the bar and she was on a night out with girlfriends. The first instance their eyes met, the lights flickered and it was evident that a connection had been made. But it didn’t all start out so well.

Eleonore and her three friends were enjoying a glass of wine enjoying the musical background of classical jazz. A group of men who were drinking whisky at the nearby table wanted to try their luck at the flirting game. But when they were rejected, they didn’t stop and their insistence spurred a mini-brawl in the bar, resulting in Gabriel – the barman – rushing to the rescue together with the two waiters. The fight ended 15 minutes later with two broken chairs, three broken bottles and double the broken glasses. The rowdy men were thrown out and Gabriel went to wash up. Eleonore felt bad on the one hand that he got involved in a fight but on the other, every woman feels flattered when a man stands up for their honor.

Gabriel did not even approach Eleonore that night, and when the girls finally left in the early hours of the morning, just a few minutes before closing time, their eyes met, but he quickly turned around, pretending to tend to the machines and bottles behind the bar.

Eleonore was disappointed. She thought their instant ‘click’ would lead to more. Now, she would probably never see him again. Unless of course they kept returning to that bar. But she couldn’t show that she was so desperate. She decided to simply forget it all.

A week later, Eleonore’s phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?” She said, curiosity reigning in her voice. “Hi,” a chirpy male voice bounced on the other end of the line. “It’s Gabriel, I work at the bar downtown. We sort of met the other night with that scuffle. I just wanted to ask how you are?” Eleonore’s eyes opened wide and she began to tremble with joy. He had called her! How did he even get her number? But, he called! “I’m fine, thank you! It was very thoughtful of you to call,” she tried sounding calm and neutral. “I was wondering if perhaps you would you like to go out sometime, maybe get to know each other a little bit?” She wanted to scream “YES!”, but instead managed to contain her excitement and utter, “Sure, would tomorrow night be good for you?” “It would be great,” he said. He was just as thrilled but was also trying to hide it. “We’ll talk tomorrow on the details. Have a great day!” “You too!” she said as she took the phone away from her ear and swirled on the spot.

It turns out that even if first impressions don’t work out, that doesn’t necessarily mean the second meeting won’t be wonderful. You just have to believe that something wonderful is always about to happen. Sometimes, it might very well be true!

Also part of Daily Prompt: Night and Day

The door you choose

There were three doors. One made of steel, one of wood and one of tainted glass. The timer was menacingly heading towards zero. You had to choose one door. The one you would go through not knowing what you would find. What do you choose?

Steel is reminiscent of some futuristic, science-fiction story that would evolve behind it. Not very much your style.

Wood is in a sense more romantic; more traditional in a way. But you would still not have picked that.

So you choose tainted glass. Maybe it would hide an adventure behind it, and, really, what is life if without any risks?

You open the door, careful of what would pop-out from behind. But there is nothing. At least nothing immediately obvious.

You walk into a dark cloud that engulfs you like a marshmallow.

A human figure appears out of seemingly nowhere. But you do know who they are. You’ve had a crush on them for so long. You’ve exchanged heated kisses one afternoon, and another after that, but they always said that “they were not at that place at that moment” so you could not start or even attempt a relationship. Yet, you remained stuck, thinking about them for months. Grief filled your heart. Why is it that we always want more of what we can’t have?

The figure dissolved into a poster. A white poster with three lines. They read “try to be remarkable”. The “try to” was crossed out. You instantly filled with ambition. With all the things you wanted to achieve. With all the dreams and plans that constantly swerved in your head.

As you move ahead, the cloud appears to disperse and it becomes clearer that you are in a mansion. One of the old types that used to be a castle or palace of some sort. Some wealthy estate you would guess. Pity you’re not dressed accordingly. But as soon as you look down, your jeans and t-shirt have transformed into an elegant gown, worthy of royalty. Could it be, that we could just wish things into existence?

Then you start feeling your shoes wet. You look down and see you’ve walked into a puddle. The palace dispersed into thin air and you are now outdoors, in a meadow, in the middle of a stream. You’re back in your casual outfit, and your snickers are soaking wet. You look again and they are drenched in blood. All around you lies a dark alley with aluminium dumpsters from which rats run out of. It is so dark you can hardly see anything. Your hands feel wet. But it is blood. Fear has overwhelmed you that you spin around, unwary of what will appear next. How can emotions change so rapidly? How can our own reality succumb to so many developments in an instant?

You turn and turn, until you finally roll off the bed.

You wake, still soaked in your own sweat and realise it was all a dream.

It only lasted for so much less than you thought, but it was so real, now you can’t go back to sleep without contemplating how much we miss out on by simply not seeing enough of our surroundings.

Also part of Daily Prompt: Just a Dream

An instant switch

It’s called rolling back instantly. At least that was what Helga used to call it. Her grandmother told her it was a trait inherited from the women’s part of the family.

It usually came more abruptly during those hectic days, when Helga was multitasking beyond her stress capacity. When she was constantly running around with things to do, filling up her diary with post-its just so she wouldn’t forget anything, and never being able to reduce her to-do list. It was those days when she didn’t even have time to think. But once the storm passed and things quietened down to normal (breathing) rhythms, Helga’s mind began to wander again.

And that is when it struck.

That sinking feeling that switched her mood from feeling like a queen bee to feeling like a homeless pauper. All in less than a second. It all happened so fast, none of her friends ever understood how someone could change emotions so rapidly.

But it happened.

It was because when she finally relaxed – be it after a warm bath or a proper meal – that is the moment when her body began to catch up with her. That is when the tiredness sunk in, when the exhaustion hit her nervous system, and when her brain was calling for a temporary, but immediate, shut down in order to recuperate.

It didn’t last too long – maybe until the next day – but all she could do when it happened was try to relax and simply go to bed. Crawl under the covers and allow herself those few precious hours of literally not thinking about anything else other than what Morpheus brought along.

Also part of Daily Prompt: Mountaintops and Valleys

Non-stop action may cause unexpected reactions

Hyperactivity is neither a blessing nor a curse. Because, while there are days when you feel so lazy you can’t even drag yourself out of bed or off the coach, there are other days when you simply cannot stay still. I don’t know what is worse.

When Julie got up this morning she beat her alarm clock to the buzz. Of course, the thump she made when she dropped out of bed was much more painful than any sound any clock could make. Her morning cleansing – makeup – dressup ritual lasted the usual 25 minutes, and then she set off for all the errands she had to do. Her list was extra-long this day and every time she found herself on the commute, she somehow managed to keep extending it.

So Julie spent the entire day running around from one part of the city to the next (making her realise how big this city truly is), up and down office buildings, in and out of shops (there is always something to buy), and constantly craving certain food that she had no time to sit down and enjoy (sushi and ice cream being among these).

At the end of the day, when the sun had already began its descend, Julie arrived home with her feet already developing blisters, and feeling that she had carried a hundred tonnes on her shoulders all day. A warm shower simply worsened the situation as she kept thinking of all the things she still had to do the next day and the day after that. Messages kept arriving that further extended her list and the hyperactivity would appear to never cease.

The only thing that rescued her was a remedy that seemed to work since her college years: a glass of milk (not necessarily warm). Within half an hour, Julie was already drifting asleep, dozing off in a stress-free dream, suddenly making everything seem like an action movie where the good guys always win, and all was well with the world.

Also part of Daily Prompt: No Cliffhangers

Swinging high, risking much

When Pacey was a little boy, he feared two things – marshmallows and swings. There is a saying that you usually fear what you don’t understand. And with Pacey this was exactly the case. He couldn’t understand how marshmallows were made to be so white and so soft, and more than anything so addictive. He just could not get it into his head that this “treat” was considered a global favourite. So he preferred to stay away. As for swings. That was a whole different story. Because every time he sat on one he kept looking up, but not at the sky like most kids his age did while swinging high; no, Pacey kept looking at the hinges holding the swing in place. He was afraid that at any moment, the swing would unhinge from its bars and it would throw Pacey crashing to the ground. And he was afraid.

His parents tried to convince him that he was missing out on the fun things of life by avoiding these two things. But Pacey would not change his mind. Kids can be stubborn. Even more than adults usually are.

Pacey’s father even told him a story about how swings were created in order to draw out the fear from the human soul. He said that if as a child you could dominate a swing, if you could experience that feeling of flying, and if you would constantly want to swing harder, to fly higher, then as an adult you would know how to be ruthless, and how to go after what you wanted; you would know how to take risks and cease the opportunities that come your way.

It did not convince Pacey.

He barely sat on a swing during his entire childhood. And whenever he passed by the park and saw all those kids lining up to sit on one, he would shake his head and simply move on.

Even as an adult, he could not understand children’s addiction to these simple (yet, “unsafe”) objects. He could not even understand his own daughter’s obsession with them. Whenever she ran and sat on one, his sight was constantly glued on the hinges.

His wife would laugh at him. She told him that he needed to relax. To stop living his life in so much fear. Falling off a swing was as random as falling off a ladder, as tripping on a pavement, as pretty much anything as could happen.

When he heard his daughter’s pure, heartfelt laughter whenever she was swinging over his head, calling out that she would catch the birds, that is when he began to understand the meaning of these swings. It all became clear, when his daughter came up to him and explained why she loved them so much: “because swings liberate you. They make you feel like you can fly. Like you are invincible. And if I can’t let go and feel that now, then when am I going to do it? You adults are so uptight!”

The canoe ride

“Quick, jump in and I’ll push!”

She leapt in, the breeze lifting up her coral dress, revealing her tanned thighs.

Oscar pushed the wooden canoe into the lake and as soon as it hit the water, he jumped in to join Priscilla. It was a beautiful morning – a cloudless sky; the sun shining. It was the beginning of spring and after a harsh winter, everyone was looking forward to it.

They had ditched school to go for a canoe ride. Priscilla was smiling, her hair flowing wildly against the wind.

That was the day Oscar fell in love with her.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

How fast is too fast?

Time is one thing that constantly surrounds us. We spend our entire day looking at a clock, scheduling our daily activities according to time. And we are continually thinking that it is either moving too fast or too slow. We are either complaining that we don’t have enough hours in the day to do everything we want, or moaning that time is moving too slow and we are bored. For the latter there are many solutions, as you can always find something to do if you are willing. But what about when there is not enough time? Because, honestly, how fast is moving too fast?

Is 60mph too fast? On a highway it is not, but in a residential area it is considered reckless. Is diving into a relationship head over heels from the first month going too fast? It all depends on what you feel, what you’ve been through and where you see everything going. And what about taking decisions at the spur of the moment? Sometimes, being in a hurry leads to really wrong outcomes. But other times, it may lead to the best opportunities you will ever have.

It is all a matter of perspective. Of weighing in your heart and mind the pros and cons of what you do and deciding consciously and decisively what you want to do. Nothing is too fast if you do it in full knowledge of the consequences of your actions. You might regret it later on in time, but that too is an experience. Just imagine how wonderful it would be though if a “fast” decision leads to the most amazing happening of your life. Wouldn’t that make it all worth it?

The empty chair

It feels strange to enter a house, look around, see and feel the presence of the people who live there but know that some of them will never return. It is an odd feeling to look at their favourite objects – like the large armchair that dominates the room, and realise that you will never see them again being there with them. The feeling struck Ariana the minute she walked into the house. She had just said her last goodbye to her grandfather. The grandfather who raised her when her parents were overworking themselves in order to secure a decent living for their family.

She had held on to everything so well throughout the four days of his passing, the funeral service, and the condolences. She had managed to limit the demonstration of her grief to a few tears that escaped from her welled-up eyes. She was holding it all together quite well.

Until that moment when she walked into her grandmother’s house. Her grandmother was either hiding her grief all too well or she had made her peace with everything. After all, she knew better than everyone that this man did not deserve to suffer so much. It was better this way. He was relieved and she was calmer now that he was somewhere better. At peace.

Ariana could not bear to see her grandfather tubed-up. Neither of her grandparents allowed her to visit too often for this reason. It was better that she maintained in her head the image of the strong, resilient and active man who had raised her, who chased after her in the yard when she was small, who surprised her with extravagant gifts from his trips abroad, who consoled her when she was heartbroken, who made her laugh even at the most trivial things. That was the person she should lock up in her memory.

In the middle of the living room, facing the television set, there was a large embroidered armchair. It was her grandfather’s favourite and he had exclusive rights over it. When she was very young, Ariana would crawl up in his arms right in that chair and fall asleep, after which he would carry her to bed, the nights she would stay over. Ariana loved her grandparents to pieces and now a full-grown woman she still felt the need for them to be present in her life. But when she witnessed that empty chair, something instantly cracked inside of her and she stood in the middle of the living room facing the chair, the tears streaming down her cheeks. All her reserved grief suddenly caught up with her. In a silent overwhelming flood of tears.

She placed a single red rose and a large stem of white lilies on the chair, securing that no one would sit there. This was his place and at least for that day it should remain so.

In time, she would manage to view it in a different perspective. But for that day she had to accept that sometimes it is better to grieve and let it all out. In the end, it is all part of the healing process. It helps you move on and never forget.