On Account of Dreams: Chapter 3

The crack in the door revealed more people who were foreign to me all gathered around a small stoned fireplace.  The mantle was formed by one large piece of wood that was rounded with age and appeared smooth.  The chairs surrounding the fireplace were roughly built.  Each had four legs that were made of logs that still had bark on them.  The seats were made of wood covered in leather tatted on with rough nails.  If I have described the chairs as being rough, I must to describe each of the characters who laughed and carried on about the fireplace as being equally rough if not more so.

Holiday Fireplace Art Photograph - HausofAriella

The short main with the silver hair and beard was standing closest to the fireplace.  He seemed to be serving some drink that was being heated by the fireplace.  With the fireplace to his left, the man to his right had a scraggly red beard, piercing brown eyes, and was dressed from head to toe in leather that had been worn and aged until it looked as comfortable as a pair of cotton pants.  The man sitting to his right and closest to the door was unlike any man I had ever seen before.  His hair was almost black yet it looked more like the darkest purple imaginable.  His fingernails were stark white and his hands were covered in gloves with no fingers.  I could just barely see the side of his face.  It looked rigid and wise yet jolly and peaceful.  What a strange man!

The last two were seated to the right side of the fire.  They both had brown hair and were almost unremarkable.  Each was dressed in what seemed like noble attire.  The one sitting closest to the fire had a gentle voice when he spoke, but could easily blend in anywhere, even in Perkins.  The second man with brown hair had a smoother face, no beard.  He was the youngest person there.  I felt like he was familiar to me.  No, how could I have met this person dressed up like a historic nobleman?  How could I know anyone from this strange place?

I got over my fear of the unknown just as the man with the silver hair took his seat closest to the fire.  Until then, I had not noticed the empty seat sitting to the right of the fire.  I opened the door bravely and entered the room that also felt like a cave on the interior.  The walls curved inward at the tops and rounded back down the floor.  The color surprised me though; it was almost a light green.

All five men stood up at my entrance.  They looked delighted, almost excited, to see me.  Again I had this strange feeling of familiarity, as if I expected their reaction.  Deep inside, I almost felt a genuine gladness fill my soul as I saw their faces light up.  What connection am I feeling with five people I have never met before in my life?  But I had not yet considered my dreams.

On Account of Dreams: Chapter Two

Perchance, I got ahead of myself as I jumped straight into my account of dreams.  Begging your pardon, I did not even introduce myself.  My name is Gable Matterson.  I live on the corner of Hinkle and Broad, perhaps you have seen the building.  Of course, that is where I consider myself to have lived, before the dream, before my account.

As I was saying, I was weary from sleeplessness and was showering to fight this state when I began my dream.  Not that I fell asleep though one normally begins their dreams in slumber.  I pulled back the curtain of the shower and before me was my bathroom, but not my bathroom.

The sink was not the white porcelain that I was expecting, but instead it was stone.  The water that came from the faucet was actually more like a fountain than a traditional spout.  My bath mat was replaced by luscious green grass.  Thank goodness I still seemed to be in a state of privacy, but the walls were not the tile that I left behind in my own bathroom, but rather a granite appearance, rough and broken.

Instead of my towel, a woven blanket hung on a branch that came out of the granite by the shower.  Oh, but I had not noticed that the shower was now a waterfall that fell from the side of the room down into a stream that ran along the side of the room and disappeared into a hole in the floor quite a few feet away.  The room was like a room, but slightly like a cave.  I then looked for the door and found an intricately carved wooden door that reminded me of both Celtic knots and Moorish designs that I had once seen in a theatre.

Not wishing to be caught unawares, I took the woven blanket and threw it around my shoulders.  The room was surprisingly warm considering the surrounding stone.  It was then that I realized the water was actually heating the room.  Steam rose from the stream bed.  I could not have chosen a better time to wrap myself in the blanket for through the door, the door in my dream, a person entered the room.

“Oh my!” I stated as I was surprised by the person entering, puzzled as to my surroundings, and concerned about my current state of affairs.

“Ah, so you have arrived, my lad!” exclaimed the rather short man who did not look at all surprised at my being in this room.

“Arrived? I was taking a shower at my apartment and when I pulled back the shower curtain I was in this room.  How did I arrive anywhere?” I asked pensively for my confusion was growing as I grew more awake, or was I awake at all?

“There will be plenty of time to answer those questions!  Are you ready to come out and meet your visitors?” questioned the man who was still quite jolly and nonchalant about the whole matter.

“Am I ready? What visitors? I don't even have any clothes on!” My questions and apprehension abounded at this new turn of events.  How in Covington could I have visitors when I myself am hardly where I am?

“Oh, indeed.  You do need clothes.  Right you are!” The man with the short stature pulled me out of the room into the adjoining room, which to my relief appeared to be a dressing room.

“Let’s see . . . you will need a sword.  Here is a baldric.  Let me see if I can find a pauldron for your shoulders . . .” carried on the little man as if I were not even in the room.

“Excuse me!” I interrupted, “A sword?  A baldric?  I don’t even know what a baldric is!  Nor a pauldron.  May I simply have a pair of pants, shirt, and underclothes?  Shoes would be fantastic as well!”

“Simmer down, lad.  You will get your pants too, don’t you worry!” He then grabbed a wad of clothing and threw it at me. “Dress yourself and we’ll get you suited up rightly after you come upstairs.”

The small man with silver hair and a grey beard left the room abruptly.  I was left holding what appeared to be clothes, but I was happy that I was excused for the meantime from the sword and caldric . . . or was it paldric?  Never mind, at least I was free from the leather and metal items in which he was about to outfit me.

I quickly dressed myself in the seemly antique garments.  Though I was confused on how to arrange a few, I was still able to make them fit adequately.  There was a standing mirror by the wall closest to the bathroom where I had entered, so I looked at my new attire.  Surely I looked like some medieval rogue!  I put aside my concern and utter confusion to make my way up the small staircase on the left side of the room.  At the top of the stairs, I paused, peering into a small crack of light that shone through the door.

- To Be Continued -

On Account of Dreams: Chapter 1

Of dreams I will relate though this method of communication is so impersonal that when you are to read this account you are likely to be detached utterly from what is spoken.  On account of dreams I write.  This account I tell you.  Only you.

Dreams, of course, are expected to be experienced within the state of sleep.  Most find themselves intrigued of vivid colors, poignant episodes, and violent ends all within a state of rest or what one might wish to call rest.  You would expect then, of course, for this account to differ in no way from the typical expression that most simpletons try to relate after rousing from their slumber.  Wrongly you supposed.

I attempted sleep.  Surely I did.  Hours of restless turning and looking at the clock again.  And yet again.  The night was so dark and the numbers radiated from the clock as if they were hanging mid air.  Blasted clock.  So I threw a pillow at it landing both in the floor.

Finding it hopeless to hope for sleep, I arose slowly placing both feet into my luscious rug.  It was times such as these I pleasured at my withholding no expense in the decor of my bedroom.  Who wishes to wake during the night to plop ones feet onto icy, cold tile?  None that I know.  Given up entirely on the prospect of rest, I decided that opposing sleep seemed the next logical option.  Throwing garments this way and that, I approached the shower basking in the bright light, hot water, and steam that followed.

Most would agree that between the bright lights, the shock of water, and the general act of cleaning oneself, it should be impossible to fall asleep in the shower.  Therefore, it is my belief, I did not.  I never shut my eyes; well, perhaps for one moment.

-To Be Continued-