03-21-2010

This is an actual dream segment. It is not in great detail, but it was so vivid I wanted to get most of it down!


Start Fiction:

As I climbed the stairs, I took note of the masterfully crafted banister, the intricate paneling on the walls and the firm, wide steps. The staircase had all the makings of a Victorian age home, but it all seemed so new; so fresh.

It wasn't until I reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the rest of the house did I realize it had been nearly gutted by fire.

A dream, for sure, I told myself. I looked back down the stairs; still unscathed. Most of the damaged materials from the fire had already been cleared out, and the house was ready for the beginnings of a great remodel of a classic structure.

But what was this place?
Why am I here?
Why do I have a sense if ownership to this property?
How did I not smell the chared remains?

I walked back down the stairs minding the chared remains. How did I miss that? I asked myself as I stepped on to the landing of the second floor.

A white door stood before me. I did not notice the door or landing on my way up the stairs. Strange. The door was white, clean, yet the trim was blackened and scratched.

I continued down the stairs to the main floor and stepped outside. There were a dozen people feverishly constructing a new landscape.

I reached the sidewalk and turned back to the house. The exterior was pristine.

Odd.

How could the exterior, yard and staircase be pristine, yet the rest of the house was destroyed?

I would ask someone, but no one will make eye contact with me. Do they even know I am here?

Oy.

End Fiction.