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Escape to the Glass Egg in the Sky

You never know where your dreams will take you... but you can hope...

By Renessa NortonPublished about a month ago Updated about a month ago 2 min read
Escape to the Glass Egg in the Sky
Photo by Matthew Cooksey on Unsplash

Every night as I drift off to the land of nod, I hope beyond hope that I will have one of two of my frequented dreams. The scenarios change, but the core of the dreams remain steadfast.

In the first, I find myself in an elevator, but it's an elevator of monumental proportions. I'm never allowed inside, but I sneak past the bellhops, the security guards, override the security systems.

3... 2... 1 *LAUNCH*

I soar into the sky like a rocket. And it seems to take forever. My stomach plunges as though I am on a rollercoaster. I'm free at last. Then I arrive at my destination. Sometimes I find myself in a tropical hotel paradise - surrounded by palm trees and lagoons contained under an 80s-style atrium. Other times, I'm atop a glass egged tower, greeted by glittering views of a sprawling metropolis, the city's lights twinkling and winking at me; a reward for having flouted society's rules and made it here despite the obstacles. Just last night, I found myself in a penthouse, trying to catch a murderer who had escaped justice for decades. I just never know what I'll get. Or who I'll be. And then comes time for the descent. I plummet to the ground, before punching that highest number again and shooting back to space, taunting my wannabe captors on the other side of the glass as they try to prevent me from having the ride of my life yet again. Alas...

Then the second. How do I even begin to describe it? I find myself in a myriad of houses, palaces, sprawling apartments. Sometimes they are all of one era; others are an eclectic combination of 1970s with Victorian features and what 1980s films imagined the year 2000 would look like. Rooms appear out of nowhere, I search for a sunken lounge room I had just fallen in love with, only to find it replaced by a gothic cathedral. I find treasures from generations long since expired - a wooden horse whose pullstring still contains the teethmarks of a toddler who is likely a great grandmother by now; love letters between a young couple who may or may not have made it; a diamond brooch in the shape of a poodle who you call Archibald in your mind. Yes, they are just houses, but they seem to represent the possibilities and the limitless existence that we all share. That seemingly static objects can evolve and become anything we want or need them to be.

Sometimes, when I'm lucky, these dreams will meld into one. And I'm torn between being shot into the sky and exploring new plains that exist only in my brain. And then I awake and become that dreadful person who tries to tell people about my dreams, their eyes glazing over as mine dazzle with the reminiscence of the worlds I have walked from the comfort of my cozy bed.

And as I fight sleep with mindless social media scrolling, I remind myself of the adventures that await. All I have to do is close my eyes, reach out my hand and wait for the sandman to come and take me away for another evening of gallivanting in the depths of my own mind.

Stream of ConsciousnessShort StoryFantasy

About the Creator

Renessa Norton

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Comments (1)

  • shanmuga priyaabout a month ago

    Exceptional writting.

Renessa NortonWritten by Renessa Norton

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