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The House of My Literal Dream

Dream Journal Poetry, Vol. II

By Orion J. ZedPublished 6 months ago 3 min read
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The House of My Literal Dream
Photo by Romeio Paul on Unsplash

Deciding to explore the place properly, I notice an ad for a restaurant called PASTA!, and figure now’s as good a time as any for a late lunch…

“No,” I tell myself in my familiar, yet presently silent, inner voice, “I have a duty to my family, which must always take priority before having fun.”

Meeting with my Dad and brother, we make our way to the hotel where Mum is apparently located…

Suddenly, the door opens, revealing a cheerful, sophisticated woman, her vibrant, neon-accented indigo outfit a mix of entrepreneuse, air hostess, and free spirit of the 1960s, and her hair in a tight bun reminiscent of a chestnut…

“You must be the Zeds. Welcome. Your wife and mother is already here.”

In stark contrast to the colourful, yet classy, visage of our chaperone is a long, dreary hallway: grey walls with even greyer colouration beneath layers of peeling paint, and décor with a vibe of Ancient Greek temple-meets-the dingy Undercity of Ravnica…

The woman stops us a few doors in and smiles to my father and brother…

“This is where you’ll find her. We hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

As Dad and Bro enter the room, the woman turns to me and beckons with a warm, very motherly tone, making the contrast all the more apparent…

“Come along. Your place is just ahead.”

Unsure as to what my place will be like, with only this dreary, one way corridor in every direction filling my vision, I can hardly fill in the gaps with any form of “too good to be true” mental image, if not to stave off the chance of disappointment…

“You know, guests don’t pay for rooms at this hotel,” the woman chimes with the same motherly tone, “rather, we let Nature do the work for us.”

The insistence on the word “nature,” in a way that almost sounds as though referring to a person’s name…

“And here’s the door to your house,” the woman directs my attention to a set of double doors on the far side of the hallway, “we’ll need to take an elevator the rest of the way there.”

Opening the doors, the woman and I step inside, she with translucent indigo clipboard held tightly to her torso, I with backpack and satchel slung tightly to my own gentle giant bod…

“And here you’ll see the convenience mart above us,” the woman directs my attention through transparent walls to a gentleman in coveralls mopping the floor of a 7-Eleven style business, then points and whispers, “between you and me, the real fun is in the corner just above the frozen puddings over there.”

All I can manage amid the anticipation of what awaits at the top is a small nod and a gingerly tentative smile…

“And… here we are,” says the woman as the elevator slowly reaches the top of the shaft, leaving me in disbelief of the sight now unfolding…

An enormous, mezzanine-styled open plan living area, with a minimalist aesthetic, timber flooring, and huge windows letting in plenty of sunlight.

In one corner, a fully stocked café bar with a hilariously apt pun for a name.

In another corner, a dark-trimmed hangout lounge area with a group of my friends chatting and chillaxing.

In a third corner, an entertainment nook as a continuation of the hangout, though currently unused due to the housewarming party taking place.

In the fourth corner, a sun-drenched staircase to yet another level of this unbelievable, perfect-for-me home.

Between the café bar and hangout area, a double-doorway to a gorgeous patio, with the colourful cyan ripple of a pool clearly visible in its centre.

Between the hangout area and gaming nook, a kitchenette with every possible convenience a modern kitchen needs… and a retro-themed popcorn machine.

Between the gaming nook and stairs, the main entrance to this amazing home, leaving me wondering what I did to deserve such a beautiful place.

Between the stairs and café bar, a separate lounge area for everyday use, including a flatscreen TV tuned to a sports channel by yet more friends.

As I once more draw back to the angst and loneliness of the waking world, in the knowledge that this glimpse of a literal dream house is to be replaced by harsh reality, I memorise the pun name of the café bar as my one keepsake of this shoulda-woulda-coulda abode…

WHAT THE FRACK

nature poetry
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About the Creator

Orion J. Zed

You’ve heard of the Many Worlds Theory? Well, Orion J. Zed has imagined hundreds of worlds in his creative endeavours, many of which are documented in some form.

He rarely refers to himself in the third person other than “About Me” sections.

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