This prose is my entry for the Dream World I contest by Myko. (I recommend following their work).
The clock reaches five p.m.: Time to punch out and go home. A silent plea for strength this evening murmurs in his mind as the car’s engine revs up. With a sigh, Keith latches his buckle before heading home. The economy hasn’t been kind to him, so he still lives with his family at 23. There’s been a compromise that works in everyone’s benefit: he gets to stay home, and things get done around the house. After work, the not-so-wayward son cares for the pets his younger siblings tend to overlook and finishes any straggling dishes before Mom makes dinner.
A silent plea wouldn’t be necessary for the average person to accomplish these things after work, but Keith has been different, lately. He needs more strength to focus and take care of himself, much less others. Eating is a chore; added work makes his skin crawl; smiling churns his stomach.
And yet, he swallows his nausea to say hi to everyone when he steps through the door. Then, he’s off to his room to put away his wallet and take a moment to breathe. In… and out. The air feels thick in his nose, like a humid summer day. Had he left a window open? Once he looks around, his wallet is gone. So is his bed, closet and walls.
The young man felt that he wasn’t in his room anymore, despite not being able to see what’s in front of him. A dense fog envelops him as if it were a vacuum devouring his home. He waves the air in vain, squinting his eyes in search for tell-tale shadows to get his bearings. The ground beneath him is soft and dark; the soil loose and damp. When had he gone outside his room?
Three steps forward, then three more. At least the foggy path was clear thus far. As he walks further, the mist lessens, and the area resembles an open field. Just before a shape appears from the lack of haze, Keith swivels his head in search of his house. It couldn’t be seen where he was standing. Continuing in the same direction would keep him from walking in circles, so he chooses to tread onward. Although bewildering, it was a subconscious relief from the cacophony of arguing kids, distracting news programs, clanking dishes and barking dogs. Everything was still except him— for a change.
A mushroom stalk stands tall before him as it appears through the fog, his head following its length to see the glowing gills above turn the misty air into lavender smog. He lets his palm rub across the stem’s surface: Smooth as a fungi to the touch, but as wide and steady as a looming sequoia. The towering toadstool opens itself to him like a blooming flower, the stalk’s cavern lined with frilled skirting as it pulls back to reveal a stairwell.
Its indoor treads gleam teal as the overhead gems radiate with light, like a treasured mine waiting to be discovered. There was no point in venturing back into the fog when Keith could clearly see the path ahead of him. His fingers slide across the rimming petals as he steps forward, wading onto the aquatic-colored stairs. He could see the bottom from where he stood; the room’s glow shifting from blue-green to a coppery yellow light. Although the flight was lengthy, his ankles don’t tire out. The crick in his neck, sore back and mind-numbing headache from the draining day all begin subside as he focuses on his surroundings. His lips part in awe as he looks up to gaze at the twinkling jewels lodged in the earthy ceiling, letting his feet rest. A soft hum rattles the soles of his shoes as the scene continues to move like a rolling stage. The stairs were traveling for him.
After briefly acknowledging this feat, his amber eyes linger above to admire the minerals. They seem to hold a galaxy in each as their reflections dance to the rhythm of his descending perspective. The walled sky becomes less natural as the packed soil merges with marble: Dark slate with streams of blue, purple and gold flowing through it. The emulating escalator reaches its end, and Keith’s feet step onto the mosaic floor as he looks ahead. Portals, all framed in arrayed tell-tale previews of what they hold line the endless hall.
The guest of this silent hall doubted the integrity of these warps, thinking they were an elaborate facade. The existence of wormholes seemed impossible; and yet, here he was. A sheet of waving light to his left, confined by an arch of mountainous rock jutting and sloping around its entryway, catches his attention. The sight reminds him of a time with no responsibilities; a summer spent in the Alps when he was a boy. Could he go back to such a time?
Slowly sticking his hand through the weightless screen, he feels something other than the wall behind it. Waving his wrist, the air of this unknown beyond is crisp; cool yet refreshing. Withdrawing his hand, the young man finds his forearm in one piece. Surely this was good enough reason as any to pass through.
He does just so; entering a place that made his eyes feel like cameras capturing a cinematic scene. His feet crunch into packed snow, now snug in a pair of pelted, watertight boots. In fact, Keith’s attire completely changes to accommodate the new climate, as if it were a welcoming gift for this new world’s guest. To the right of his feet lies a stoned path, the smooth rocks peeking above a snowy blanket. He looks ahead a moment longer to admire the valley far below, the coniferous canopy glazed with sparkling ice. If the wind were to blow, it sounded like rattling chimes made from the icicles. There was no telling how high he was, much less the name of the mountain on which he stood. He can't stand still, however; lest he wishes to freeze. Turning to his right, Keith follows the winding inclined path, the dusted stones leading him.
As the sun begins its descent, a flickering glow from oil lanterns start to appear, sparsely hung on frozen branches. Surely that meant civilization. The thought of other people doesn't exactly excite this traveler, but perhaps those who reside here aren't as overbearing as those in his harrowed hometown. The idea of shelter, though, appeals to him. He picks up the pace, brailling the unaltered snow. Watching the ground ahead, the hiker notices pawprints crossing the trail. His eyes widen and he pauses in suspense; these tracks were the length of his foot and nearly the width of his face, bearing claws on each toe. Wherever shelter may be, he feels a need to get there faster.
Just beyond the next winding bend, steam waves into the air from a stemming footpath. Finally breaking from the cobbled guide, Keith starts a new trek on a narrow passage leading to a new scene. The silence becomes noticeable as the static in his mind ceases, leaving only his conscience and paced crunches in the snow. A mound of white catches his eye, and he looks over towards it. Ten yards away, among the icy wood, stands a creature he'd never seen before. A four-legged, heavy coated mammal stares back at Keith with its green eyes. He couldn't tell if it was a wolf-like bear or a bear-like wolf. Regardless, its stature alone beat either one by a landslide. Its breath huffs like smoke, clouding his horizon. In spite of every intimidating feature it had, its glowing gaze and twitching ears somehow assured security.
The beast blinks at its watcher before dipping its head to dive further into the mountain, leaving Keith to continue his journey. Minutes later, he finds a respite for the freezing: a warm, quaint spring. He kneels at an edge, dipping his fingers into the water. The heat thaws his hands as he pushes them deeper, getting the ends of his sleeves wet. He groans in relief and flutters his eyes, waving his palms in the fount. A quiet giggle breaks the silence, his gaze shooting towards the source of whatever found this funny. A pair of hazel eyes and a soft, slender yet rounded nose peek just above the pond; an auburn bob splaying like feathers around the woman's face. Once she realizes she's noticed, her torso surfaces as she stands waist-deep in water.
"Check your pockets," is all she says, dipping her head toward Keith's coat with a knowing grin. He tilts his head, shaking off his hands before sliding them inside the pelted jacket. Sure enough, he pulls out a pair of thick, dappled mitts. "Thanks," he mumbles, putting them on and standing upright. The soaked advisor wades to the shallows, hurriedly drying with a towel before grabbing a fur robe to cover her body for warmth. Keith's gaze follows her form as he approaches, "So, it's... Getting dark out. Is there any shelter around?" The lady turns toward him, raising her chin to look him in the eyes. Her focus shifts between his question and the sky, as if discovering for herself that night approaches. She nods, “Yes, there is. May I have your name, first? Mine’s Jocelyn.” Her shoulders roll back, arms tucked around her hips to hold the coat tight to her wet frame. Swishing her damp locks, they gather and twirl at the ends and scatter droplets on her clothes.
“Sure, I’m Keith. It’s- nice to meet someone out here,” he admits, dipping his head in greeting before taking a few steps back in anticipation for Jocelyn to lead the way. “Yeah,” replies she, “I haven’t met anyone with a modern name yet. I guess everyone else here are locals”. Putting on shoes similar to his own, she starts her way back to the stone Keith left out of curiosity. At least he found a helping hand while getting sidetracked.
The white landscape begins to shimmer from the lack of bright sun, reflecting the moonlight to make stars out of snowflakes. Everything felt easier to look at although it grew harder to see. The duo continue their ascent in silence, both lost in their own thoughts- or lack thereof. Another wide path veers inward from the slope; a flaming glow beckoning from the windows of a turf hut. Keith begins to trot towards the entrance, another amused giggle sounding behind him. Once inside, he’s warmly welcomed with a healthy fire framed in smooth rock. Contrary to its organic exterior, the hut looked like a polished cabin inside.
Eagerly shedding his mitts, the young man scurries to the hearth to heat his hands and face. “Did you start this before you left,” he wonders aloud, briefly looking over his shoulder. Jocelyn shakes her head, “It’s always been here, and never goes out”. Dumbfounded by her words, Keith turns around and heats up his backside as he faces her. “This has always been here? Why doesn’t it go out,” he asks, his inquiry turning into more questions than answers. She simply shrugs, “From what I know, yes. And I don’t know why.” Her gaze wanders to an empty space as she confesses, “This place is… different.”
The house’s newest addition shakes his head, “No kidding”. Passing a glance at the window, he spots a figure moving in the dusk outside. Abandoning his post at the fire, he stops at the glass to meet his honorary protector again. The wolf, three times the size of a polar bear, faces towards the valley; raising its head to begin a bellowing howl. Jocelyn jumps only for a moment, her eyes soon closing to take in the animal’s melody. “That’s Amarok,” she explains with an elevated voice. “He guards Rarity Range, the mountains we’re on.” Keith can hear her, but his attention his completely stolen by the amarok’s cry, the call forming a lump in his throat. It was beautiful; majestic; mysterious and heartwarming all at once. He could feel this feral’s message.
Once the howl was over, Jocelyn speaks up again, “Make yourself at home; I’m going to go shower and dry off. Get into my normal clothes.” The man swallows his lump, nodding at the hostess with a gentle smile. She disappears, followed by the sound of streaming water. He takes a self-guided tour of the place: finding enticing bookshelves, plush chairs, soft blankets, an inviting kitchen and a well lit space throughout. The crackle of the indoor fire fills his heart with serenity.
Someone else will have to wash dishes back home tonight.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
