Midnight Tales: A Collection Of Short Stories

The Dream

I looked around at the tall buildings. They stood tall and mighty, like indestructible trees made out of iron and concrete. I gazed at the wispy clouds floating overhead. They looked like little ships of mist drifting off to places I might never get to. I looked down at the pavement, at the grass and at the dandelions which grew on the concrete's cracks. I took in a deep breath, exhaling loudly afterwards.

The buildings, the clouds, the sky, the pavement, the grass, the dandelions, all of them were the colour of ash.

I grazed the sides of a building as I walked past it. It felt rough and soft at the same time. Like the feeling of running my palms on the surface of a peanut filled jelly. It felt weird. I took my hand and put it in my pocket, continuing to walk to wherever my feet may wish to take me.

I turned the corner and entered the park. This place too, is the colour of ash. The trees, the grass, the flowers, the water in the pond and the lilies, the leaves scattered on the ground, none of them have any colour.

They began to move.

They began to move as if harsh and heavy wind blew on them without warning. But my hair remained still, and I didn't feel any wind on my cheeks. I watched the leaves dance for a while before continuing on. I have seen a bench not far from where I stood and my feet hurt from all the walking I did.

I reached the bench and sat down with a huff. I looked to my side and I saw it. A tree.

But not just any tree. Unlike all the other trees in the park, this one felt different, and looked different too. This tree seemed to glow.

This tree seemed to sing.

This tree . . . it has colour. A hearty orange and red colour. It's body is similar to an orange, but a one of the main branches appeared to be an apple. Two different trees combined into one.

The longer I stared at it the longer I felt at peace. The more I stayed near it, the more I heard the things around me. I heard the babbling of the small fountain at the edge of the pond. I heard the swishing of the grass beneath my feet. I heard the whistling of the wind and felt it too. It felt like a warm embrace after a long day of hard work, like the kiss of a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter's day.

In the midst of my wonderment, I heard it. A voice, but it isn't mine. It sounded far too deep to be mine. It sounded near yet far, like the speaker is beside me and far from me at the same time.

It said words to me.

'What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here. It's not your time yet.'

I looked around, wondering who could have said such words, but found nobody.

'Leave,' it said again.

I jolt up, looking around frantically. I'm in my room and it's already morning.