Dream's End at Reality's Gate: The Freeway Fare Between Worlds

05 | Cocoon

At last, I was parking at my house's entrance, tilting my head to the side, pursing my lips.

I watched a nearby video billboard video of an elderly couple raising their grandkids, their faces etched with determination. But then, the scene shifted abruptly — people inebriated and gambling, sharing lewd videos, mocking passersby and vandalising property. It was like society seemed blind to its own decay, "...the disordered society is full of loyal patriots..." could be heard from that.

Stepping out of my silent hydrogen ecocar, I'm embraced by the chill of the weather. The gentle hum of the car's power train fades, leaving a sigh that tugs at heart. It's inexplicable, this comfort it brings - a DNA-tuned echo vehicle of a womb's warmth. It isn't nature, but it feels like an integral part of me.

I looked at my house from here, with a remark; lived surrounded by large portholes of glass and wooden beams; hanging from a flying slung roof. The entryway had a pit designed to help us take off our shoes before entering. The door was clueless about me, so I had to shove my face into the camera for it to scan me and unlock.

"A double-story building of concrete, wood, glass and stone," I muttered to myself. The garden was beautiful, with quaint stones and weather-worn trinkets artfully arranged in such a way that you could appreciate the rustic beauty of the imperfections found in nature.

"Welcome home, Mari," chirped the door panel as it slid open. "How was your journey outside?"

"Uneventful," I muttered.

My vehicle automatically finished parking itself in the garage.

My house was modest and cosy, the perfect place to come back to after a long day of riding. Starting from here, it is easy to embark on a journey to the far reaches of the universe or beyond.

The air breathes of fresh soil and tree moss. Sunlight shines through the entrance with its warm and yellow tint to it.

Ada and Joanne, my caregivers, downsized to a cosy place a while back. I miss their constant presence in our once-shared home. When kids grow up, many caregivers prefer smaller nests, leaving the bigger ones for us to pursue our own families.

I went to my room, passing through the living room and glancing at the kitchen. I checked the time while sitting on my bed. Late noon.

My quarters were neater than my attire, a mechanic's life doesn't lend itself well to vanity. A plush ivory rug underfoot, walls painted a soft mint hue, and furnishings draped in deep emerald. It was my petite haven of polished wood, fragrant with a subtle aroma—akin to sunlit snowflakes or the iridescence within pearls.

On full moon nights, my bedroom windows could turn see-through with special sensors. This would light bright enough to see my bed, furniture, and clothes chair. Smaller sections of the walls were triangles of exposed brick, and its ceiling was a white-out sky with perfect stars and blue-green satellite webs. Ada and Joanne taught me to see things differently. They viewed our house as a tangram, a puzzle for the routines we could shape as we desired.

I stripped off my garments to take a shower, then after, pulled on a short-sleeved blouse and shorts, a bit too short if to receive unfamiliar folks.

"Hmmm" breaths catching in my chest. I know this city is here for me to make amends for yesterday's wrongs, but It also hinders the tomorrow. Standing at this crossroads, uncertainty fills my mind about the road ahead, yet I feel as if every step has been predetermined.

"Open the ceiling, please" I requested.

I could see birds soaring, blurring into one another as they flew across the sky. I understood that going on means going far, but also returning when necessary, greatness comes from having it all but understanding when it's time to let go and start anew. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, listening to the sound of cicadas singing outside in harmony with birds' song.