I get up. My eyes are wide open and my chest is heaving. I don’t understand this, and I am trying to take all of this in. It must be just a dream, right? I mean, it was really magical and unbelievable. Something like that could never happen. The only thing was, that it felt so unbelievably real. As if I was mean to see that. Like it was drawing me closer. I really don’t know what that was, or where in the world that thought came from, but dreams are usually just a reflection of your day or hidden thoughts that you never really notice. It must be all in my head because there is no other suitable explanation. Right?
My whole body is now shaking, from the fear of the vision, or dream. It wasn’t real. No way! I almost slap myself from believing that, when I remember the man, who he was, and what was he meaning to achieve. Although the peculiarity of the dream scared me, I wanted to know more. I wanted to know why I saw that. Was it just some random setting, or did it honestly mean something? Why was I drawn to that?
My body still continues shaking, and I wonder why I am so afraid – I mean, the place was absolutely beautiful, and I honestly wanted to be there. Open my eyes, and be in that land, while I was still awake. There was no reason to be afraid. There was no part of it that threatened me, so why was I acting like this? Why did that have such a huge affect on me? Why couldn’t I regard it as just some dream?
Unable to answer my own questions, I get up from my bed and walk to the dining table. My house is a small cottage and I share the house with my grandmother, who I don’t converse with much. Thankfully, it is still the weekend, so I have time to do what I want. I walk to the fridge and quickly change, grab my breakfast, and head out the door.
Unfortunately, it takes about 20 minutes to bike ride to the nearest shopping area, as we live quite away from the small town that we live in. I grab my bike, which is barely even held together properly, and start cycling through the thick forest. I have slowly carved out a narrow path, clearing out weeds and small plants and laying the dust, and mud out as flat as I possibly could. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.
I needed to get away for here. I need to get to my place the only place that I could be completely free and myself. For me, honestly, ‘home’ is a place where I feel completely unwelcome, as my grandmother normally doesn’t enjoy my company, and often tries to push me out of the house. The only reason she is letting me live here, is because I am still 16, and am not allowed out of parental care until I am completely of age. I spend most of my day completely away from my grandmother’s place whenever it is possible.
I feel a small lump in my throat slowly forming, when I remember the place that I pass by – the place that me mum and dad always used to come to have picnics and birthday parties. It was our place, and I had continued decorating it just the way it was before my parents had passed. There was a large, old and dead tree carved out just like a little home. The bottom trunk was made to resemble a natural hole in the tree, to make sure nobody could realise that it was special, so nothing could take our place. This was ours. Ours only. I get of the bike and got to the small hole in the tree, and push the wood out of place, so I can slip into the place. Inside, there is an immense amount of space and a small kitchen, made by the skilled carpenter – my father. This house still has a cozy feel to it, and I straight away feel like I am at home. It is feels like the cool air had settled to the top of the area, and the warm air came to the bottom – defying all laws of nature.
In a flash, I see my parents, just in front of my eyes, laughing and dancing around – my father playing the guitar and mum and I jumping around, having the time of our lives. I can see mum’s chestnut coloured hair flying around, twirling and swinging, like it had a like of its own. My father smiles and I see the clear crinkles in the corner of his golden eyes, making me feel warmer inside. I look at the picnic my mother prepared once again and it reminds me of the cheesecake that my mum always made for us. When we were happy, sad, nervous, angry or even exited, my father and I would always see a slice of the cake in front of us. I can recapture the taste of the melted cream on my tongue. I smile and embrace the bittersweet feeling.
Suddenly I hear a familiar sound. The first few drops of the rain bring me back into the world, and my parents wash away – the rain fading it into mist. Soon everything is silent, except the sound of the rain falling onto the leaves and dropping onto the dust.
The water and dust mixes, and makes the most heavenly smell that I have ever encountered. I love it. I love the rain. It makes me want to jump around, run around and hell, I even want to dance. I slide the piece of wood out once again and jump out of the tree hole, and I land on the newly wet dirt, splashing it around. Looking up to the sky, I realise that the rain won’t last for too long so I grab my bike and start cycling through my path again.
