Warm Feelings and Smell of Cinnamon

Snow crunches and crinkles under my boots. Fur from the collar of my coat brushes against my cheek as a smooth breeze flows by. I look out into the valley, down at all the little dollhouses that seem as if they're conversing together below. I study the slope of the mountain, the sparkling white of snow giving way to vibrant greenery. Pink clouds powder the warm sky. The giant sun lowers to take a rest, giving the many moons a chance to shine. I fumble in my coat pocket and pull out a little notebook, flipping to my newest page. I cross off 'Climb Mount Harvey'. One more mission accomplished. I pull out my camera from my little leather messenger bag and take a picture of the sunset over the vast valley. My stomach grumbles, I can feel the void of hunger overtaking it. I start to tread down the mountain towards all the little dollhouses.

Lively colors illuminate incredibly detailed trees. I can hear the beautiful trickling of rolling water, the crinkles of fallen leaves. I'm overtaken by the wonderful smell of someone's campfire, I think they're having some sort of pork tonight. The nature in this world... it's so much better than the real thing. The weather is always perfect when it varies depending on where you are. In the mountains, it's always snowy, like the dwarven kingdoms of Shaw and Durin. In the vast plains of farmers, it always seems to be harvest season, reds and oranges on leaves everywhere. Even in the places it does rain, like Oriland, it's always just pleasant patters over your clothes, and it's never an uncomfortable kind of cold.

As I come upon the dollhouses, they turn into homes, shops, gathering places of the community. I can hear happy conversations behind doors, warm lights from shaded windows. I come upon an inn, an almond-brown wooden sign engraved with a pillow hanging above the door. I push open the door and a joyful bell rings, welcoming me in.

An elf, all cozy in a knitted sweater, greets me, "Welcome to my inn!" She looks so cheerful, her smile as warm and cozy as hot chocolate on a frozen winter evening. "Can I get you something?"

"Looking for a room, and..." I catch a sweet smell under my nose, "is that cinnamon cider?"

"That it is. Would you like a mug as I prepare you a room?"
The sweet cinnamon apple scent seemed so delicious, how could I say no? "Please, if you don't mind."

"Not at all!" She walks off to grab me a mug. I take a glance around at the people gathered here. Around the fire are two friends, both halflings. They banter with each other, grinning with glee. There was also a pair of humans romantically flirting with rosy red cheeks, and a group of three hysterically laughing over some dwarf with terrible fashion sense they had seen. Everyone here seemed too joyful to interrupt, so I decided to sit alone. No mind, though, I enjoy a warm loneliness, just observance and my own thoughts.

The little elf innkeeper brought me my cider, "I've made you a room just down the hall, second door to the left." I begin to pull out my small coin bag, but she waves it away, "Don't worry about any payment, just enjoy your stay."

That's what I like so much about small towns. No one charges for anything - there's no need to in a world like this, after all. In another region, perhaps, capitalism will prevail; but not in cozy towns like this one. Everyone is so happy that they've found their perfect niche, money isn't even on their conscience. It's just so... perfect.

When my mug of cider has gone dry, I stroll down to my room and plop down onto the bed. The blankets were the softest I'd ever felt, the pillows seemed to just be clouds. It feels so warm and welcoming that it brings back vivid memories of my mom singing me lullabies. I can feel the rocking of her chair, back and forth, as a smaller version of myself falls asleep. Sadly, the emptiness in my stomach keeps me from slipping into the sweetest of dreams. Reluctantly, I pause the game, log off, and the warm feelings and cinnamon smells are stripped away from me as I start to sink into the darkest depths of the ocean...

... I reach up and pull off my headset, taking in a heavy sigh. The only thing to welcome me is the cold slate grey of my ceiling, illuminated by neon signs advertising toothpaste and coca-cola outside. Instead of cinnamon, all my nose can take in is the smell of clothing left in the washer that I still haven't re-washed and dried. I sit up out of my bed and drag my hands down my face. It takes almost all of my will to slump out of my bed and towards my kitchen - I could already feel my headset pulling me back. My fridge is cold to the touch, and as I open it, a flickering white light struggles to come on. The shelves are near bare, just a few frozen meals trying their hardest to look appealing, but failing to meet any sort of standard. I take a random pick; it all tastes near the same anyway, like soggy cardboard. I end up pulling out a parmesan pasta. I tear open the stubborn little box, peel off the corner of plastic covering, and carelessly toss it into the microwave. I hit the one-minute express button and it shutters itself on. I close my eyes, and the struggling microwave hum begins to sink into the ocean... I surface again and begin to hear the warm song of a lute player, music notes dancing around the ears of all who listen. He sings of a tale of a lonesome guard, hoping one day to become a mighty knight. He dances, charismatically swaying around on the stage. Every day he watches knight practice in the courtyard, longing to be one of them, out fighting for his country...

Harsh beeps tear me back into my apartment. I pull out my meal and sit down at my little dining table, if you can even call it that. It lacks memory, lacks color. Just a small, round slab of grey, crowded with scratches collected over the years and little nicks around the edge. Everything here is so monotonous, so lacking. I remember being young, springing with every step. Chasing after girls and skipping school... but reality had to hit someday. The second that moment hit, I already knew I had to escape this, escape the repetition of my office day job. Run away from Karen's daily wailing about her most recent breakup, broken heel, lost makeup, sluggish drive through worker, talkative Uber driver; the list goes on. The need to forget about impossible deadlines and rushing to crunch this month's sales numbers.

I glance down at my pasta, barley eaten. One bite and I've already lost my appetite. It feels as if I'm drowning in despair from the meaningless world around me. I throw it away, adding to a mountain of half-eaten microwave meals. I walk back over to my bed, gravitating towards the headset. I lie down, pull it over my head, and log back on. The warm feelings and smell of cinnamon fill up my senses, the darkness of the ocean falling below me as I float to a surface of wonderful colors.