Scream Come True
Dreamworld is beautiful.
The east is covered in rolling green hills with scattered lakes and streams. There are villages here and there and every now and again there is a large and beautiful Victorian house or a castle. The south is nothing but ocean -beautiful blue ocean- bordered by a pristine beach and dotted with a thousand outlying islands. A pure paradise. West is a forest of autumn trees, frozen in the vivid colours of fall.
Seasons never change in Dreamworld. In the east it is always spring. The south is nothing but summertime. The west is always in autumn.
Winter is reserved for the most beautiful part of Dreamworld. The mountains and pine forest that dominate the northern skyline. They are perfect. Their silhouette, outlined by beautiful amber sunrise or by sapphire blue, is more than art. There is not an artist's rendition of anything in the world that even comes close to comparison.
In Dreamworld, there is no pain. There is no suffering and no heartache. No one you love ever dies in Dreamworld. Anyone you've ever lost in the waking world comes back to you in Dreamworld just exactly as they were in your fondest memories of them.
In short, Dreamworld is perfect.
The only imperfect thing about Dreamworld…
-No matter how much you dread it-
You have to leave Dreamworld…
Usually with the rising sun.
For me, these awakenings have never been particularly pleasant. Usually I can only stand leaving Dreamworld and my family if I have coffee. Coffee is what makes my day bearable since I lost everyone in my family other than my little sister, Annica.
True, waking up was usually not a good experience, but it was particularly heinous that morning in August.
That morning, I received a particularly peculiar and rude awakening in the form of the friendly neighborhood hobo. He was standing over me, half decayed and gnawing on my right arm. Great. A zombie hobo was chewing on me. This was just going to be one of those days.
I couldn't very well leave him chewing on me, so I drew back my foot from under the covers and aimed at his nose. In retrospect, I suppose the nose wasn't exactly the best target, and perhaps I kicked him a little too hard, but it got him off. I think I should have kicked a little lighter, seeing as there was a loud SNAP and down he went, dead as a doornail, onto my bedroom floor, but what happened, happened, and now there was a previously-undead-looking-currently-RE-dead hobo on my floor in front of my closet. Gross. Plus there was the fact that my arm -the one that was chewed by Mr. Hobo- was bleeding the Nile all over my good sleep shirt.
I really needed coffee now, but first things first. I needed to wrap the arm before the stain spread to more than just the sleeve. So I held the wound and dragged myself into the bathroom to run cold water over my right arm while my left rummaged through the medicine cabinet for bandages.
A half-hour later, I emerged with a newly mummified arm wrapped from wrist to elbow in gauze and purple medical tape. I strode back into my room, stepped over the hobo, and opened my closet.
Nothing fancy. Jeans. Purple shirt. Socks. Black boots. A simple combination. I still hadn't gotten rid of the hobo, so I decided to change in the bathroom and a few minutes later, I emerged dressed and well groomed.
On my way through the living room to the kitchen, I bumped into the still empty magazine rack that I had gotten from my fiancé the previous Christmas. It fell over, so I stepped over it; fresh, hot, dark coffee being my only thought.
The kitchen was immaculate as always. Counters perfect, small appliances organized on them by purpose then alphabetically, cabinets pristine, and the coffee canister sitting in its place next to the pot. Finally. Hot, caffeinated justice.
I walked over to the counter where it sat. The tension was building. I would finally have peace in this hell of a morning. My breath caught in my throat as I reached for the coffee container. Not even undead hobos could stop me now.
I opened the canister…..
What wafted up to greet me…..
Disappointment and the feeling that some cosmic force within the universe was out to ruin my morning. It was empty. No coffee. Lovely. My heart hit the floor and then continued sinking past the basement. I trudged back towards the living room.
I hadn't made it three feet from the door when I tripped over the magazine rack. My head hit the coffee table and the world went black. The universe was DEFINITELY out to ruin my morning.