Dream Journal: My Dream
I found myself standing in the eerie silence of a dark craftsman house, the air heavy with mystery. The living room revealed itself as a showcase of meticulous trim work – a rich brown in one room and a pristine white in another. It was a house with secrets, and I was about to uncover some of them.
A mysterious voice broke the silence, as a man materialized before me. "Welcome," he said, his tone as enigmatic as the surroundings. "This is the house."
My curiosity piqued, I followed the man as he led me through the house. He spoke in hushed tones, sharing a secret that sent shivers down my spine. "He hid his guns under the trim," he whispered, lifting a piece to reveal a concealed compartment. The revelation painted a different picture of the seemingly ordinary home.
As we continued our tour, the man mentioned the kitchen, a place apparently ravaged by destruction, forcing it to be gutted and redone. The story unfolded like a cryptic narrative, each detail adding to the mysterious atmosphere.
In the midst of the revelation, I couldn't help but share a personal experience. "I painted the fireplace hearth brown," I confessed. "But a strange turquoise color bled through."
The man's gaze intensified, as if he knew more than he let on. "Why were you crying while you painted?" he asked, his voice echoing through the dimly lit rooms.
The question caught me off guard. It was as if the house itself demanded an explanation. "I don't know," I admitted, a chill running down my spine.
The mysterious voice lingered in the air, leaving me with more questions than answers. In that moment, the house seemed to hold its breath, as if it were alive with untold stories. The enigma of the house remained, inviting me to unravel its secrets and confront the inexplicable connection between the tears, the paint, and the concealed mysteries within the trim.
This story was created by one of my dreams
Deedee Jebrail
No comments:
Post a Comment