Evil Eye (Dream)
August 31, 2007
Dream the night I got home.
I had to bring Gordy to my dorm. We had a plan. It was very important that we got in before it closed, so that we would have some time to talk, alone.
We walk quickly through the building, passing all the white walls, thick hallways, and ornately and out of place levels. The gates always looked like something from lost garden, not something that was electronically carded and in a very modern building.
Finally we arrive at the top level. The roof. We are both relieved because it’s often conspicuous here when you bring a guest. Most people don’t when the night is late like this.
The door man is just about to close the gate to the sky level, but when make it just in time as I quickly explain that I’m bringing gordy as a guest. We slip in between the partially closed gate and as the guard begins to protest saying that he, "will not open it again," and that "if we go in we do not come out", gordy replies, “yes, yes I’m staying, I’m staying.” I felt almost astonished, at the forwardness, and very grateful.
We walk around the to my entrance, passing the kitchen, which is the first room to go through. We passed the chef, the nicest person in the whole complex, who I wished under different circumstances, could befriend gordy.
We walk along the path, studded with strange slabs of brightly colored stones, around the maze of open-air offices, until we reached my modest little gate. The whole wall that surrounded my section of the sky level was short and landed with ivy.
I walked up to the gate, relief flooding into me at having reached the safety of my quarters. The gate was stylistically composed of alternating blocks of blonde and brown wood that surrounded the edges, each block only a square of a few inches. The focal point was the middle of the gate, which was an ornate weave of thin strips of wood, like the seat of a wicker chair that created a spiral.
The gate only came up to my mid-chest area, and I stepped up to it, pressed my left index finger on the upper left block of blond wood, to gain access to my quarters. The gate swung open, with the sound of an electronic yawn.
Gordy and I slipped inside as the gate closed. The room was like a garden, with expertly measured paths that were exactly symmetrical. Every bed of flowers was measured to be the perfect size; every placement of a plant was set an exact number of inches away from its neighbor. This place felt smothering, as gardens were supposed to be free and wild, where as here everything was under constant scrutiny, unable to be anything other than strategically placed with a 90-degree angle at every possible location.
Though, the attempt at perfection was not the strangest part about this place. The strangest things were the flowers. Although they didn’t move, they had wrinkled eyes and subtle, but unsettling faces. The eyes were squinty, and seemed to be sightless, but I felt paranoid at their presence, nonetheless. The faces were large for flowers, but no bigger than my palm.
Suddenly I had a premonition. I knew what would ultimately cause our demise. It wasn’t the flowers themselves; it was the way that in the dark, they all looked the same. In a flash I saw Gordy and I surrounded on all sides by indistinguishable shapes, all up-rooted and closing in. The only light was cast by thousands of silted, vengeful eyes. We didn’t know where to turn. Our plan was lost.
Dream the night I got home.
I had to bring Gordy to my dorm. We had a plan. It was very important that we got in before it closed, so that we would have some time to talk, alone.
We walk quickly through the building, passing all the white walls, thick hallways, and ornately and out of place levels. The gates always looked like something from lost garden, not something that was electronically carded and in a very modern building.
Finally we arrive at the top level. The roof. We are both relieved because it’s often conspicuous here when you bring a guest. Most people don’t when the night is late like this.
The door man is just about to close the gate to the sky level, but when make it just in time as I quickly explain that I’m bringing gordy as a guest. We slip in between the partially closed gate and as the guard begins to protest saying that he, "will not open it again," and that "if we go in we do not come out", gordy replies, “yes, yes I’m staying, I’m staying.” I felt almost astonished, at the forwardness, and very grateful.
We walk around the to my entrance, passing the kitchen, which is the first room to go through. We passed the chef, the nicest person in the whole complex, who I wished under different circumstances, could befriend gordy.
We walk along the path, studded with strange slabs of brightly colored stones, around the maze of open-air offices, until we reached my modest little gate. The whole wall that surrounded my section of the sky level was short and landed with ivy.
I walked up to the gate, relief flooding into me at having reached the safety of my quarters. The gate was stylistically composed of alternating blocks of blonde and brown wood that surrounded the edges, each block only a square of a few inches. The focal point was the middle of the gate, which was an ornate weave of thin strips of wood, like the seat of a wicker chair that created a spiral.
The gate only came up to my mid-chest area, and I stepped up to it, pressed my left index finger on the upper left block of blond wood, to gain access to my quarters. The gate swung open, with the sound of an electronic yawn.
Gordy and I slipped inside as the gate closed. The room was like a garden, with expertly measured paths that were exactly symmetrical. Every bed of flowers was measured to be the perfect size; every placement of a plant was set an exact number of inches away from its neighbor. This place felt smothering, as gardens were supposed to be free and wild, where as here everything was under constant scrutiny, unable to be anything other than strategically placed with a 90-degree angle at every possible location.
Though, the attempt at perfection was not the strangest part about this place. The strangest things were the flowers. Although they didn’t move, they had wrinkled eyes and subtle, but unsettling faces. The eyes were squinty, and seemed to be sightless, but I felt paranoid at their presence, nonetheless. The faces were large for flowers, but no bigger than my palm.
Suddenly I had a premonition. I knew what would ultimately cause our demise. It wasn’t the flowers themselves; it was the way that in the dark, they all looked the same. In a flash I saw Gordy and I surrounded on all sides by indistinguishable shapes, all up-rooted and closing in. The only light was cast by thousands of silted, vengeful eyes. We didn’t know where to turn. Our plan was lost.
posted by Integrity at 12:36 AM
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