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of dreams and fateSep 21 '05 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line three very short pieces about one thing - dreams.
The Film Star It was only with a slight grimace that he digested the information. Nicole Gardner was married. He hastened to conceal his displeasure with what was passable for a smile. -Really? he said, as if this was surprising news. -Oh yes, the odious woman reassured him, she married this modern artist, Quin Callow, last year. -Ah, he remarked thoughtfully as he sipped his drink. That certainly explained the absence of a ring from the various photographs he had compiled of her, she hadn't posed for a photographer or done a film in two years. Quin Callow, what kind of name is that? He was then horrified to realize that she was now Nicole Callow. Oh, the crudity of the mere thought of it. After returning home from the cocktail party, he didn't bother to remove his coat. He walked into his study, put on his favorite Bach record and sat down on his posh couch and stared into the darkness til he fell asleep. The Dandy Relaxing in the bath he closed his eyes and watched films of his daydreams. Their warm colors and familiarity soothed him as he watched himself act them out. He had his lines memorized, he could say them perfectly if need be. He performed them wonderfully and couldn't help but smile proudly as they unfolded. The timing was exquisite in the dance, he floated across the dance floor, as did his lovely partner. His dancing showed her off beautifully. The details delighted him. The shine of the shoes, the sound they made when he scuffed them against the floor. The severity of his black vest, the stark contrast of his pressed white shirt, the cool silver of his cufflinks. The tips of his fingers brushing against her hand when the dance was over and he withdrew. The way her neck looked when she turned to look across the room. As he stepped from the bath and into his robe the water ran in thin streams down his legs and arms. His bare feet left wet prints on the old wooden floors as he went from the bathroom into his bedroom. There he stood in front of his open wardrobe gazing at an array of pinstripes, greys, browns, blacks, and creamy whites in a pleasant daydream state trying to decide what to wear. Sunday Afternoon She peered through her heavy lids to see if the door was closed. On the brink of sleep, she wanted to be sure it was closed. The idea of the world outside of her room being an audience to her dreams wasn't one she liked. It made her fell horribly exposed if she were to wake and find it ajar. It was shut tight so she gazed into space as she drifted off. The assent into sleep was gentle and slow. She slipped deeper and deeper into her soft, pleasant world reserved especially for her Sunday afternoon sleep. She often dreamed she was sleeping and soon she was asleep in a taxi heading back to a flat having just come from a night out. Her head was resting against someone's shoulder, she was safe and protected. Someone said something, about a book, or was is out of book . . there was the sweet smell of wine in the air . . . a man was quoting Dante with a quiet comforting voice, the words presented themselves and passed through her mind . . . he spoke with eloquence and purpose, as if he understood the importance of the words . . she thought she loved him . . he recited canto after canto . . the feelings deepened . . but it was of no consequence . . she dreamed on wrapped up safe in the embrace of these things. © Willow Child 2005  |
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