The heat of the morning/afternoon air slowly seeped through the Brazilian blinds that were once blue. Now, it just looked grey, coated with inches of dust. Stubbornly, he snuggled deeper into the coverlets of his bed once more, refusing to look at Reality in the face.
He didn’t want to wake up. Not today, where a drudgery of mundaness face him and there was nothing to look forward to. He wanted to go back into the realm of his dreams, where everything was perfect, where they were always together, never apart, always basking in the joy of their love. His dream was like an evergreen meadow, where flowers of every kind bloom, where the water gently runs through the mill, where bluebirds sing and dance in the air.
But Reality chose to throw a bucketful of water that smells like the water that some old hag with leprosy had just washed her feet in. Not that he had anything against lepers. Just that, well, it was a generalisation.
God teaches Man to love his brother, so he should really love them. But sometimes, God demands impossible things. How can he love his brother when his brother always squeal on him to his mum? Would a person ever love such a squealer? He couldn’t forget the time when he snucked some money from his parents to buy something for a girl. And the squealer of his brother saw. No brownie points for guessing what happened next. His father dealt him a good licking with his prized leather belt. From that day onwards, it was kinda hard to love his brother anymore.
No he didn’t want to wake up. Not to squealers. Not to a place where his love was not around. He was no longer too young for love anymore. Eighteen is a proper age. He had already reached maturity. And it’s not too young an age for love.
He loved it when she smiled. Her pearly whites glistening, her silky hair covering the delicate oval of her face, accentuating her perfect features. The pale skin of hers, looking so smooth and inviting. She looked so fragile that he wanted to hold her in the arms, to protect her from the darkness that was surrounding her. He wanted to cuddle with her, to dance with her in his evergreen meadows, to protect her and to love her. To grow old with her and watch their kids playing joyfully around them.
But the moment he woke up, all the traces of his dream vanished. Not even a whisper of it left. And the tinge of happiness unlimited was too much torture to bear. He went to sleep thinking of her, and woke up again thinking of her. Life was beginning to get insufferable.
Ah yes, the cool comfort of the rain. He could smell that rain was in the air. He loved the rain. How sweet it feels when he stands in the rain, drops of water pattering around him, the sound so ever soothing to the troubled heart. And he snuggled deeper in, trying to shut out the thoughts of her invading his airwaves.
Lazing around bothered him. There was always work to do. But God never said anything about throwing lazybones into the pit of sulpur. So he guessed it should be alright. And so, the sound of rain slowly lulled him back into the castle of his dreams again, where he was always King and she was his Queen.