Original Ficlet: I know this place...
May. 12th, 2004 12:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saifaiThis was a dream I had last night. Not sure if it will ever go anywhere, but I thought I had to at least write down what I could remember. It's a bit disjointed in my mind, so I tried to write it so it made more sense. Not sure if it worked, but there you have it.
I know this place. I’m sure I do. I was here before, many years ago with my family. Now this small cabin is devoid of life, just as my family is now. The cabin is but a hollowed out shell of its former self. The windows are all gone now, and the inside walls are gone leaving a clear sight to the underside of the roof. Next to it, where the barn stood is a rickety old shack. Funny, I don’t remember it being so small. Perhaps at the time I thought of everything in life as bigger than it really was.
I shake off my thoughts and turn to my companions, letting them know I’m familiar with this place. We’ve been running so long, we all just need a bit of rest. Time moves so fast when you no longer have it. We’re inside now, cooking up what little food we have. It always amazes me the resources we have at our disposal. We could almost make this place seem livable. I can picture the warmth of the cabin now, filled to the brim with comfortable modern furniture. Exotic oils and spices spread out over the counter, as if awaiting someone to put them to good use. I close my eyes and imagine the smell of a freshly baked cake, made in preparation for the arrival of someone special. It all seems so real.
“Who the hell are you people?” The angry voice shatters my calm as I snap open my eyes to find the source of outrage. I glance around and absently note that my dream has indeed come to life. We’ve intruded on someone’s life without even realizing it. I just want to break down and cry. I can’t tell reality from dream any longer. My tear-filled eyes turn up imploringly to the beautiful blonde man striding towards us. He doesn’t seem the forgiving type.
I let the voices wash over me, demands for explanations and feeble excuses thrown back and forth at a rapid-fire rate. I know this person couldn’t possibly understand our situation, I myself find it hard to believe sometimes. It’s no use trying to force it; we should just leave as quickly as we can.
“Right, because the sugared beet cake baking in the oven wouldn’t have been your first clue.” The voice of the irate man once again breaks through my wandering thoughts. I raise my eyebrow at that statement. I give him a curious look and ask, “Sugared beet cake?” He shifts his gaze my direction, the heat in his glare enough to melt glass. I look down at the floor quickly feeling entirely stupid. Note to self: don’t ask the homeowner whose home you’ve broken into for recipes.
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ETA: I've added onto the story with a bit of a prologue. You can read it here.
I know this place. I’m sure I do. I was here before, many years ago with my family. Now this small cabin is devoid of life, just as my family is now. The cabin is but a hollowed out shell of its former self. The windows are all gone now, and the inside walls are gone leaving a clear sight to the underside of the roof. Next to it, where the barn stood is a rickety old shack. Funny, I don’t remember it being so small. Perhaps at the time I thought of everything in life as bigger than it really was.
I shake off my thoughts and turn to my companions, letting them know I’m familiar with this place. We’ve been running so long, we all just need a bit of rest. Time moves so fast when you no longer have it. We’re inside now, cooking up what little food we have. It always amazes me the resources we have at our disposal. We could almost make this place seem livable. I can picture the warmth of the cabin now, filled to the brim with comfortable modern furniture. Exotic oils and spices spread out over the counter, as if awaiting someone to put them to good use. I close my eyes and imagine the smell of a freshly baked cake, made in preparation for the arrival of someone special. It all seems so real.
“Who the hell are you people?” The angry voice shatters my calm as I snap open my eyes to find the source of outrage. I glance around and absently note that my dream has indeed come to life. We’ve intruded on someone’s life without even realizing it. I just want to break down and cry. I can’t tell reality from dream any longer. My tear-filled eyes turn up imploringly to the beautiful blonde man striding towards us. He doesn’t seem the forgiving type.
I let the voices wash over me, demands for explanations and feeble excuses thrown back and forth at a rapid-fire rate. I know this person couldn’t possibly understand our situation, I myself find it hard to believe sometimes. It’s no use trying to force it; we should just leave as quickly as we can.
“Right, because the sugared beet cake baking in the oven wouldn’t have been your first clue.” The voice of the irate man once again breaks through my wandering thoughts. I raise my eyebrow at that statement. I give him a curious look and ask, “Sugared beet cake?” He shifts his gaze my direction, the heat in his glare enough to melt glass. I look down at the floor quickly feeling entirely stupid. Note to self: don’t ask the homeowner whose home you’ve broken into for recipes.
=====
ETA: I've added onto the story with a bit of a prologue. You can read it here.
