Story

What dreams are made of

"Good night, mother" she said with a sigh, rolling tired eyes as she painfully turned her body in the laced sheets.

"Good night, Shirley. And remember, sweety-her mother said sharply-good timber does not grow with ease..."

"The stronger the wind , the stornger the trees." Shirley moaned as she grimaced slightly, taking her first step into her dreamworld. She no longer had to think about tomorrow's piano lessons and Latin composition, she no longer had to be concerned about being always prim and proper, she just had to smile and enjoy her dream.There was no clear outline of anything that surrounded her; the table, the guitar,the empty glass...all blended together as daylight passed.

"Where am I? I said finding myself in the impossibility of not noticing the greenish sea in front of me. It was noisy but not in a way that might have offended my ears but more like some kind of musical harmony that tickled my eardrums. Taking some steps into the sand, burrying my feet into the velvety particles,smashing the air between them I...I didn't feel like some frivolous master of the world but like the embodiment of absolute freedom. The wind was thin and icy and those golden grains of sand would whip my face as hard as they could...and I wouldn't care.My whitish scarf would flutter in a gust of wind, my hands would fiercely soar turning bluish grey from the cold and my hair-without having previously been curled- was now wildly flying towards the four horizons as if desperately trying to leave my scalp forever...and I still wouldn't care.

At some point, my feet stopped letting me leaning on a rocky kerbstone; my head. my hands, my feet, they all ached greatly and yet, I couldn't bring myself to care. All of a sudden, however, I was brutally woken from this impossible idleness of mine: I heard the sand crunching as if under a cat's steps. But THAT was not a cat. That was a man. No, a boy. No, a youngman. I frowned in disgust examining his worn out boots and his face only to discover I looked the same..that is nowhere near charming. Nevertheless, he struck me as being self assured and rather the type of man who would freely use cynical sarcasm just for the sake of doing it...there was some sparkle in his eyes which lead me to this verdict.

He was standing with his back straight, peering at the beach and at the sea. Curious! We was looking my way, though without giving the least sign of noticing my existence, so I dared to come closer. Now, he appeared to be a thin man, with straight dusty-brown hair comfortably reaching his shoulders and porcelain cheeks. A few steps more enabled me to closely gaze at his thin lips, barely coloured in a pale apricot, strained around a cigarette. His eyes were silent and piercing, apparently investigating every single detail; the ghastly grey of his iris was cold but somehow enticing providing a cagey and sly warmth...Seconds later, he made me feel uneasy and carefully observed as he grabbed my inert right hand.

I did not know this man, though it seemed to me that years had passed since we first met. Everything about him seemed so awfully familiar! Some call it "deja-vu". I call it confusion...pleasant confusion" she sighed and lost her gaze miles far in the skyline. "Nanny, oh nanny, will I dream of him again?"

"I cannot possibly know that, sweetheart" the woman shrugged her massive shoulders as she mildly looked at the freshly woken creature.

"Oh, but I want to dream again! I want to! I want to!"

"There, there, honey. You must dress up now. Look, we haven't curled your hair yet and the Latin teacher will be here any minute now"

P.S. This is a story of cliches, of worn out ideas that happen to take over not only our lives, but our dreams too. Therefore, this is why I used the sea (the sea is an archetypal symbol for life) and this is why I have brought in discussion a Latins teacher (symbolizing the old school, the old way of approaching daily problems).