Splattered Dreams

The smoke carelessly clouded the air in such a graceful manner that Stella Daniels couldn’t help admiring how it danced past her without acknowledging her lingering presence. Its fragrance entered past her nostrils and marked behind a poignant feeling that left her wanting more, as if she couldn’t already get enough of it. Her tongue danced at the bittersweet taste of the cheap champagne she had poured into an old plastic cup she had found in a cabinet, intoxicating the soft acoustics she heard in the background.

The vibrant haze surrounded her as she stood there on the balcony of her apartment. The stardust blanketed the city lights and looked upon her with so much delight. But the moon looked down on her with so much disdain and reminded her that this was no longer real, as its words floated past her ears.

You can’t tell the difference between reality and dream.

Of course, the moon didn’t actually tell her that, but she could hear those words repeat in her mind as if they were lyrics to a song playing on a broken radio. Remembering who had really sang those words to her, Stella took one last drag out of her cigarette before she took out a stick of gum from her pocket and put it in her mouth. She wrapped the cigarette in the foil gum wrapper and threw it into the small trashcan next to her, along with the red plastic cup and the empty pack of cigarettes she found in her left pocket.

When Stella walked back into the living room, she noticed that her sister was sitting on the couch, reading a paperback book. “You’re back,” Stella noted, taking a seat on the chair across from the coffee table.

Grace looked up from page thirty-six of her book and gave Stella a small smile. She could smell the poignant scent of cigarette smoke and knew that even after everything she had said, Stella never listened to her. After all, what did Grace know? She was only seventeen years old and hadn’t seen much of the world to know anything. She was still young and too naïve to realize that anything was imperfect.

“Yeah, I was in SoHo to pick up some things,” Grace said hesitantly, not bothering to mention how much the smell bothered her. Her thin lips formed a tight line, but she went back to reading so that she could try to forget the scent. She made a mental note to spray air freshener later.

Stella noticed that her sister dived back into her book and knew there was no point in pulling her out—Grace would only try to drown herself further into the depths of the story. Stella got up from her seat and walked down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom. She flipped one of the light switches on and saw her quote wall have a slight glow, making the words stand out from everything else in her room.

She uncapped a black permanent marker and began writing, You can’t tell the difference between reality and dream, on an empty space on her lavender wall. Although she detested those words, she thought they were inspirational, even if they were directed towards her. But what was reality anyway?

She heaved a sigh before flopping onto her twin bed. It was eleven o’clock at night, and she knew that she should get some sleep, because she had to work early tomorrow morning at the coffee shop.



Stella wanted nothing more than to crawl back to her bed and plunge into a deep slumber. She had been tossing and turning all night and couldn’t seem to sleep for more than four hours. It was eerily silent in her room and not even a fire truck passed by her building, sounding the alarm and helping her fall asleep. She hated the silence more than anything and could never sleep when it was too quiet for her own liking. The hush atmosphere was unsettling to her and made her grasp the bed sheets in worry.

“You look like you were having a game of tug of war with your bed sheets this morning,” Karen noted, seeing Stella’s disheveled brown hair that she couldn’t seem to brush out into neat waves.

Stella groaned and wrapped her arms together on top of the counter before placing her head on them, wanting to sleep right there and forget that she had to serve whiny customers for the next eight hours. “I know, Karen. You don’t need to remind me.”

“Oh, honey. Did you have a bad morning?” Karen asked with concern evident in her voice, wrinkling her perfectly plucked brows. “If it helps, you get to go home at four today.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Stella replied but gave her a small smile at her friend’s miserable attempt to cheer her up. “But thanks for trying.”

Karen smirked. “No problem.”

“By the way, how was your date with Christian last night?”

“That,” Karen said coyly, “is something that only he and I need to know.”

Stella had a knowing smirk and shook her head. She knew of her friend’s tendency to have fun every once in a while and stifled a laugh at the memory of the last party they went to. “Of course. I just hope you two used protection last night before you decided to get down and dirty.”

Karen blushed at the provocative commentary of last nights events, but she secretly enjoyed remembering it. “Stella, you make me sound so dirty sometimes. I happen to be a very innocent little girl.”

Her friend snorted in incredulousness. “If by innocent you mean naughty, then you certainly are.”



Hypnotic beats of the music blasting from the stereo could be heard throughout Greenwich Village. Teenagers all swayed their hips to the rapid techno remixes the speakers played, as they sunk down to the bottom of their drinks. All their worries seemed to evaporate as the poignant scent of weed and sweat took over the atmosphere and replaced any thoughts of regret.

Stella, on the other hand, was a wallflower hidden behind a field of daisies. She felt so out of place at the party that she didn’t understand why she ever agreed to come in the first place. Oh, right. Her friend dragged her to the party against her own will.

When Stella stepped outside and leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway, she started to cough and swatted away the gray smoke with her left hand. She faced the source of the smoke and glared at the cigarette in the boy’s hand, hoping the small flame on the bud would make it vanish in a matter of seconds. “If you don’t mind, I’ll really appreciate it if you’ll be so kind as to put away that cancer stick of yours. I’m only sixteen years old, and I don’t intend to die this young. Especially not from second-hand smoke.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I do mind.” He took another long drag on his cigarette and made the air even more cancerous than it was before. He didn’t bother hiding his bored expression and continued smoking away, enraging her even further with his indifference. “And you can’t die from second-hand smoke, you know.”

She let out an exasperated sigh before she asked, “Are you always this nonchalant?”

“Not always. It depends on the situation.”

“What if the situation involved you and your life was at stake?”

He flicked his cigarette, and she watched the ash cascade to the ground. “I’m not going to die,” he said, “so you can stop worrying about me.”

“Who said that I was ever worried about you?” She crossed her arms and laid her back against the brick wall.

“No one did. But you’re implying it with your endless inquiry. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll really appreciate it if you’ll stop asking me twenty questions. Your chattering is giving me an incessant headache.” He rubbed his temples as if it would prove his point even further.

“Are you sure that it’s not from the long-lasting effects of the hangover from last night?” she asked, biting her lip.

“I don’t drink,” he prompted. “And again with the questions? I don’t know if you have a hearing problem or not, but I just told you to stop asking me questions.” He shook his head before taking another drag of his “cancer stick” as Stella so lovingly put it. “You really are undoubtedly the most annoying sixteen-year-old I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.” He smirked, unable to conceal his amusement with the naïve girl.

Oh, the endless ways to torment the girl were just too diverting to him, and he wondered what he should do next to make her feel even more uncomfortable. He could always humiliate her in front of the school, but she was too much of an easy target. He needed a challenge, not an open book he could read during English class.

“And you’re the most arrogant boy I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” she retorted, “but why should my opinion of you matter, Mr. Egotist?”

He stiffened for a moment before he forced out a fake laugh. “You’re so fucking hilarious, you know that? You should think about becoming a comedian when you grow up. Maybe there’s still some hope left for you after all.”

She looked taken aback by his sarcastic remark, and he immediately regretted saying those words to her and was about to apologize, until he decided to overlook the remorse he suddenly felt. He knew that feeling sorry for someone like her would only show a sign of weakness, and he was not known for his vulnerability.

When Stella opened her eyes, she saw the stars taunt her in vain and the moon laugh at her naivety. She regretted submerging to the bottom of a dream and felt tears blanket her green eyes at the memory from five years ago. She blinked rapidly to prevent the teardrops from making their great escape and gulped down the remnants of her drink as she remembered his last words.

“We all want to live in reverie lane, because we’re all afraid to be struck by reality and don’t want to lose our grasp on something we’ve finally got a hold of. But in the end, we all have to learn to let go of it, because we can only hold on to something for so long before it slips through our fingers.”

But how can Stella let go of something she never had a hold of?