The Dream Journal.
The unnamed girl.
The unnamed girl clickety clacked along the cobbled street in her leather boots. It was shitty weather to say the least, she knew she probably shouldn't be walking around in heavy rain and lightning, but who was going to stop her, this was just a dream after all. There was a big, old, and rather intimidating house at the end of the street, situated just a little to the left of the middle. It was a satisfyingly simple, imperfection in the symmetry of the scene.
As she sauntered closer, the terrifyingly large wooden doors came into view. She rat-a-tat-tatted on the door and waited. The door was heaved open by her friend, as expected, yet still a little surprising. Her friends angelic blonde curls and porcelain skin, out of place in the dreary Victorian doorway. The unnamed girl stepped inside after her friend who was chattering about something, something nonsensical that she probably wouldn't remember when she woke up anyway. The room they walked into was empty, all except for a huge decorative fireplace, again just a little to the left of the middle, on the back wall of the room. The wall to the front of the house nearly wasn't a wall at all, but was made up almost purely of glass, and fine metal strips that criss-crossed across it in intricate detailing. The unnamed girl frowned, a disturbed expression forming on her face. Her friend was smiling sweetly and soundlessly chattering, completely oblivious of the blue tinge creeping over her face, like ink in water, it spread and moved over her skin. The unnamed girl looked around desperately, while she walked backwards, glimpsing through the window at the still terrible rain.
She burst through the front door of the house, it wasn't a cobbled street anymore, neither was it raining, and the lightening was also nowhere to be seen. Vast desert flowed out in front of her, white sand blowing up into the sky, exactly the opposite of what it was before. There was enough sun to evaporate the sea, but she didn't feel the heat. In fact, she didn't really feel anything. The unnamed girl walked with ease on top of the soft sand, her boots didn't sink, but floated steadily on the shifting atmosphere. She didn't need to look back, she knew the house wouldn't be there anymore.
She walked for only a few minutes, and not even particularly quickly, but she travelled miles, because things like that could happen in dreams. She took one step, maybe two, but not three. There was a dilapidated old building in front of her now, it was a cinema. There was no proof of this just by looking at the building, but she knew anyway. It is impossible to be logical when everything around you is illogical, but then again, dream worlds are where the impossible is possible. She thought up a plan, well not really, because the best plan in this situation is to not plan at all, so she stopped thinking.
She walked up to the cinema and carried on to go inside, but she was stopped. There was a man, he had a moustache. And that's all the unnamed girl noticed about him, he had a moustache. The moustache twitched, like it was just as alive as the man himself. He refused the unnamed girl entry into the cinema. She could tell he thought she was stupid, he sat there on his high stool, looking down at her, just like the girl, and the building, his stool didn't sink into the sand either, but stood steadily afloat. The unnamed girl wasn't allowed into the cinema because she wasn't Welsh. In short, what the fuck. Although, when she thought about it she realised she didn't know what she was, she was just a no one in this madness. She stood there, not entirely sure what to do, when a curvy dark skinned woman waddled across the sand. Neither the man or the unnamed girl noticed her walk up to them, there was nothing in the scenery to obscure her from their vision, but then, she could have come from nothing at all.
The moustache man obviously knew her, or maybe he didn't. She smiled at him, and he looked about ready to agree to her every whim, a sickly sweet obedient smile took up most of his face. A stuffed fox, hung around the woman's shoulders, and she wore a majorly oversized hat, that had various bits and pieces stuck in different angles attached to it. Including the hands of a clock, a full pack of cards, in particular, the ace of clubs on display, and also a spring from some contraption or other, and it all ticked, shuffled and quite literally worked, like clockwork, all on it's own. She winked at the unnamed girl. And claimed to the man that the unnamed girl was in fact her niece. Unbelievably, or by now, believably, the man agreed to let the unnamed girl inside, as he materialised a ticket out of thin air and stapled it to her temple.
The unnamed girl thanked him as blood trickled out from underneath the ticket and ran down the left side of her face, dripping, then making red circles in the sand. She took a step inside.
As she sauntered closer, the terrifyingly large wooden doors came into view. She rat-a-tat-tatted on the door and waited. The door was heaved open by her friend, as expected, yet still a little surprising. Her friends angelic blonde curls and porcelain skin, out of place in the dreary Victorian doorway. The unnamed girl stepped inside after her friend who was chattering about something, something nonsensical that she probably wouldn't remember when she woke up anyway. The room they walked into was empty, all except for a huge decorative fireplace, again just a little to the left of the middle, on the back wall of the room. The wall to the front of the house nearly wasn't a wall at all, but was made up almost purely of glass, and fine metal strips that criss-crossed across it in intricate detailing. The unnamed girl frowned, a disturbed expression forming on her face. Her friend was smiling sweetly and soundlessly chattering, completely oblivious of the blue tinge creeping over her face, like ink in water, it spread and moved over her skin. The unnamed girl looked around desperately, while she walked backwards, glimpsing through the window at the still terrible rain.
She burst through the front door of the house, it wasn't a cobbled street anymore, neither was it raining, and the lightening was also nowhere to be seen. Vast desert flowed out in front of her, white sand blowing up into the sky, exactly the opposite of what it was before. There was enough sun to evaporate the sea, but she didn't feel the heat. In fact, she didn't really feel anything. The unnamed girl walked with ease on top of the soft sand, her boots didn't sink, but floated steadily on the shifting atmosphere. She didn't need to look back, she knew the house wouldn't be there anymore.
She walked for only a few minutes, and not even particularly quickly, but she travelled miles, because things like that could happen in dreams. She took one step, maybe two, but not three. There was a dilapidated old building in front of her now, it was a cinema. There was no proof of this just by looking at the building, but she knew anyway. It is impossible to be logical when everything around you is illogical, but then again, dream worlds are where the impossible is possible. She thought up a plan, well not really, because the best plan in this situation is to not plan at all, so she stopped thinking.
She walked up to the cinema and carried on to go inside, but she was stopped. There was a man, he had a moustache. And that's all the unnamed girl noticed about him, he had a moustache. The moustache twitched, like it was just as alive as the man himself. He refused the unnamed girl entry into the cinema. She could tell he thought she was stupid, he sat there on his high stool, looking down at her, just like the girl, and the building, his stool didn't sink into the sand either, but stood steadily afloat. The unnamed girl wasn't allowed into the cinema because she wasn't Welsh. In short, what the fuck. Although, when she thought about it she realised she didn't know what she was, she was just a no one in this madness. She stood there, not entirely sure what to do, when a curvy dark skinned woman waddled across the sand. Neither the man or the unnamed girl noticed her walk up to them, there was nothing in the scenery to obscure her from their vision, but then, she could have come from nothing at all.
The moustache man obviously knew her, or maybe he didn't. She smiled at him, and he looked about ready to agree to her every whim, a sickly sweet obedient smile took up most of his face. A stuffed fox, hung around the woman's shoulders, and she wore a majorly oversized hat, that had various bits and pieces stuck in different angles attached to it. Including the hands of a clock, a full pack of cards, in particular, the ace of clubs on display, and also a spring from some contraption or other, and it all ticked, shuffled and quite literally worked, like clockwork, all on it's own. She winked at the unnamed girl. And claimed to the man that the unnamed girl was in fact her niece. Unbelievably, or by now, believably, the man agreed to let the unnamed girl inside, as he materialised a ticket out of thin air and stapled it to her temple.
The unnamed girl thanked him as blood trickled out from underneath the ticket and ran down the left side of her face, dripping, then making red circles in the sand. She took a step inside.