He floated between deep, dark sleep and consciousness. The cushion ‘neath his head began to fade and the darkness was swallowed by one greater. Swallow… his stomach moaned a request for something to be swallowed before being forced into starvation mode. This request was immediately dismissed. Hours went by like the blink of an eye, and the darkness quickly, yet methodically formed colors- from colors to shapes, from shapes to a place. Mr. DeLusio tells him that in spite of the fact that it doesn’t look like his home, it is, and this place is real, though he might question its legitimacy. He then awoke in the impossible reality, where all are free to act on or release their memories. It’s the reality that has not a beginning, but a definite end. He awoke in his bed and involuntarily got up. He felt sort of numb; he was content in his lack of control over his own actions in this familiar realm. His nose instantly detected the wafting scent of toast and cinnamon rolls and bagels. He dressed himself, because it was morning of course, and stepped down the carpeted staircase… but my house doesn’t have st- “It’s real,” interrupts the executive voice. On his way down, he could smell the honey ham, the bacon, and the greasy sausage. He approached the dining room and found the masterpiece. It was a still-life, if you will, of the greatest assortment of mouth-watering grub that presented the most spectacular jentaculum he had ever seen in either of his realities. He is a man of almost no disgust for any food and always has a welcoming mouth for something tasty. In the centre, he spotted the nosegay, a hand-woven basket carefully set and stuffed with freshly picked blossoms from the garden. They gave a homey touch, as did the tablecloth, which bore the colors of autumn leaves and rested limply over the edges and corners. I wish I had a garden with flowers of such beauty… “You do,” commands Mr. DeLusio.
The food suddenly had a tantalizing temptation about it. The bread and meat called to his tongue, and the fruit and milk taunted his throat. He took a step toward the table. Strangely, it took a step back. Again, he stepped forward, and again it slid back. He became quite confused, but his hunger drove him onward. As he ran forward, the table glided back, further and further, into the darkness, until it was completely consumed. He started to fear, but kept stepping forward in his incomprehensible and stuporous motivation. Slowly, he started to feel dizzy and found himself surrounded by darkness. He was floating, as before, and he tried to use this time to figure out what had just happened. However, he had not enough time to think. He started falling helplessly into the depths of the unknown; then very quickly, he opened his eyes as his body gave a bit of a jolt. Then, like a bolt of lightning, his mind opened up and everything became clear. He was relieved, but also disappointed that it was only a dream. He gave a deep sigh and rubbed his face. He sat up in his real bed, sleepily staring at his feet. He sulked for a moment, understanding that he would never again see or even know the true satisfying pleasure of that beautiful jentaculum, which had been conjured by his stubborn hunger. When he was done accepting reality, he walked down the hallway of his one-story house, in his pajamas, and scooted into the kitchen where he dropped his generic version of a Pop Tart into the toaster.