1A.N.: This is something I thought about when I was heading to college yesterday. Though the original idea I had was more dark, I like better the way it turned out when I wrote.
Wishing dream
The music filled the almost empty room with a pleasurable cadence. The house was clearly not used for quite a while, having as furniture only the piano and a big couch, where he lied still sleeping. The melody came from the piano, where a girl kept on playing without concerning with the sleeping man. The light came from a few candles around the room, outside the half-moon could barely be seen on the starry sky.
He woke up, but remained with his eyes shut. The music was one of his favorites, and he could say it was well played. Curiosity made him open his eyes. He looked around and recognized the room; it was dark and almost empty, but there was no mistaking. He sat and looked at the girl still playing; she didn't seem to notice he was awake. He looked around again trying to remember how he got there; all he knew was that he went to bed and fell asleep.
"Do you like the song?" A velvet voice came from the piano.
He knew she spoke to him, but she gave no signs of acknowledging his presence.
"Where am I?" He asked staring at her back.
"I thought you'd know," she simply said without taking her hands or attention from the piano.
She was right, he knew where he was, but still he couldn't understand how he got there. He didn't remember leaving his flat and driving the whole day drive to that house.
"How did I get here?" He asked looking out the big window behind the piano and seeing the stars.
"Who said we are here?" She asked without changing her tone.
He stared at her back again without understanding her words. He knew where he was; he just woke up in the house he grew up in. But it was not the same house anymore; it had lost all the life it had once he left with his family, and he could see the abandonment in the darkened and peeling wallpapers and dusty floor. He got up and walked towards the piano. For some reason he thought seeing the girl's face would make more sense than staring at her back while she played.
Standing beside the piano, he saw her pale face. She was wearing a crimson silk dress, strapless and knee length, her chocolate hair waved all the way to her waist and she was bare feet. She didn't take her eyes out of the keys and gave no signs of seeing him. For a moment he thought she was blind, but her eyes moved from one side to the other following her hands across the keys.
"Do you like the song?" She asked again with her velvet tone.
"It's one of my favorites," he answered her in a low voice.
She smiled and looked up to meet his eyes with her gaze; her golden irises glowed with the candle light.
"Then I choose well," she said still smiling, and then looked down at her waving hands again.
Once he was told that staring is not polite, but he couldn't help it. She was beautiful, and looked like an angel with a serene face and melodic voice. For a moment he thought it was good that she only had eyes for the piano, so he wouldn't embarrass her, but that made him jealous of the attention the instrument received in spite of him.
"Who are you?" He asked frowning at the apparition in front of him. "Why am I here?" He kept on frowning to the walls and doors until he rested his sight on the window.
"Don't you see it?" She asked with humor.
He looked back at her and saw her smiling again, but now she was looking right into his eyes. The music kept its cadence; her hands kept on waving on top of the keys. She was angelically beautiful, and he could swear he was seeing an angel. Where, in all his life, would he be able to see such a heavenly creature?
"It's a dream," he mumbled to himself.
She smiled and nodded once. That made his heart sink. Everything was going perfect, the music, the company, the place could be better but was still somewhere full of good memories. And now it all crashed in his head; that was why he didn't remember going back to that house, he never left his bedroom.
The music changed and he realized she was looking at the keys again. Now she was playing something lighter, almost a lullaby; he didn't recognize that one.
"Why are we here?" He asked confused.
"It's your dream," she said looking up at him. "You tell me," she added with melodic humor and looked back down. "Why would you want to be back in this house?" She asked smiling.
Looking around, he couldn't quite understand her question. But he knew he missed the house, the big yard, the river running a few minutes walking from the back yard; but what he missed the most was his family. He looked through the window again and saw the thin line the moon made against the sky. How many times he saw his mother looking through that window at night?
"What is it that you want?" She asked with delicacy.
He moved his focus back at her. She was looking kindly at him. He moved his hands across his blond hair, and rested them on the nape of his neck.
"I want to see my parents," he said without thinking once.
She smiled kindly at him and nodded once. The sun suddenly rose on the horizon, and the walls regained their clean and smooth appearance they always had in his memories. The furniture appeared in all the right places, and the couch he was lying up a few minutes before vanished. The floor never seemed so clean; it sparkled. Everything was just as they were before he moved; except for the piano and the angelic girl that kept on playing; they didn't have a piano.
A woman came in from the door across the room; the kitchen door, he remembered. She had the same blond hair as his and was drying her hands on a dishcloth as she walked towards him smiling happily. She looked exactly the same from the last time he saw her; two years ago, before she died in a car crash. He felt his arms falling on his sides.
"Lunch is almost ready," she said with her light voice.
"Thanks mom," he said with a matching smile on his face.
Her smile spread a little more and she nodded. Then she turned around and walked back to the kitchen when the sound of fading engine followed by a door being closed was heard from the front yard. He looked through the window and saw his father walking towards the front door caring a bag with what seemed to be a bottle of wine. His father always liked to drink a glass of wine after lunch and dinner. The front door opened, and a man with already white hair walked in and closed the door with his left foot; like he always did. He smiled towards his son and his green eyes traveled to the girl playing.
"That's a nice music sweetie," he said as if the girl was a part of the family.
She looked up at his direction and nodded with a smile across her face. The man looked again at his son and held the bottle up while walking towards the kitchen, as if showing he would store it for later.
When his father was gone through the door, he sighed heavily, what drove the girl's attention to him. She looked serious and changed the music to something sadder.
"Didn't you like it?" She asked with her velvet voice trying to hide her hurt.
He stared at her and shook his head.
"I did," he assured her. "But it's not what I really wanted," he said looking at the floor. "They are different though. Don't look like they usually do at my dreams," he said looking back at her.
"That's because I'm showing you how they would look like if they were still alive," she said in a sad tone. "You already know how they looked like when they were alive," she finished in a low tone.
He nodded and deliberated for a moment. They looked the same they did two years ago. Seeing his childhood version of his parents wouldn't hurt so much as seeing them how they should look like if they were still alive. He frowned and looked at her.
"Stop it," he demanded.
She looked up at him with a perplexed expression, but did as she was told. Faster than they appeared, the furniture vanished; the walls darkened and the wallpapers peeled again; the dust covered the floor, and the candles lit the room when the sky became dark again. He looked around and saw everything the way they were when he woke up.
"Who are you?" He asked coldly not looking at her.
The music changed again. She started playing something gloomy and slower. He looked at her and saw her sad expression. His face softened. She still looked like an angel and, besides the fact that he didn't like things the way she showed, he couldn't blame her; he never said what to show.
"Who are you?" He asked again, but now with a soothing tone, welcoming her to be more comfortable.
She shook her head. He kneeled beside her and put his right index finger under her chin, raising her head and turning to look at him. She didn't protest, and turned to meet his eyes. He could see she was sad, but he wasn't sure of what to say. It was odd to him, though, that she kept on playing, no matter what.
"Why do you keep on playing?" He asked her with a curious tone.
"If I stop, I'll fade," she simply answered. "This dream will be over, and I'll probably never see you again," she said as her eyes started to fill with tears.
He dropped his hand and she looked back at hers. He sat at her feet, and looked at her while she played. They didn't talk again; she kept on playing music he never heard before, each one more beautiful than the other. He closed his eyes and appreciated the melody while it faded. When it stopped he opened his eyes and saw the sunlight coming from the window, the light curtains filtering nothing. He looked around and saw his bedroom, just as it was when he fell asleep, except for the hour. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, he rose quickly. He was already late for work.
During all the day he kept the thought the he had a pleasant dream, but he couldn't make the scenes out of the foggy unconsciousness of his. And just like that, the angelic girl in his dream faded.
A.N.: Please, let me know what you think of it.
Thanks for reading, I really apreciate your time.
(I did some editing, but I'm sure there are still many grammar errors.)