16I do realize that the last time I updated this story was...uh...a long time ago. I don't feel like looking.
But I figured that I might as well update it now, right? Better late than never? And I don't like abandoning things.
In the meantime, my writing style has changed a bit, so get used to it. Your problem.
I was hypnotized by the red balloon.
It waded through just a few inches of air, up at the top of my vision. For reasons I can't explain, I just couldn't...stop...looking...at it.
It gleamed in the light of the great chandelier that replaced the sun. I wish it was smaller. The chandelier, I mean. Not the balloon - it was already plenty small enough.
Now it floated down slowly and gently. How, I don't know, but it did. Am I losing my mind, or did it smile at me?
No, it didn't. I probably am losing my mind, but stranger things have yet to happen, and some already have. The balloon suddenly
plopped
downward
out of the air
and into my arms.
I held it, marveling at its color. In all actuality, it was a very mundane shade of red - bright, default, fire-hydrant red - but this color wasn't quite that. It had a bit of dull orange in it, a bit of deep brown. And if you know what a ripe persimmon looks like, well, that's the color of this balloon.
To this day, I still have this balloon. It serves as my mode of transportation, my dear 6-inch-diameter environmentally-friendly bus.
Now forget everything that you read about the balloon, because it didn't happen. There was no balloon, it wasn't the color of a ripe persimmon, and I definitely don't use it as a bus.
That's because in reality, there was no ceiling either, no 249 blue ceiling tiles, not even a sunhatted British caveman.
And here comes the dreaded analysis:
It was all a dream.
I rubbed my eyes, groaned in disappointment, and brushed my teeth with anger thoroughly polishing every single one. Make sure to be angry when you brush your teeth, your dentist will thank you.
I sighed and smeared water upon my face.
I threw some clothes on, I can't even remember what color they were.
Maybe they were colorless. Everything seemed colorless now.
Why are dreams so often more interesting than reality, more worth being in?
Then I remembered why I like this world better.
I went in the yard, ran around in the grass, hugged a tree. Saw everyone I loved, thanked them for existing, greeted by strange but happy looks.
And I love how anything can't happen as we choose, because it gives us certainty that it can, in the end.
Ahem. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream...
So what do you think? If it's too confusing for your taste, go away, I don't like you.