Everything was too bright. That should have been a giveaway.
Nevermind that his mother was there, bent over a counter and cooking some sort of meal, it was the uncanny brightness that almost broke the illusion every time this happened. It was as if the sun was right outside their house, peeking into their window and making it impossible to see anything outside except that blinding light. But to look at it didn't hurt, and he did look, coming closer and closer to lucidity by the second. So close to tearing away this entire facade.
But there was his mother's voice, high pitched and far sweeter than he ever remembered, "Dinner's ready." she would call, and Hillie's growing suspicions died immediately, a grin plastered onto his face as he'd hop from the chair, bouncing over to his mother. Far too excited to wait for her. This dream of his was so idealized, his mother did not chastise him, did not tell him the food needed to cool down, she smiled at him. With such genuine kindness... In retrospect, Hillie knew that this was never something she expressed in the waking world. But this was something like a memory, and to a ten-year-old Hill'eijola, every smile had been real.
He didn't get to eat the food. His Father had not even shown up in that dream (Which was, perhaps a bit of a blessing, those dreams were even more wrecking than this one already promised to be). The only one present was his mother, and for this woman, he simply stared and returned her expression with a wide grin. It would have been wonderful to stay, to keep smiling back at her for eternity and keep pretending this phony, too-bright world was his reality, but the overpowering brightness was swiftly dimming, plunging this world into darkness.
It was cruel, as most of his dreams have been, in recent memory. When he wakes up he still feels the warmth, but it was always swiftly overtaken by a bitter cold. Such a terrible sensation as Hillie came to recognize his surroundings and an unwelcome realization came over him. It would be so much better to not dream at all, if that were the case, he would not have been doubled over, huddled into a fetal position and sobbing into his sheets. This would never be the state the mutt was forced into on some mornings if he could simply stop dreaming entirely.
He could not imagine such a mercy, however.
Nevermind that his mother was there, bent over a counter and cooking some sort of meal, it was the uncanny brightness that almost broke the illusion every time this happened. It was as if the sun was right outside their house, peeking into their window and making it impossible to see anything outside except that blinding light. But to look at it didn't hurt, and he did look, coming closer and closer to lucidity by the second. So close to tearing away this entire facade.
But there was his mother's voice, high pitched and far sweeter than he ever remembered, "Dinner's ready." she would call, and Hillie's growing suspicions died immediately, a grin plastered onto his face as he'd hop from the chair, bouncing over to his mother. Far too excited to wait for her. This dream of his was so idealized, his mother did not chastise him, did not tell him the food needed to cool down, she smiled at him. With such genuine kindness... In retrospect, Hillie knew that this was never something she expressed in the waking world. But this was something like a memory, and to a ten-year-old Hill'eijola, every smile had been real.
He didn't get to eat the food. His Father had not even shown up in that dream (Which was, perhaps a bit of a blessing, those dreams were even more wrecking than this one already promised to be). The only one present was his mother, and for this woman, he simply stared and returned her expression with a wide grin. It would have been wonderful to stay, to keep smiling back at her for eternity and keep pretending this phony, too-bright world was his reality, but the overpowering brightness was swiftly dimming, plunging this world into darkness.
It was cruel, as most of his dreams have been, in recent memory. When he wakes up he still feels the warmth, but it was always swiftly overtaken by a bitter cold. Such a terrible sensation as Hillie came to recognize his surroundings and an unwelcome realization came over him. It would be so much better to not dream at all, if that were the case, he would not have been doubled over, huddled into a fetal position and sobbing into his sheets. This would never be the state the mutt was forced into on some mornings if he could simply stop dreaming entirely.
He could not imagine such a mercy, however.
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