30 May A Short Story: Tapestry
*This story is entirely a work of fiction.*
I was sitting at a table in a room that was so bright that I had to have my eyes partially closed just to try and see. I could see various objects in the room, but I couldn’t see exactly what they were. As I looked down I saw various pieces of notepad paper appearing on the table (in seven-second intervals), but each piece instantaneously disintegrated as they hovered onto the table. Each piece had an incredible amount of written words, in many different styles of typeface and calligraphy, but I couldn’t read what any of them said.
There was also a faint sound echoing throughout the atmosphere of the room, but I couldn’t hear what the sound sounded like, I could only feel that there was an organized sound present.
It was abnormal and unusual to feel so blind and deaf in an abstract realm. Eventually the room turned absolutely dark and I was completely absent of all my senses.
I must admit that I was a little worrisome that I’d be stuck in that scenario for a long time. A few minutes had passed that felt like hours that felt like seconds and I started to see multiple spurts of electricity fade in and out; increasingly in numbers as time progressed. It was kind of like when it’s pitch-black outside, but random swarms of lightening bugs help to illuminate the land. The electrical impulses then proceeded to create what appeared to be a highlighted path. I decided to walk along that path; it felt like an eternity, although it was peaceful.
Eventually I got to the end of the path, a destination perhaps and I saw a girl sitting on some steps that were made of ivory. She had a rapidly emitting nostalgia to her aura that was as unique as a person’s fingerprint.
I started to approach the girl, but I heard the disdain sound of an alarm clock and I woke up. I was lying on a carpet with a girl next to me.
She turned her body towards me and with a pleasantly surprised tone of voice said to me, “Were we just simultaneously tripping? Did we just trip without taking any drugs?”
I smiled, sat up and said to her, “I tried to tell you that this was some hallucinating tapestry; a sacred antique of mine.”
She laughed, rolled her eyes and then said, “Well, thank God that you have your karate style and monkey that knows Ninjitsu to help keep me safe.”
I tried not to laugh while responding to her, “You’ve been listening to my music I assume…”
She then laid back down on the carpet, closed her eyes and sweetly said, “Yeah. I have. I actually really like it and I didn’t think I was going to at first. It’s very unique and the imagery is superb. I’m surprised that you’re not signed yet; solely on the way you are able to warp the tone of your voice around syllables…”
I was impressed with her observation and then said, “I appreciate that… you’re compliment leaves me ecstatic. I still have a lot of improvements to make though; I’m just starting to scratch the surface of my potential I think. And yeah, it is what it is, I’ve kind of just signed myself and a few others…”
She elated the pitch of her voice to match a boujee sound and said, “Oh yeah? And who exactly have you ‘signed’?”
I pulled out a piece of paper from my pocket that had a list of names on it and then said, “Let me see…. So far, Tupac Shakur, Bob Marley, Johnny Cash, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Michael Jackson and Prince… we’re still trying to figure out how to put all of the pieces together.”
She responded with the same elated tone of voice, “And… I guess you’re also sort of mentally crazy?”
I smiled, took a deep breath and then said, “I’m accumulating damage from your verbal onslaught of harsh words and critique…”
She abruptly started laughing and then responded, softly, “And apparently you’re extremely sensitive also…”
I quickly responded, “I’m just comfortable expressing how I feel, poetically of course.”
She closed her eyes and smiled for awhile before she said, “Let’s do that again…”
I stood up and walked around while saying, “Yes, but first need to try and understand what that whole experience just was…the meaning.”
She sat back up and said, “And why would every experience have to have a meaning?”
I turned around, looked directly into her eyes and said, “Everything has a purpose.”