THE ART

The disorienting transition from the surreal ballroom to the familiar reality of my room leaves me with a lingering sense of confusion. As I stare at the ceiling, a wave of numbness washes over me, and I question the boundary between dreams and reality. The question lingers in my mind: Is this real, or am I trapped inside yet another dream?

I look around the room for a clock, hoping to find a grounding anchor. You cannot read the time in a dream, as the proverb goes. On the other hand, the mystery is increased by the lack of a clock. As I move, the floor creaks beneath me, confirming to my senses that I am in a physical place.

My path takes me into the hall, where I'm met with a startling and unexpected sight. The intense lighting gives way to a ballroom that looks like it belongs in the distant past. Couples dance elegantly around the floor, while those drinking in hand have animated discussions with grins that might not be as real as they seem. The scene seems very familiar, but I can't remember seeing it before. Is this somewhere I've been before, or is it just a product of my mind?

The hazy ambiance is suddenly broken by a loud noise. "…. THAT HOT BLOOD IN MY BODY." THUMP. An additional crack. I open my eyes in shock at the suddenness. I find myself back in my room, reality reasserting itself as the phone I tossed to quiet the alarm now rests on the floor. My thoughts, where the line between dream and waking becomes hazy, are tinged with frustration as I condemn myself for these recurrent experiences.

Relics of the dream cling to my consciousness as I gather my thoughts and survey the space, a mixture of confusion and intrigue about the relationship between my subconscious and the outside world.

I'm squatting next to the couch, staring at my phone's cracked screen as the room fills with the gentle glow of morning. I let out a sigh of resignation and concluded that someone else needed to step in. I have had good luck using the phone, but the network of cracks that are currently running across its surface has a narrative all its own.

Leaving the cracked device behind, I slide to the other side of the room, where a girl with a cascade of brunette curls is curled up on the couch. I can't help but grin mischievously as I decide to wake her up in my own unique way.

"Time to rise and shine, punk," I say, patting her cheek gently. The girl stirs, blinking away the remnants of sleep. She's not one to be easily roused, so I decide to add a bit more flair to my wake-up call.

"Your alarm is deafening me," I tease, though the room is quiet and there's no sign of any blaring alarms. She grumbles, still half asleep, and reaches behind her for a cushion, swiftly shoving it in my direction.

Her eyes narrow playfully as she mutters, "Yes, devil. Shove that alarm up your ass." I burst into laughter, and she gives me a mock glare before settling back onto the couch, apparently uninterested in rising just yet.

Our easygoing familiarity defines our friendship, and I can't help but enjoy the familiar and comforting soundtrack our banter provides to our mornings. The damaged phone in my palm makes me understand that although technology breaks, the relationships created at times like these never fade. I chuckle and determine that perhaps it's time for a multi-modal upgrade, much like my phone.

What on earth is she doing in my room, though? Instead of sharing a room, we live together in an apartment. Oh, I see! She was inebriated when we shared a drink last night. I walk to the bathroom and leave her there. She's be gone by the time I return. Alright. I know I'm going to be almost late for college, so I quickly get dressed up.There's a slight smell of coffee coming from the kitchen as I check each room in the apartment. Tracing the aroma, I discover her near the coffee maker, appearing somewhat more alert at this point. She turns and smiles shyly at me.

"Hey there! I thought I'd surprise you with a cup of coffee. I realized we were out, so I went to the store downstairs," she says, holding up a bag of coffee beans. I take a quick look at her outfit and gently push her towards her room. "Get ready; we're going to be late." She laughs, acknowledging the need to shift gears from a leisurely morning coffee surprise to the more pressing matter of making it to college on time.

The bustle of people making their way to classes surrounded us as we hurried through the college hallways. I moved deftly across the crowded hallway in the middle of the turmoil, dodging one female to spare myself a blow.

But I unintentionally put myself in direct collision with a boy who is approaching from the other direction. I try not to run into anyone, but I end up running into him with an abrupt, unexpected blow. I turn to face him in apology, but all I feel in my veins is wrath. THIS SUCKER. Maste—no, no. Avoid cursing him. Aaron Warner is the highest of all. He abhors swearing.

He was going to say something, a smug expression on his face. I move aside and proceed in the direction of the classroom. The rest of the day goes unexpectedly well, with no more ridiculous incidents. I went into the library. The calm atmosphere is a pleasant diversion from the earlier frenzy.

But as I fully immerse myself in the rows of bookcases, I feel a chill go up my spine. I take a minute to stop and scan my surroundings in an attempt to identify the source of the uneasy sensation. After being rather busy earlier, the library appears to be nearly empty now. That uneasy feeling persists in the air, so I shrug and carry on searching for my book. It appeals to me. I am aware of my madness. But since I am the only one who knows what's in store for me, I prefer it.

Then a voice calls my name through the muted silence, a deep, familiar resonance. "Isabella Vale." The voice gives me a chill, but this time it's a thrill, a recognition rather than a chilly shiver of worry. I turn to face the sound's origin, a sly smile tugging at my mouth.

"About time, Alex," I respond, my voice laced with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.

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