close your eyes; another world awaits

by The Dreamer


because i am the laziest person ever, every time my overactive younger cousins want to play, i engage them in this game which i call fantasy world.

i tell them, “build a fort made from pillows, then we’ll lie in it and turn off the lights. we can only transport into another world if we close our eyes.”

which is fantastic, because:

a) i get to close my eyes and sleep

b) i don’t have to actually move; we’re wedged between a thousand pillows and my cousins and i are hiding under the blankets

c) we’re cozy and i get free cuddles

d) i like telling stories; like a lot.

all i have to do is move my lips and make occasional sound effects like a rocket ship blasting into space and crashing into one of the crevices of the moon.

i like telling these stories. i like weaving fantasies and indulging in the imaginary, because my tales that enrapture my cousins seems to surprise and excite myself too, and for a moment, i can believe that reality is secondary and everything around me is surreal.

imagine your world is spinning when you stir awake. you wake up to the sight of stars so close to your face that if you reach out, you can even feel their warmth. try touching them, cyril. hot and ticklish, isn’t it? and you try standing up and suddenly you feel your weight lifted up and you’re floating. there isn’t gravity here. you’re all alone and you realise with dread that your rocket ship has crashed and you’re stuck here. 

look at that star. it’s winking at you, isn’t it? oh wait. it’s coming closer and closer and closer and CRASH! it lands near you gracelessly and four figures walk out. beep boop beep bop boop, they say as they approach you. 

(at this point my cousin gets irrationally scared and it’s quite funny)

do you want to go home? they ask you. oh, they’re friendly!

“yes, please.” my cousin whispers.

we cannot help much, but the stars can. you have to listen to them. here. 

i pretend to pass to him something small.

put it in your ear. it helps you listen to what the stars are whispering to each other, and to you.

“thank you,” my cousin says, because we taught him manners. (and because he’s scared the aliens will suddenly attack. i might have given him a jumpscare or two a few hours ago.)

hello cyril, the stars says in a sweet voice when you plug in the device in your ear. can you hear them? don’t they sound beautiful? 

to go home, you have to accomplish a few missions. 

it almost seems like i’m convincing myself when i say the stars tell you that you have to let go to make yourself light enough until you can float back down to earth. what are making your heart feel heavy, cyril?

my cousin lists all the small fights he has with his elder brother and a few guilty mistakes he has made and makes up a few other stories that makes me giggle.

and suddenly you feel yourself lifted up, descending gently gently gently like a feather. the stars tell you to close your eyes once more and wish for home. and then you wake up to the feeling of a pillow beneath your head.