By Coco Dumez
I walked into my sister's room to see her peacefully sleeping, her hair sprawled all over the pillow, her mouth wide open. I passed the faded poster above her dresser, as I do every day. But something told me to stop this morning. I approach the poster, its corners slowly peeling from the wall after its long years in solitude. As my sister snores, my eyes trace the image, noticing things I had never paid attention to before. I stand on my tippy toes, my wide eyes practically touching the paper. My mind adjusts to the faded hues and ripped edges. I begin to slip away.
I lay under a tree, feeling the soft leaves fall onto my naked body. I hear a woman’s laughter, a bird's song, the water’s constant hum. No buildings are in sight. No bustling crowds, no car horns beeping, no cries from unloved children. Peace does exist. I stand up, taking in my definition of perfection. My head on a constant swivel, my eyes stay peeled for anything that could ruin this foreign place. A pink fountain stands in the distance, a familiar home for the hundreds of colored birds. Beautiful new animals run around in the grass by my feet, their tails wagging, their smiles beaming. I take a step forward.
A new reality emerges. A beautiful reality, but not so much foreign. I see familiar things. I see an ounce of chaos, an ounce of a crowd. Still, the beauty seeps into my eyes, replacing my ready tears. Instead of animals and birds and nature, I am greeted with people. Naked people, just like me I suppose. I dance in their rituals, bathe in their fountains, sing with their choirs. Until I take another step forward.
A new, dark, painful reality emerges. This place is too familiar, too violent. There is no sun in the sky, only a black endless night. The only light comes from the flames over the hills in the distance. I hear screams of pain, cries for help, moans of agony. The happy animals I once stood with were now emotionless, tortured until their death. The beautiful people I once danced with were now frowning, scared for their lives. I slammed my eyes shut, telling myself, “nothing is real, nothing is real.” Then, I’m back in my sister’s bedroom, hearing the familiar hum of her sleep. I pull myself away from the poster, shaking her awake. I leave without a word.