A Personal Disillusion : Entry 1

I awoke that night in a rather disturbed fashion. Pillows were intertwined among my legs and lower torso as I arose from the mattress, presenting a struggle to sit upwards. The room was brightly lit, as the lamp lingered above my head ominously. I had little recollection of whether or not the fixtures were left powered purposely, or some unbeknownst entity entered my dwelling while a somnolent coma crept upon my mental awareness.

“Mia, will you sit beside the bed?”

My love had shuffled about beyond the confines of my chamber for some time. She paced to and fro, interrogating me silently with her blue eyes of fervent concern. They glistened with a sparkle of piercing light as she entered. Her white dress fluttered in parallel motions as she headed toward the night-stand.

“Feeling better? Or should I fetch some more water?” Her whisper caressed my ears as the words flowed into my mind.

“Just sit next me, I’ll be fine by this evening.”

I was uncertain of my environment after arising from the eternal sleep. Was this location just fictitious notions strung together? Had I been genuinely sick?

“It is the evening. Haven’t you realized where this is, yet?”

Her words had taken me abruptly. They were unexpected, seemingly cryptic in nature.

“I apologize, the fever tends to make me uneasy and detached. Mind if you open the window so I may look out while I rest?”

Mia looked doubtful as I spoke, casting her eyes downward on the red carpeting. Her peach hair dangled freely from the tip of her narrow, fragile facade. The sight of her complexion under the blaring lumination aroused my senses. I began to feel ashamed at the sudden, sexual tension.

“You want to fuck?”

I was flabbergasted by the remark. Needless to say, my body jolted at the blatant expression. I crawled backward on the linen sheets, clenching their surface in a fit of intimidation.

“Don’t be so meek about it. Get over here and make love to me, or I won’t open the window.”

She adored contradictions. The one flaw in my lover’s pristine existence is the fact of her own self being laden with paradoxical conflict.

“Well, which is it? You want to fuck or make love? There’s a difference you know. I’ve told you countless times that fucking is the act of sex for pleasure, and making love was sexual unification through romantic and physical devices.”

She scoffed at my words. Mia rose from the stool adjacent to the bed and climbed on top of me. She loomed over my chest, peering down with sarcastic and seductive glare. Her hair came forwards, falling freely above my face. The intoxicating scent melted my inhibitions.

“This was how you were the first time. It felt just like this, too. Shame we can’t relive the nights of creative passion.”

Every sentence was a blur, and my setting began to revolve around the current position hastily. The room twirled and turned at a rapid face. My body lurched with agony as the rotations increased. I was utterly clueless to each and every occurrence transpiring, nevertheless as to why the bed remained stationary.

“Mia, you need to open that window right now.”

She fell on top of my stomach, rubbing her soft head against my flesh. The locale’s revolutions had ceased in an instant, leaving a snowy landscape where the minuscule home had been. Shingles, plywood, and remnants of plumbing contraptions lay scattered amongst the radius of my bedding. I stared out beyond the glacial horizon. I’d known this place all of my life. It was here, my family had taken summertime excursions with- how did she become aware of this?

“Still feeling down?”

I could only giggle and roll over to the side of the mattress. I laid my feet into the icy flakes, wiggling the toes to experience it’s chilly bite.

“No, no. I would imagine we should start heading back home.”

Mia arose and slid her knees across the sheets. She embraced me from behind, setting forth a great warmth in my frosted state.

“Welcome home.”