Dreaming in Digital

It was a sunny summer day, and my mother, sister and I went to a house that was private, but used publicly as a spiritual place. Formerly, it belonged to my cousin before she moved away.

I wore a lavender dress, with a short, white cardigan over my sleeveless arms.

The stairs leading to this basement home were floating steps, covered by a plum, velvet fabric. It was terrifying to take these steps down, as they were quite spaced part. I tried one step, which was broken and spun around on its axis, and I warned the family behind me to watch their step on it. They had a little girl about eight with them.

That day, there was a congregation to see a spiritual leader (whose name I can't remember), who lived there and hosted spiritual sessions. I walked in behind my mother and sister, following them into the living room. As mass was gathered at her feet - a woman, whose bare legs were showing to reveal an intricate, coloured tattoo of an orange snake's bottom half, giving her the illusion she was a snake. We went deeper into the home, and there was a room where the couches were covered in white sheets.

Sitting on the sofa closest to me, with their backs turned, was a girl and a boy, past their teenage years. Seated on a single seater, also draped in white,across from them was an older lady in her forties. Separating them was a glass coffee table, trimmed with gold, and on top of it was a golden pothos potted in a golden pot. The walls were white with a tint of blue, so that when it was dark, the walls were white with a hint of baby blue.

Upon hearing steps, the siblings turned to see who approached and the boy's face lit up upon seeing me.

He took my hands in his, and held them close to our hearts, introducing himself. (I can't remember his name). He was handsome, tanned by the sun, with black hair and eyes. Excited, he asked with a Spanish accent, "did you like my book?"

I studied his face, trying to recognized who he was. Some time earlier, I was on my Instagram account, and I'd found a book with a fictional story I was interested in. I had followed his account, so I would't forget about it, but it was definitely near the top of my reading list. "I'm sorry," I said. "I haven't started yet, but I plan to read it soon."

He gave me a hug, as if we were old friends, and in his embrace, I noted his mother was watching intently, suspicious of me. Once we broke, I excused myself to the bathroom.

I knew where it was. I made my way into an empty dining room with a glass table top, and golden chairs. In the corner of the room, there was a little powder room that I've used many times as a child. I just made it through the door frame when the young author hurried in, asking if I needed help in finding it. Before I could answer, he pulled me aside, away from the view of others, and kissed me passionately, for what felt like a minute, only tearing away when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

"This is the door," he said, breathlessly, his face turned away from his mother who had just walked in. He pulled open the door, and seated on the toilet, was a horrified old man.