My drawing capabilities aren’t what they used to be, but this is close.
When I was two I dreamed I was inside a playland of soft clear tubes, inflated with air like the bounce house at the kiddie park.
Countless children filled the tubes, which appeared to be endless. It should have been a fun dream, but it wasn’t.
Children slid down slides. They shouted and squealed. They tossed beach balls around.
There were no adults, only small children. Everyone could play and play as long as they liked.
And all around was that clean yet cloying smell. The smell of fun, the smell of a new toy, the odor you could taste when you stuck it in your mouth.
It should have been fun. But that clean yet cloying smell was wrong in a way I couldn’t explain.
The fun went on forever and no one was in charge. I was uneasy. I didn’t know how to feel.
Anytime I smell a beach ball, buy new shower curtains or blow up an air mattress, I get a flashback to that dream. It’s the fragrance of fun, but still I feel uneasy.
I put a lot of stock in dreams, especially the ones that stick around.
Sometimes it takes years to understand them, sometimes I never do. But they feel like messages.
I’m not sure why the above dream stuck around. Maybe it was toddler’s version of the Rapture Machine dream. A hint of falseness about the world I was being sold.
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