The apartment she rented was bare. An open window was partly obscured by an industrial strength fan. The power of the whirring wind-maker caused a chorus of chimes to erupt with sweet jingling. They dangled from a nearby plant-holder, shards of stained glass caught stray beams of sunlight and colored the inside room with pockets of purple and fuchsia.
A stick of incense crackled with each unexpected gust of wind. Nag Champa, a sweet spice, soaked into the furniture and wooden floorboards. This place might forever smell of hippies. The only other waves of noise came from an aquarium in the corner of the living room. Bubbles broke the surface of the water with a flurry of harmony while neon fish glided through swaying fronds of this man-made, underwater garden.
A girl, Aileen, laid upon her bed with eyes staring up at the loft ceiling. Cob webs far out of reach taunted her with their dusty dance in the circulating air. A pool of brown hair stretched out in all directions beneath her head. Pale lips, dried from slight dehydration and neglect, muttered something unintelligible in whispers.
A bird outside the window cawed loudly and Aileen was shaken from her reverie. Heavily, she sighed and tried to clear her head of the numbness and the malaise that seemed to be engulfing it of late. From her bedside table she snagged a journal, leatherbound and covered in cosmic embellishment. She grunted as she sat up in her bed, left hand dragging along the textured quilt beneath her as she found her balance. Leaning to the right, she plucked a pen from the folds of her skirts.
For a moment, Aileen just stared. Her fingertips traced the metallic embellishments on the leather. They really had been expertly crafted. This was a journal she had picked up from a local artisan. One of the benefits of living in a port town: great shopping. Another sigh released, she opened the journal and began to force pen to paper and see where it would lead her.
This is the Dream Journal of AJ Thunder.
I have purchased an enchanted journal from a nearby vendor. As I sleep, the pen I presently hold will journal my dreams for me. My hope is to fill in the missing pieces and figure out how to get back and how to find Patsy. In an effort not to influence or manipulate my own dreams by mistake, I will not read this journal for the first thirty days of its use. I will check back once a month to try and make sense of the dreams I have and seen whether or not they can be used to find our way home.
I love you, Patsy.
A stick of incense crackled with each unexpected gust of wind. Nag Champa, a sweet spice, soaked into the furniture and wooden floorboards. This place might forever smell of hippies. The only other waves of noise came from an aquarium in the corner of the living room. Bubbles broke the surface of the water with a flurry of harmony while neon fish glided through swaying fronds of this man-made, underwater garden.
A girl, Aileen, laid upon her bed with eyes staring up at the loft ceiling. Cob webs far out of reach taunted her with their dusty dance in the circulating air. A pool of brown hair stretched out in all directions beneath her head. Pale lips, dried from slight dehydration and neglect, muttered something unintelligible in whispers.
A bird outside the window cawed loudly and Aileen was shaken from her reverie. Heavily, she sighed and tried to clear her head of the numbness and the malaise that seemed to be engulfing it of late. From her bedside table she snagged a journal, leatherbound and covered in cosmic embellishment. She grunted as she sat up in her bed, left hand dragging along the textured quilt beneath her as she found her balance. Leaning to the right, she plucked a pen from the folds of her skirts.
For a moment, Aileen just stared. Her fingertips traced the metallic embellishments on the leather. They really had been expertly crafted. This was a journal she had picked up from a local artisan. One of the benefits of living in a port town: great shopping. Another sigh released, she opened the journal and began to force pen to paper and see where it would lead her.
This is the Dream Journal of AJ Thunder.
I have purchased an enchanted journal from a nearby vendor. As I sleep, the pen I presently hold will journal my dreams for me. My hope is to fill in the missing pieces and figure out how to get back and how to find Patsy. In an effort not to influence or manipulate my own dreams by mistake, I will not read this journal for the first thirty days of its use. I will check back once a month to try and make sense of the dreams I have and seen whether or not they can be used to find our way home.
I love you, Patsy.