This story was based of many dreams; one in particular, and most of it is true, especially the end, where one of the greatest messages was told to me. I think though, the message stands for nothing can be perfect, and if it is, it does not exist in this life or consciousness. But maybe we can find it if we can use it wisely. This world is a combination of all my dream worlds, and I hope we can find small perfect things in our dreams.

—The Author

Between Two Worlds

The hallway was long and dark, each flickering light of the candles bouncing like vivacious creatures, morphing and warming. The girl’s footsteps made almost no sound as she drifted past the corridor, light as a breath of cloud. She could feel her heart thumping, a fluttering trapped animal in her throat. She could feel the emptiness where it should have been in her chest. She remembered coming here before, the dark walls of this passageway the same as ever...

A warm shape guided her arm; she realized it was a hand. The love of her life was smiling warmly at her, his face perfectly etched and soft in the orange glow the candles provided her. He had a small weak smile on, and the shadows under his eyes from the light made him seem frail and ailing. He nodded softly and walked down the hallway, brushing his hand off her arm, and the skin felt cool where he left contact.

The girl gave a cry of indignation and ran to follow him through the corridor that had no end. Up a spiral staircase she came, and it led to nowhere, just empty blackness.

And she blinked in the sudden sunlight.

She was on a beach, not unlike the one in her hometown Santa Monica. The highway winding around the rugged cliff, with the

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large houses facing the fresh white sand, but it was empty. The highway was vacant, and the dark murky waters were as clear as tropical seas, with crystal shine and light happy blue. There was not a soul on the beach, just an abandoned towel, with an umbrella. The girl ran to it, enjoying the warm sands and the feel of the crisp sea air on her face. She sat on the empty, clean towel; trying to remember why she should be worried she was here, but no negative thought came to her relaxed mind. She lay on the towel, watching the cloudless sky. Stars appeared, despite the noon sun, and they grew bigger and larger, pulsing, filling the girl’s mind and eyes...

She was whooshed to a strange building, in a franchise mall store with an unrecognizable name. She saw all her friends and family, waiting for her to pick out her clothes for an unknown occasion. But as the girl scanned the rows and rows of material, she realized they were not clothes. They were pieces of cloth, hardly big enough to cover her body. But as the girl looked around, she noticed other girls, in the meager outfits with silver and blue makeup, walking with each a purse in one hand and a boy in the other. There was only one girl, in regular clothes, who was looking at her with a rebelled look. She walked up to the girl and asked: “What do you choose?” The girl stammered, bewildered. She took out an outfit and watched it, as it latched to her and morphed to jeans and a T-shirt. The strange rebel girl nodded and said, “Keep it.” The girl was perplexed but did not dispute as she ran out of the store. She burst out to see she was at the muddy bank of an island, with a neighborhood of small Victorian houses. She ran inside one to see two of friends. Usually messy and uncoordinated, they were dressed in suits and one was painting finely. He smiled briefly at her before going back to his concentrating work. The other was playing keys on a piano, clearing his throat every so often. The girl was utterly dumbfounded at this irrational disclosure. She was about to say something, before the painter shot up his head. “Your time approaches,” he whispered. “The way will be clear, but first you must know what happens next. Take my paints.” He handed his palette filled with colors to the confused girl. “If you can find the right colors, they will help you.” With a bang, a man’s voice exploded from one door. Looking alarmed, the two contrary friends exchanged a glance and bustled away, leaving the girl alone. She looked at the paint palette. The lavender purple matched the hue on the wall. In desperation she dipped her hand in the pale thick mixture and smeared it on the smooth wall. The wall