A dream whispered to another...

A man was dreaming about flowers, there were hordes of them in the valley, roses, tulips, dahlia, lily… but it was the wild flowers, which he found the most exotic, flowers whose names he did not know, flowers like he had never seen before. They formed such a mélange of color, an intoxicating mix; it was hard to take eyes off them, and as all the flowers beamed at him he felt as if an enchantress had captivated him. He sits down amidst them, his heart so full of all the good things in the world.

His reverie is broken when he hears a rumble getting louder by the instant. Engulfed in fear he looks up to see a large mass of snow sliding down the slope of the mountain towards him. “Snow, Wow! I can ski!” he thinks. And the next moment he is accoutered in his skiing equipments rushing down the slopes, feeling the chill of the wind on his face, right down to his spine.

“That was very rude of you Mister, he was so happy with me till you budged in.” whispered the dream of flowers to the dream of snow. “Oh Hello! We are dreams here, manifestation of this man’s desires; I can’t push and shove like living creatures even when I so want to now. I exist because he dreamed of me, and who are you to blame me?” replied the dream of snow gruffly. “Shh! Keep your voice low, will you, or he will wake up, I was just saying he so liked being with me, he was having the time of his life, I bet” said the dream of flowers dreamily.

“What do you think he felt while he was with me, he was whooping with joy if you hadn’t noticed. And mind you, people whoop with joy when they are doing something exciting like skiing, not boring things like gazing at a bunch of lame flowers.” Retorted the dream of snow. “How dare you call the flowers lame? They were the most attractive ones you would ever get to see, and he was a gazing at a valley of flowers not a bunch, get your brains checked, Mister. ” replied the dream of flowers angrily.

So they fought on and on, no one ready to concede that the other was right, each retorting to the other with renewed force and anger, till the din they created was too much for the man to bear and he woke up. “These neighbors, can’t even let me sleep in peace, why in the world are they fighting at such ungodly hours? It is just six in the morning, damn it.” He gazes out of his window towards his neighbor’s bedroom, disgustingly. The beautiful roses blooming in his neighbor’s garden catch his eyes and he suddenly remembers having seen the valley of flowers. “Wow! What a place that was, such pretty flowers? Was that heaven disguising as a dream?” The man went on merrily, thinking and raving about the valley of flowers.

“See, didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you that he was having the time of his life with me, he still remembers.” whispered the dream of flowers triumphantly. But the dream of snow was nowhere to be seen; it had long since been forgotten, lost in the vastness of the man's mind. The dream of flowers was saddened to the core for the loss of its mate, it had no one with whom it could argue with. It realized for the first time that it was merely a dream, and evanescence was its second nature. “Alas!” it said to no one in particular and then the dream of flowers too withered away.