A Sleeping Dream

I found myself in a house, familiar yet strangely unfamiliar. Like a mash-up all of the houses I’ve ever lived in, rolled into one. The house was quiet. Seemingly unoccupied.

I wandered into the living room. I came across the abandoned debris of a TV dinner. I tidied up the dishes.

I walked upstairs into a study. A cross between my own house’s small study space and the larger attic room of my childhood – stretched out, combined, morphed into one.

Izzy came down the stairs from a room upstairs somewhere (I guess the attic rooms of Molly and Beth’s bedrooms) and joined me in the study. She was little, maybe 5 or 6. She was clutching an enlarged, elongated chocolate snack. Something like one of those chocolate assortments you get at Christmas.

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There, in the room, was the cream Habitat chair of my childhood. The same chair where, in a previous dream, Beth had sat, sowing and waiting.

‘Can I sleep here tonight?’ Izzy asked.

It seemed an odd request. Why would she want to sleep on a small chair that wasn’t even big enough to allow her to lie out. She’d have to sleep sat up.

Nevertheless I lifted her into the chair and sat her there. As I did so I asked her ‘Why?’

‘Because’ she replied ‘I’ll be closer to Beth.’

I pulled a duvet from somewhere and wrapped it around her, drowsy and snug.

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