A Walled Garden.

The breeze. Oh, the breeze. The day fell through the cracks between the mango leaves onto his face — hot, oh, but for the afternoon breeze. The white stone bench on which he sat was pleasantly cool. His white dog sat on the bench — front legs on his lap looking up at him. He looked back up through the leaves and smiled. If this wasn’t nice, he didn’t know what was.

Ahead of him, a few feet away, stood his childhood home. It’s pale white-green walls were as comforting to the eye as they had ever been. The wooden front door and the wooden windows were beautiful in their scratched-up old age. Tiny birds, no bigger than a crumpled up love note, darted in and out of the open door way, tending to the their nest which they had built in the large chandelier — a cool, secluded space where the world wouldn’t find their eggs.

He petted snoopy gently along the back of her neck. His hand came away dirty with earth. A thirst was growing in his throat. He moved his dog slowly off of his lap and started towards his house. He stepped into sand where it should have been concrete. He looked back to his dog on the bench but she was gone along with the mango trees. A dark green wall ran to his left and right, as far as the eyes could see. He turned back to his house. He walked steadily, cautiously. Above him, a dimness was gathering around sun. He turned towards the door wading through a deepening layer of dead and browning mango leaves. As he reached the door a loud thud after thud stopped him. His heart took off and he could feel the cold sweat crawling out of his skin. He looked back at the shaking wall. Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack.

A long, rusted steel spear burst through and made a hole in the wall above the bench where he sat moments ago. Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack. Another hole. He turned to run inside the house but it appeared that it would be no safer in there. The walls began to crack at the corners and the old windows turned to ash. Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack.

He woke with a start and a gasp. He found himself asleep on his side, clutching a pillow damp with sweat, at the edge of his bed. From across his room, on his desk, a small black and white cat watched him. He turned flat on his back and put both palms on his face. Memories trickled into his awareness and soon that one moment of blissful ignorance in the morning — those seconds that only exist after the relief of realizing it was all a dream cascaded through your body — was gone. Meow said the cat. He sat up, stepped into a pair of slippers by his bed, pulled on one of his father’s old t-shirts and walked out of the room, followed closely by his cat. Soon, down the sleek tunnel of a hallway they were joined by another cat, White, and Snoopy, his dog.

“Siri, Breakfast” he said, greeting his friends.

“Good morning John. How about some eggs for you and the usual for the other three?”

“Sure. Siri, play something by Deadmaus”

“Sure John. Playing HR8938 Cephei by Deadmaus”

Two doors slid open at the end of the hall and the team stepped into a large room. The hall was cluttered with cardboard boxes and old furniture. To the right, an old Sony stereo played. To the left of the hall, arms cracked possibly the last eggs in existence into a frying pan. The cats and snoopy padded off to their bowls.

John stepped over boxes of china and stacks of framed family photographs towards the front of the room where the walls converged to a nose. He stood in front of one of four seats and flipped a switch. Steel shutters rose ahead of him into the ceiling revealing the vast darkness dotted with specks of light. Another switch and more windows into space appeared to his left and right.

John walked to the left most window and looked towards the expanding ball of dust and fire that was once his home. Snoopy came to his side and sat looking up at him. He stroked the top of her head and looked at his hand out of habit. It would never come away dirty with earth ever again.

“John, breakfast is ready”

“Thanks”

“So, where to John?”

John stepped away from the window and sat down at his mother’s old dining table, putting the fiery scene behind him, as two large nuclear powered engines vibrated into life outside, speeding him away from what was his pale blue dot, the only home he’d ever known. He clasped his hands, closed his eyes and said grace. Tears dotted the dusty table.

“Eggs, Siri. Take us somewhere with eggs”