In my dream there, there was a neighbourhood.


It was night and the streetlights were on, orange incandescent and dim. Double storey terraces, flanked by overgrown trees and self-maintained foliage that did more to obscure than beautify, ran along the road and turned itself into a disguised maze.


I didn’t know the place. It was familiar for being real, but it was nonetheless alien and -- under the dreamlike waver of the moon -- completely mystical, somewhat.


I was in the car, and I was nervous in the way one would feel when feeling lost. The radio was turned on but nothing was playing. Somehow the icy air emanating from the conditioner whispered like a sighing breeze, sharp and penetrating, and it was as though it could freeze the dull flickering warmth I think was hope. I was helpless. I remembered being close to fearful.


The turn took me to a house with a raised tent at the front, and from underneath the little light that could escape was almost blinding. There was thumping music; a party, and where the music came also came with bits of cheerful yells and whoops. I stopped and got off, hoping to ask for directions.


A young man appeared out of nowhere, and made towards me.


“Here for the party?” he asked, his accent Scottish. “Got an invitation?”


“No,” I said. “I’m lost, and I was wondering if you can give me some directions.”


He raised an eyebrow, the judgemental way, and somewhat belittling. I could see his tongue darting out to lick his lips. He looked almost unsettling; there was a perturbing energy coming from him.


“It depends on where you want to go,” he said, and now he was looking at me as though he expects me to start giving him something for his trouble. “Can’t give you directions if you don’t tell me where you want to go.”


I realised that I didn’t really know where I was headed. “Just out of here,” I said. “Out of this place. The neighbourhood.”


He smiled, looking cocky. “Drive down the opposite direction and turn left. Keep going until you see this house with a big yellow gate, then turn left. You should see the sign telling you where out is.”


“Thanks,” I said. And then I remembered. “Listen, I appreciate the help, so perhaps maybe I can give you something for your t-”


“Fuck it,” he said, pulling some sort of mock grimace and waving his hands. “All to help a lost friend.”


And then he vanished. The music turned into an unmistakable medley of jazz. The light from the tent turned blue.


I got into the car and drove.


I took the left turn like the man told me to, and drove for several minutes before I came to the house with the big yellow gates. Somehow in the dark the yellow was still prominent; perhaps so thick in colour it managed to glow. I turned left, and found myself facing another tent.


Behind was the sign, but the tent had obscured the large part of it. Like the first tent the music was thumping, vibrating the ground rhythmically, though the light was velvet. Someone was singing inside, the amplified sound muffled and dulled by the thick canvas. I thought I could drive past, but the tent took up the whole of the road.


Someone knocked the side of my window. I looked up and saw a girl with a Mohawk.
“No minors,” she said, the little ringlets of her lips catching some of the velvet light. “Beat it.”
I wound the window down, and said to her, “I’m not going in there. I need to get out, but I can’t get around the tent. Is there another way out of here?”


She was looking aggravated, and I could tell that she was slightly drunk. “Go the opposite direction, past that house with the big stupid gates, then turn left, then left again. There is a road to the right that takes you to the highway. Go straight and you see the sign, but better the highway if you want to make out of here.”


“Thanks,” I said, but before I could roll the window down she stuck her head into the car.


“You’re no minor,” she said, and she sniffed at me as though she could smell my age. “You can join the party.” She threw me a smile that was half flirty and half chilly.


“No thanks. I really should get going.”


“Well,” she said, lifting her head out. “Yours to waste.” She turned her back and walked towards the tent.


I didn’t wait for her to enter the tent. I did a there point turn and went the other direction. Left and left again, and true enough there was a road to the right with a sign saying Highway. I didn’t turn, however. Somehow I thought I should be looking at the sign. It felt to me that there was another way out, or at the very least, I should know what this place was.


The sign was the type you get at the zoo, with small wooden plates pointing which is where.

There were 5 plates in total.


The first plate said Taman Megah, pointing left. The one pointing right said Taman Sentosa and the third one said Library, pointing behind it.


The fourth one was blank, pointing towards the highway. The last plate said Exit, pointing northwest.


I took the road that said exit.


It took me to past a playground with a basketball court, and there was sign that said Exit with an arrow pointing left. I took the road, which led me back to the house with the yellow gates.


I stopped in front of it. The gates were open, and from within the darkness I could see the Exit sign, lighted green.


A chorus. A song. Like a choir, flowing, like it was the wind itself.


I walked in. And then I woke up.

**************

Maybe i should've posted it in monochrome smogs, but it was more like talking about a dream to me than actually telling a story. I didn't mean to write it like a story even, but somehow it caught up.

The funny thing with this dream was that I remembered the words exactly; like my dream about the Arch in the Desert, this one was so real i woke up not knowing who i was for a minute.

I'm starting to like what i'm dreaming lately.