This is a short story, an exploration of technology & human motivations, and the nature of escapism.

She popped the earbuds in her ears, scrolled through the list on her phone, selected an item, and clicked play. An entirely routine routine, an act utterly relatable, a nightly ritual for countless people around the world. Slowly rising, as if drawing closer, was the sound of rain. A soft & rhythmic pattering, steadily building. Her eyes closed; breathing became slower and deeper. After a few minutes, a soothing voice spoke: “your selected dream will soon begin.”

She slipped into a shallow sleep, lying upon a bed of beige, in a room with beige walls, wearing a beige gown. The only colour to be found in this room was the dark & polished oak of her furniture.

It had been a long, difficult, and uncomfortable day. An exhausting day, ineffably so. She needed a break. She needed something light. She needed a sweet dream.

The voice resumed: “You are wearing a gown of rich red, covered in delicate pink lace. The gown is made of the lightest and softest silk. It feels cool against your skin, like a gentle breeze on a crisp spring morning. You are lying on a bed, soft as feathers, deep and cool, on blankets of pink and purple, soft as the finest cashmere. You wake, fully rested, fully restored, fully relaxed.”

She rolled over in bed, and next to her was a tray, laden with delicacies. Champagne with sliced strawberries. A crepe, filled with chocolate & hazelnut, dusted with powdered sugar, and topped with shaved chocolate. Blueberries and cream. Caramelised pears. Orange and vanilla scones.

“Oh! Breakfast in bed!”

Each dish was prepared to perfection, sweet, and entirely delectable.

After eating her fill, she stood and stretched. A shiver ran down her spine and the cool silk of her red gown caressed her skin.

Walking to the restroom, her feet sinking into the plush purple rug, she found a hot bath already drawn, the air sweet with the scent of lavender, jasmine, and the rose petals that rested upon the surface of the water. The temperature of the water was perfect. On a small table next to the bath was a bowl of strawberries and a dish of cream; a sweet snack for a long bath. Purple towels and a red silk robe were there and waiting on her to need them.

A perfectly lazy, relaxed, and pampered morning.

Emerging from her room, with its soft pink walls, after a long bath, she found her way to the kitchen, where brunch was waiting. French toast topped with berries and powdered sugar. Raspberry scones. Apple strudel. Cinnamon rolls topped with cream cheese. The room was filled with the scent of the variety of freshly baked treats. A bottle of champagne had been mixed into a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice; all the mimosas a person could drink.

“Mmm! Smells Good. Everything looks so sweet.”

The food was again prepared to absolute perfection, though she ate more deliberately than she had earlier. After eating, she changed into a more comfortable outfit, and continued to explore the house.

In the living room, she found a selection of her favourite books arrayed on a table next to a comfortable chair, along with a warm wool throw, and a bottle of red wine. A temptation too great to resist.

Hours passed as she read in peace. Despite regularly drinking from her wine glass, the level never seemed to drop. With the sun setting as the day drew to a close, only upon standing did it occur to her just how often she had been sipping the wine. Her sudden lack of balance made it clear that she had substantially more than she should have.

She stumbled into the kitchen, looking for something to eat, looking for something to help her sober up. Chocolate cake. Apple pie. Crème brûlée. Ice cream. Cookies, lemon cookies, tea cookies, sugar cookies, cookies everywhere.

As her world began spinning more and more as the effects of the alcohol intensify, she walks back to her room. The cashmere blankets are gone. Pink and purple cotton candy cover the bed instead.

She sat bolt upright in her bed. An earbud went flying from her ear. She looked around and saw the familiar beige and oak of her bedroom. She moved, cautiously, trying to understand if she was actually drunk, or if it was just a dream. She felt for her familiar quilted blankets, and laughed at finding them instead of a bed covered in cotton candy.

She walked to the restroom, the cold tile stung her feet, as she searched the room for the missing earbud.

A few minutes later she was back in bed, both earbuds pressed firmly into her ears. Instead of picking a specific dream, she tapped the auto button. The familiar sound of rain started, and soon the voice returned: “You are lying on a bed, firm and cold. You feel the rich black leather against your skin.”

Her eyes snapped open. Her cheeks flushed. “Nope! No. No. Not that one. Not tonight. Nope.”

She pressed the pause button on her phone, and spent a couple minutes carefully looking through the list. She scrolled through the dozens of categories available. Holidays. Life events. Romance. Horror. She picked one from the Places category.

The sound of rain resumed, and eventually the voice was back: “You are wearing a light lace gown, white and pure. It rests weightlessly on your skin. A cool and gentle breeze blows. You are surrounded by trees, tall and green; young pines and ancient oaks. The air is filled with the sound of birds and the smell of flowers. Ahead of you is an open glade, filled with wild flowers, white and yellow and red.”

She looked around as the breeze blew through her hair. She reached out, ran her fingers along the trunk of an oak tree that was likely hundreds of years old. She felt the countless layers of bark, scars left behind from years immemorial of growth. This venerable tree, regal and mute, had witnessed much over the many seasons it had stood at the edge of this glade. She wished it could share those stories.

She walked away from the trees, into the open air of the clearing. A great ring of flowers and grass, hundreds of feet in width. As the birds chirped and danced in the air above her, she smiled softly. Over the years, she had been here more times than she could count. It was peaceful, beautiful, and happy.

“I love this place” she said, as the memories flooded through her mind. For the briefest moment though, there was a flicker of doubt. Which memories were real, and which were dreams? As quickly as it arrived, the doubt, the question, it faded away.

She ran through the grass, she picked flowers, she laid in the grass and watched the clouds float across the sky. If it had been minutes or hours, she neither knew nor cared. She was in her favourite place. She felt the thing she wanted more than anything else, peace.

In a world far away, a world that she was entirely unaware of, the screen of a cell phone activated and displayed a message: “Critical Dream Management Error. Exit dream and restart app immediately.”

In the warm sun, she closed her eyes, lying in the grass, enjoying the heat on her skin. She drifted into a long dreamless nap. Time passed beyond her reckoning. When she finally woke, she stood, stretched, and was momentarily confused upon seeing her red gown with pink lace. “Red?” She wondered aloud, almost certain that she had been wearing white. Though she soon laughed off the concern.

In a room with beige walls, a beige bed, slept a woman wearing a beige gown. On her nightstand, an alarm clock blared. Minutes turned to hours. She didn’t stir.

A message appeared on the woman’s phone: “Unable to automatically terminate dream. User must end dream session immediately.”

As she walked through the glade, simply enjoying the sights and sounds, she spotted a lovely purple flower. When she saw it, her first thought was that it would look delightful in her hair. She stooped to pick it, but when she did, it shattered like glass. She picked another, and it shattered. And another. And another. It made no sense. In all her time in the heaven of peace, never had she experienced anything like this.

“This is weird, but it’s fine. As long as I don’t pick the flowers, everything is still perfect.”

She resolved to not pick anymore flowers, but she still ran through the grass, still watched the clouds, and took more naps in the warm light of the sun. Time passed, though she was still indifferent to how much.

While exploring the edge of the forest, where the trees provided shade to the glade, she picked a single leaf from a tree. In the moment, every other leaf on the tree shrivelled and fell. Then the tree, as if aging hundreds of years in seconds, itself withered, died, and was left as a rotten husk. What had been alive and beautiful only moments earlier, was now a symbol of death.

“Well that’s disturbing, but it’s fine. As long as I don’t pick the flowers or leaves, everything is still perfect.”

Time passed, and she still ran through the grass, still watched the clouds, and still took naps in the warm light of the sun. After one nap though, she noticed something odd. The grass where she had been was dried and dead. She walked around the spot where she had been napping to inspect the grass, and as she did, she saw her footsteps. Each place she stepped, the grass was now dead.

“I guess it’s a good thing I like this spot. As long as I don’t pick the flowers or leaves or walk around, everything is still perfect.”

She sat in that spot, listening to the birds, watching the clouds. Hours went by. Or maybe days. She couldn’t tell anymore. She still felt peace. Constrained and restricted, but still peace, which is what mattered.

A faint buzz, an annoying but faint droning, what she had assumed were bees flying around the glade, was growing louder and harder to ignore. An undeniable pang formed in her belly. For the first time in what felt like days, she was hungry. She looked around, but there was nothing to eat.

She stood, stretched lazily, and took a single step. She hesitated. Frozen, she looked at the small spot she’d been sitting, the path out of the glade, then back again. Minutes ticked by.

“Do I really need to eat?”