The Peek of Possibility

Oriana Aries stood in front of two identical golden doors with silver knobs. Despite their similarities, they were two doors with two completely different possibilities. One, the possibility of making dreams your reality. The other with the possibility of dreaming your reality, and it never becoming reality. 

“Pick one,” Oriana whispered to herself. “Just pick one. It’s not hard.”

With a seemingly easy choice to make. It was hard to make it. She had watched shows before and knew that behind at least one of the doors was something she did not want to happen. Something that could be harmful. Something she would have to be extremely cautious of. 

Left door, or right. Was right a direction or was it the true decision? 

After hyping herself up. Gathering all the courage that was in her, Oriana Aries made her decision. 

She would go left.

Opening the doors cold silver handle Oriana was sucked into a nearly empty white room. The only color contrast being a black leather couch and flatscreen TV.

“Hello!” She called out. “Hello?” 

But her voice simply seemed to echo throughout the room endlessly. 

“What is this place?” She asked herself. 

Everything felt real. But before she was in this place she had been laying in her bedroom in her New York apartment going to sleep after her mother tucked her in. She usually had vivid dreams. Dreams where everything felt real. But nothing like the dream she was in. 

It was a weird tingling sensation, like her soul attempting to jump out and fly to another realm. 

As the confused young lady turned around to leave, the golden door was nowhere to be seen. 

“Ah!” She exclaimed as she fell backward. 

But she did not fall onto the hard white floor as she expected. Instead, she fell onto a comfortable leather couch. A black leather couch across from a flat-screen TV. 

The same couch and TV she had thought to be feet away from where she fell. 

The tingling feeling throughout Oriana’s body increased as her head felt as though it was being scrambled. Her fingers started to grow numb, and soon her whole body. A pull and tug on her feet lifted her off the couch. 

But as she dangled in the air, she realized no one was pulling her. Without warning, she was tugged into the TV with a silent but heavy bang. 

Everything felt fuzzy as she suddenly rose to her feet. 

“Ouch,” She quietly groaned. 

There were bright lights and cheers in the not-so-far distance. A microphone speaker screeched and some people in the crowd screamed at the unexpected noise. 

Bright lights, a glimmering silver curtain, wooden floors, stage lights, a crowd. As her eyes adjusted the confused young lady realized where she was. 

In the wild clapping crowd, Oriana’s own family could be seen cheering and whistling. Oriana attempted to yell out to them, but a lump in her throat approached. All that came out was a little screech. 

She backed behind the curtain and cleared her throat, attempting to speak again. 

But as she continued, the crowd grew louder. 

They were cheering for her. 

Well, not her exactly. But someone like her. A girl with dark skin and a poofy afro with a white streak in her hair. A graceful walk and an eager smile. Eyes that could light up a street for miles. Someone so much like Oriana. Someone who Oriana wanted to be so much like. Her possible self she dreamed of.

Dream Oriana held a painting. One of the deep blue sea and its many mysteries. The greatest one of all, the infamous Kraken. The monstrous creature, who swam in the ocean's deepest waters. 

It was a sight to see. 

The waves and the way they crashed onto the sharp rocks like a knife. The way the sun looked so real, and its heat could be felt because the painting gave some sense of warmth. The Kraken swimming deep below in the darkest part. In fact, it was hardly able to be seen. But its blood-hungry eyes stared at you. 

“Keep the eyes on the prize”

A person in a golden bedazzled suit and flats that “click-clacked” when they walked appeared from beside Oriana. Except, he did not notice her. 

Oriana noticed the man right away and gasped. 

The one, the only, Mr. Ace. 

The famous painter of “The Ace Deck”. A deck of cards featuring only Mr. Ace’s paintings. It was something so simple, but because he was the son of an actual talented artist, people bought it. 

“Welcome, welcome everyone.” Mr. Ace waved to the roaring crowd. 

Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t smiling. But he usually didn’t. 

“I’m glad to stand before such lovely people this evening.” He turned towards Dream- Oriana and back towards the crowd. “This evening is a very important day for this State’s artist. It’s a day to remember. A dream came true. Something that only happens due to hard work when that hard work is due. And that hard work is from an amazing young woman. And artistic one. One who painted what she felt and used her paintbrush across the canvas to execute it.” 

Dream- Oriana stepped forward, ready to accept the award she had been longing for for years.  The award she dreamt of day and night. 

As Oriana got up to see everything more clearly she hung onto a stage light. Suddenly a tingling feeling throughout Oriana’s body increased as her head felt as though it was being scrambled. Her fingers started to grow numb, and soon her whole body. A pull and tug on her feet lifted her off the ground.  

She dangled in the air, although no one was pulling her. Without warning, she was tugged into the stage light with a silent but heavy bang. 

Everything felt fuzzy as she suddenly rose to her feet. 

Oriana zoomed into an unfamiliar place. 

The place was blinding and pierced her eyes with a “zing”. The only clue to where Oriana might have been was the jamming of music and the smell of too much paint swarming through her ears and nose. 

The light soon adjusted and a dream studio was able to be seen. Paintings of abstract art fruits, oil-painted buildings and skylines, fabric glued to a canvas in different patterns showing different outfits, collages of Oriana’s past pets, and other elaborate art. 

Floor to ceiling shelves. Each holding paintbrushes covered in paint. And paint that was dried up and old. Jars filled with dyed water from the paint. And tiny canvases. 

There was a floor-to-ceiling case. It was filled with trophies from competitions from all over the world. Photos sat in the case too. Photos of places like Italy and Greece, South Africa and Kenya. As Oriana gazed at the photos in the case and the paintings on the floors and walls, she relayed that they were influenced by one another. 

She turned to the wall on the other side of the room. A girl listened to music, the same music that Oriana loved. 

Although there was a noisy covering on the floor, the painting girl paid no mind. 

She was painting a mural. A mural that was from floor to ceiling and was nearly completely finished. 

It was a pink and purple sky with a setting sun. Clouds were everywhere, and a girl danced on them. violins, pianos, flutes, clarinets, and other instruments followed the girl. Down below the clouds, a beanstalk reached the heavens, and a giant was busting a move on the ground below. 

Oriana took a few more steps closer. The girl was dark-skinned with a big afro and bright neon clothes. As she looked at the girl's ear she could see if something familiar was there. 

An elmwood paintbrush, the first paintbrush Oriana had ever received. And as the girl turned around to collect more paint for her brush, Oriana saw herself. Except for a few years older. 

At this sight Oriana jumped back, the girl didn’t notice her. 

Oriana ran backward, bumping into the music player. A tingling feeling went throughout Oriana’s body. Her head felt as though it was being scrambled much harder than before. Her fingers started to grow numb, and soon her whole body. A pull and tug on her feet lifted her off the floor covering. But as she dangled in the air, no one was pulling her. Without warning, she was tugged into the music player with a silent but heavy bang. 

Everything felt fuzzy as she suddenly rose to her feet. 

“Not again.” Oriana spits out water as she rose to her feet. 

Unlike her regular neon clothes she had been wearing the whole journey, she wore a lavender flowy dress that was soaked from the ocean’s salt waters. 

She pulled seaweed out of her hair and sneezed. 

“Ugh,” 

She swam to the sandy shore. Not realizing the woman was not too far away from her. 

She got up onto her feet. Soon realizing the woman. 

“She can’t see me anyway.” She shrugged. 

As she passed the woman's painting she took a double-take. 

A gorgeous painting of the setting sun coloring the colorful sky, seashells and crabs, clubs and a faint rainbow, and the ocean. The calm, salty ocean. But there was her. There was Oriana. It was Oriana walking out of the ocean as she ran out of her dress from all of the salty water. 

“Excuse me?” Oriana asked the woman who turned around. 

Oriana gasped. 

She was so old. Her afro that had once been one streak of gray hair then had dozens. Wrinkles were forming, and her bones were becoming more and more fragile. 

“Yes, dear?” The woman said 

“Is,” She stuttered. “Is that me?” 

The woman looked at the painting. “Oh no dear that is me.” She turned back towards Oriana. “Well, technically us.” The woman gestured towards a stool she had gotten Oriana, she knew she was coming. 

“What is going on?” Oriana asked with wide eyes. “No one has noticed me before.”

The woman chuckled. “We have.” She dipped her paintbrush into the paint and continued the ocean waves. “We just didn’t say anything.”

Oriana needed a moment to think about what the woman had said. “Am I dead?”

The woman once again chuckled. “Well, I am your potentially future self, therefore it's a hint that you may live.” 

“Am I dying now?” 

“No,”

“Then what's going on with me?”

“Your dreams aren’t becoming your reality. Your purpose isn’t being served and therefore the universe isn’t being served.”

“Do I give it dinner?”

“Not exactly,”

“Then what do I give it?”

“Beauty,” 

Oriana once again needed a moment to process the information being told. 

“Do you know what the universe thinks is beauty?”

“Purpose,”

Oriana groaned.

“This isn’t helping.”

“A dream is nothing if it isn’t ‘am’.” The woman looked Oriana in the eyes. “I think you know what you need to do.”

Oriana woke up with a startle. 

“A dream is nothing if it isn’t ‘am’.”

  She recalled what the woman had said. 

“Beauty,” 

Oriana looked at the art around in her small room. 

“Purpose,” 

She thought of how the paintings made her feel, why they were important to her. 

“MY purpose isn’t being served.”

She recalled the past few weeks. The art she had thrown out. The feeling of randomly splashing paint across canvases in anger. The feeling of losing. 

She got a peek of possibility. She just had to make it possible.