Rose and I had traveled to Carlsbad, in New Mexico to visit our grandparents. Their house was very grand, built in the style of a rambling Chinese palace. The walls were a pure white plaster, and all the accents were bright red. The doorways were circular, and each room was lit by a single red lantern.
Rose and I had the whole eastern wing of the house to ourselves. We each had our own rooms, and there was even a little kitchen off of a short hallway. It was comfortable, but deserted all but for us; that unnerved us a bit, so we tended to keep company with each other throughout most hours of the day.
This afternoon, we were ready to venture from our rooms and look around a little bit; I had heard that an old friend of mine had taken up residence across the street, and I would have dearly liked to go see her. So, taking our suitcases with us, Carmela and I ventured out the huge double-doors and into the courtyard of the eastern wing.
It was winter, and there was a thin blanket of snow over everything, but the desert plants of the courtyard didn't seem to mind. In fact, they flourished. The courtyard was surrounded by a high wall that was too smooth to climb (unless you were really skilled at parkour, I suppose), and the only path out was an elevated walkway lined with cherry trees in bloom.
The walkway was the only way to go.
As we neared the walkway, I noticed something strange about it. The parts not covered in snow glistened and sparkled in the weak sunlight and appeared to possess a slightly pinkish hue. The walkway was made entirely out of rose quartz! In the damp conditions, it was slippery and treacherous, but thankfully there was a handrail.
The path was long and meandering, with a gentle slope downwards, and it reminded me of a gentle river. A river of quartz...it was quite beautiful to behold, especially with the addition of a light snow that had begun to fall from the heavens.
Finally, Rose and I made it to the central wing of the building. The doors and the courtyard here were even more grand than those of the eastern wing. I pulled open one of the doors and Rose and I walked through.
...Only to find that a wild party was underway. The heavy scents of alcohol, sweat, cigarette smoke, weed and, strangely enough, garlic bread forced their way into my lungs, causing me to double over and cough for a few moments. Rose, however, didn't seem to have a problem with it. I eventually recovered and look up to see my grandfather sitting on a couch directly adjacent to us. He smiled and waved, beckoning us closer.
Leaving our suitcases at the door, we walked over and joined him on the couch, which was upholstered in a rich, red, silky fabric that gave luxuriantly underneath me to an ample amount of cushion. Only when we sat down did I realize how tired I was. Gramps offered us a puff off the joint he was smoking from, but we politely declined. He shrugged and launched straight into a story about one of his times exploring the Carlsbad Caverns, while Rose listened intently and I half-listening, half-dozed.
The dream faded as I fell entirely asleep, ensconced in the warm cushions and lulled by the sound of people singing nearby.