Clandestine Party: Before It Began

I got up from my bed because I thought I heard a slight knock at my door. Rubbing my eyes to awaken myself, I stumbled the whole way through the door. For a second I thought, did I dream that? With my hesitation intact, I reached the door. To my relief there was no one at the door, only a lonely mail smeared on the ground. I looked left and right only to find an empty hallway. 

It was an invitation to a party. The mail, I mean. I couldn’t think of anyone who would address my name in such an elegant manner. Nor anyone who would invite me to a clandestine party. 

I am an art reporter. I would like to be an art collector. But I don’t own much wealth to buy all the works my eyes set upon. I travel and write about the masterpieces I get to see. But today, I’m invited to one of the secret art gallery openings. Being nosy as I am, I have heard about these events. I was never somebody enough to visit, though. 

‘How should I feel about this?’ I asked myself hopping back to my bed again. Honored? Happy? Terrified? I inspected the mail. I felt like there was a secret map lodged in there. Or a riddle to find the venue. There is no detailed information. It only states I’m invited and the dressing code is enlisted. So much for my inspection. I yawned and drop the mail on my desk. I, then, lay on my back and started thinking. 

‘Can this be some kind of joke? No, this is way too sophisticated for that.’ I asked and I answered for myself. ‘Do they want me to report for them? Who are ‘they’? Maybe this is all a dream and I am about to wake up. Or maybe my whole life is a nightmare and I am finally waking up from it. If this is real, my whole career could reach a milestone.’ I stopped the rattle in my head. I picked the invitation up. I read it again for the third time. I still couldn’t find a clue.

‘Before it began, where did it begin?’ I uttered this out loud. My head is buzzing from exhaustion. My eyes are itching from the few hours of sleep I got. ‘Before it began,…’ My voice trailed off. I didn’t know precisely what I was referring to. As for my writing, I don’t recall where it began. For journalism, I don’t know where that begins either. Maybe the better explanation is my yawn birthed a new dream. I was exhausted of life. My exhaustion forced me to yawn which, became a new ‘dream’. A new reality, perhaps. Is there an ultimate beginning anyway? Or is everything in a loop? Can I really know where what began? 

‘Wait,’ I posed. If all life was part of a dream, as Edgar Allan Poe mentioned, ‘A dream within a dream’, then mine is a nightmare within a dream. What else could a yawn birth, anyway? Yet, why would a nightmare be all negative?

I was pacing right to left, now. I don’t recall when I get up from my bed. I paced back and forth to clear my head. ‘Why am I thinking about this, now?’ I halt and asked myself. ‘Oh, the party!’ Weakened mirth engulfed me. At that instant, the slight knock at my door was repeated. This time I was sure I heard it. I almost ran to the door. There was another mail, but no one was around. To my relief, so much detail was inscribed in this one. I saw my invite was in fact a reality. ‘This is real, too real,’ I sighed.