Dreamy Flashback(Solo)

No matter how many times she told herself that phrase, it do not delete these images. "It was just a dream." She repeated it again. Again and again. Still yawning and stretching she went to the kitchen. She did not want to wake up Andrew. She could make something simple until breakfast. French toast would do the trick. While cooking, every part of her dream was repeated over and over again. An endless sequence she could not get out of her head.

It was October 20. 2007. Once again. She was about to go to sleep. She was wearing a beautiful silk pajama. Two pieces. She could not remember its color. Celeste was a spectator in her own life. It was a dream. She saw everything as if she was a ghost. Floating above her head. Away from her body. Although she could move freely to analyze the scene from different angles, she felt chained to the room. She was tied to that moment and place. Even when she tried with such efforts to see her face, it was all blurred. Some things had no color, others were almost invisible in the dim light of the room. Demons were lurking in the shadows. Everywhere. Waiting to devour the rest of the scene.
The girl in her dream was about to end her daily habit of brushing her hair. She always did it before bedtime. Her movements were slow. It was a very important ritual for her. The scene was warm, simple. Just seeing it, her heart filled with calm, even though some elements were scary as the face blurred, missed colors and low light.

Suddenly a sound filled the scene. Not only her room. That sound penetrated all layers of reality, expanding infinitely. It was deafening. The sounds was impossible. At one point sounded like a mechanical sound product of many gears and chains in movement, the next moment it sounded like a wounded animal screaming in pain. It was the phone.
She could not determine how much time had passed since the initial ring, and the moment were someone picked the phone. Perhaps centuries.
The phone ringing at that time was common. But somehow this time, the sound was different. She was scared. She did not know what to expect from that call. Both felt the same.
A morbid curiosity commanded her to stand up. She was afraid. Scared. But at the same time extremely curious. She floated behind her back.
A succession of words came to her ears. To where she was waiting, at the door of her room. Single words. Nicola. Her grandfather. Death. Disease. Family business. Responsibility. Loyalty. Almost a secret code. Someone cried. Her mother. Her father listened seriously, but clearly affected by the news. The call ended.
At that time Celeste had not the slightest idea about what they meant. Now, four years later, Celeste had a much clearer idea of ​that call. Her father would take care of everything: the family business. Drugs. Firearms. Any shady business in Italy was linked to the family. No authority could prove it in a fair trial.
After that night, everything changed. Her father would fly every week to Italy. Missing all her life. Her mother, also accompanied him.
The worst thing was knowing that her beloved grandfather was nothing but a gangster. How anyone could be so good yet so bad at the same time? When he was with her, he always behaved as the best human being on the planet. And now the reality was a hard big wall, and there was no way to dodge it.
Anyway, the truth was undeniable and extremely painful. Her grandfather was dead. Later that night she picked the wireless phone, carrier of bad news, and threw it through the window. All its part scattered.The machine meet its creator.

She finished the rest of her breakfast in silence. Thinking. The toasts were perfect. They never tasted worse. All would die. Like her grandfather. All. Even she. How could she live forever? Painting? Writing the greatest sonata of all times? Managing to create a piece of art worthy of eternity? Nothing was enough.