Story Shorts: The Refuge of Realities
The Refuge of Realities
Every city has its hidden corners, places that only appear to those who truly need them. In New York City, such a place was Café Interlude, a café that was not bound by the constraints of a single reality.
Elijah stumbled upon Café Interlude on a dreary, rainy day. He was an author suffering from writer's block, deadlines looming, with no inspiration in sight. He found the café tucked between towering buildings, its warm glow a welcome refuge from the relentless downpour.
The moment Elijah stepped inside, he realized this was no ordinary café. The patrons were an eclectic mix of beings, some human, some definitely not. They were chatting, eating, and drinking items that Elijah could hardly begin to identify.
A friendly creature, who introduced himself as the barista, handed Elijah a menu. It listed a myriad of items, some familiar, like a cup of hot cocoa, and others like Stardust Espresso or Nebula Cake. Feeling adventurous, Elijah ordered the Nebula Cake.
As he took a bite, he felt a rush of inspiration, images and ideas flooding his mind. He saw galaxies, distant planets, and alien civilizations, all of them teeming with life and stories. The writer's block crumbled, replaced by a newfound enthusiasm.
Days turned into weeks, and Café Interlude became Elijah's sanctuary. He wrote like never before, his stories filled with fantastical beings and places he encountered at the café. His books became a sensation, the world captivated by his unique storytelling.
The café was a refuge, not just for Elijah, but for everyone who walked through its doors. It was a place where realities converged, where beings from all dimensions could share a cup of Cosmic Tea, a slice of Galaxy Pie, and stories of their own. And in the process, they found solace, inspiration, and a connection that transcended dimensions.
I think sometime our ideas are the smokescreen of our wishes. Every writer knows the creative process is a refuge from reality where we gain back some measure of control when the world comes up too close. For me, writing is akin to lucid dreaming except the dream is played out before an audience. It wasn't just the cafe that was the refuge, it was the portal into the creative process.
Well said, friend. In a way, we are all in this meeting ground of passing realities from differing perspectives. As you noted, the creative process is just one medium in which it transfers and transitions into another's sense of the present.