There is something to be said of a bed that one has traveled the endless Dreamscape with for the better part of one's life. This, indeed, was the case for me. Without stating the claim that the nightly cradle had really any choice in the matter, I could not go through the inevitable transition without a certain level of sentimentality. A dimittere of the highest order with respect to my perceptions.
Oh! But I was in a dire need of a replacement, to be sure. This ship which had voyaged the endless seas of dreams and nightmares had grown old, and its boards were splitting in dangerous ways. More than once a storm came about and pummeled her hull like so many waves. I encumbered her. Velut vincti caedebantur, we were destined to sink into an abyss of carpet if action were lacking.
Veritably, the constant creaking of the vessel would prove a constant reminder of her mortality. I was, at once, plagued with knowledge of impending consequences. Inevitable! She would need be scuttled! But how does one ratify such notions of desuetude when half a life's accomplishments have been sonorously placed on record?! Should we deny it?! Sadly, it cannot be denied.
The Olympians cast aside their gaze, and I was forced to quit the seas for the moment. A substitute of no greater resplendence was in order, and inevitably came the day when I acquired new bedding. It rained the entire occasion and failed to cease until the transaction was one hour past. Even so, the clouds remained, and the wind bellowed through the trees expressing sorrow for something most considered trivial. My intentions were immediate, but my actions were lacking.
Upon arriving home, I took my place upon the failing galley. There was magic in the moment, for she gave little complaint of my presence. "Ultimo momento," she said to me. The breaking waves did not break this time. Queerly, I found an unfamiliar comfort. It was as if she drew from waning strength to achieve a perfect cruise. Goodbyes are not always so sweet, but in these final moments, I saw peace beyond the collected voyages through dreamland. And I slept in fifteen minutes a journey of a thousand years. Godspeed ye child of oak. Godspeed.
-Author Notes-
This little story was intentionally written in a style very similar to that of Kenneth Grahame. He has a nasty habit of injecting Latin into his works. Here are the translations:
dimittere: release
velut vincti caedebantur: as prisoners of fate
ultimo momento: the last moment
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