Children's joyous songs, laughter and praises were all that could be heard from the inside of that magnificent white house. Harps were played so wonderfully, accompanied by the songs that gave indescribable effects on anyone's ears.
The writer sleeping in his white big bed was smiling after letting a very deep breath inhaled then slowly exhaled. He was dreaming!
The white house was enormous! It was so simple. Below the house top formed like a cupola was the second floor with its big terrace in front. In the middle of the all painted white terrace was nothing but a rocking golden chair. So gloriously gold in color that it overwhelmed the eyes. But not that it hurt. Instead it pleased a vision.
The writer peeped in one of the windows by the ground floor. They were framed in a square like shape of flashing gold in color.
Inside the ground floor were children! Boys and girls of all ages. Everyone dressed in white, like that of the color of the clouds. They were all so very happy as they sang and danced while the other children clothed in golden color played their harps to the music. All inside were children, nothing else.
"There's a joy in my heart, because the Son is with me. There's greatness in my heart, because the Father loves me."
Then one of the children standing in the middle of all of them saw the writer by the window. He smiled then came closer walking to the window as if trying to see what else was outside besides the writer. He nodded as a sign of recognition then returned to where he was standing before. His golden cloth made him outstanding compared to others clothed in white surrounding him. He said something to everyone. They all turned their looks at the window. The writer was not there anymore.
In his bed, the writer moved. His position was like a fetus in the womb. He was uncovered by bed sheets. Closing his arms around his knees, like that of one who was afraid of something. As if having a stomachache.
Some of the children came running to the windows to look outside. Curious what was outside as pointed out by that boy they were listening to. The only one, who was not carrying a harp among those clothed in gold. That boy was so beautiful like the rest of those children clothed in smashing color of gold. He watched while the others went running to look through the windows as he invited them to do.
Before the eyes of the other children, they saw a beautiful marvelous garden. Outside have different colors of beauties. Beautiful flowers of all kinds, shapes and colors. Amazingly colorful and so pleasing to the eyes! There were trees, plants, mountains, hills, animals and others. Nature!
All enclosed inside the golden colored marble-like wide fences with a far away black door that could be hardly seen. The beauty was an incredible beauty of dawn and sunset combined. Just like a prism. So inviting and intriguing for any adult eyes. For the children they aroused curiosity and wonders.
They all turned around when they heard a call from someone. Another child, a girl, holding a harp and dressed in golden color like the boy in the middle, came to stand up beside him.
She called everyone to listen to her. The girl was pointing her finger on top of the stair like shaped of clouds then knelt with hands clasped together like praying. Most of the children dressed in whites followed her and knelt as well.
The others, the minority, remained standing and positioned themselves behind that boy without a harp. Obviously, there was a division of listeners.
Then steps coming from the stairs were heard. They sounded like small thunders followed by a breeze.
Then it stopped.
Recognizing who it was, the writer woke up in a halt.
"Jesus!"
At the same time he got up from his bed, he realized he fell asleep writing in his bed. His papers and pen fell to the floor with his bed cover.
"Pick me up and write again!"
He imagined his pen talking to him. Well, he responded.
"This time no! Next time!"
Then the writer left the bedroom. The Pen stayed on the floor.
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