Last night a friend took me to a museum of lost ideas. I stumbled across a room where only I could enter. The ideas I thought of as a child and later as a young adult were all there. A pile of post-it notes was bound together in a book, each note stating something I intended to do, but had never done. It was like entering a bar that was never used for drinking. Not a bad idea if you were an alcoholic, you’d say, but I wasn’t. The bar had a pool table in the middle of the room, unused. The chairs were position at the exactly same spots as five years ago. The only surprise, there was no dust. An hour or so later I would realise the museum was not real, it was a dream. Yet upon awakening I will have a choice: think of it as a load of silly thoughts, or wake up to my life, not waste potential, find one or two things I love, and get it done.
© Iva Beranek (Dublin, 17th January 2016)
Photo by © Etol Bagam
(Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge, Week of 12th January 2016)