I started to have dreams about wide open, half-lit buildings and civic architecture. Supermarkets, schools, malls. There was a bizarre comfort in these gaping spaces that were devoid of people, lights, and activity. I felt safer asleep and alone in this avatar of myself, repose in the abandoned, obscure semi-dark. I was a king.
I would wake in the summertime as days lazed after my birthday, and play my Nintendo in my bedroom. Another crappy little television on a stand above purple carpet. There was beauty in the security of having control over something. I could have practiced my trumpet or my lines from the school play, watched my little sister, or done some homework.
Before the Nintendo, I had tried to make hatchlings by sneaking a brown egg from the refrigerator and putting it on the central air vent with a little blanket of cotton. Sure it wasn't like the fancy incubators on TV, but it didn't matter. Love was all that mattered. I could control this.
Mom always found it, though. She insisted that this wasn't how it worked.
I got the Nintendo, its reset button correcting my mistakes. Everything started anew.
My princess was always in another castle.