A Dream, based on a true story. (Ball)
He sat on a yellow, red polka-dotted mushroom, drinking wine from a blue pitcher. He only spoke in idioms and seemed intent on telling me nothing.
I asked, “Where am I?”
He answered, “You’re in a pickle, it seems.”
“Why? Is something bad going to happen?”
“Why, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
“Tell me what to do!”
“The ball is in your court,” he answered with a grin.
“What does that even mean?” I asked, my frustration growing.
“Yes, that’s exactly on the button, isn’t it?”
I turned from him, deciding to look for the rabbit again.
I asked, “Where am I?”
He answered, “You’re in a pickle, it seems.”
“Why? Is something bad going to happen?”
“Why, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
“Tell me what to do!”
“The ball is in your court,” he answered with a grin.
“What does that even mean?” I asked, my frustration growing.
“Yes, that’s exactly on the button, isn’t it?”
I turned from him, deciding to look for the rabbit again.