Untravelled World

The cave is surprisingly warm and not dark. The walls glow with a muted, otherworldly light that illuminates a narrow passage way. She follows it, all the while experiencing a feeling of de ja vu.  Eventually she comes to a branch. She chooses the larger passagway and finds herself standing at the edge of a large pool. Sunlight drifts down from an opening in the roof, pale rays mingling with the turqoise water, like spun gold over sparkling jewels. The vision is breathtaking. Sinking down to her knees, she cups her palms into the pool, filling them with the cool water and drinks deeply. She feels relaxed and rejuvenated in a manner that goes beyond the mere quenching of thirst. She suspects that the water, much like the cave wall, might have some unnatural quality. Now that she is calmer, she remembers the diary in her pocket. Taking it out, she opens it and detaches the small pen at the side. Are you there? She writes. Without her consent, her hand continues writing.

She was having the dream again. Ethereal, even by dream standards: a nebulous swirl of colours-blues and greens, and music- lutes maybe and harps, both so interwoven it was almost like synesthesia. And always that feeling. Comfortable. Familiar. As though this cacophony of sound and light belonged to her. Or she to it.  And always, that moment, right before it can claim her (or she it) her eyes open. She wakes to light, muted, against a beige sky. The colours of this place are stagnant, dull. The sounds do not dance or inspire movement. It takes her but a moment to resolve them for what they are: the blinking 'fasten seatbelt' sign of the overhead, cold glass against her cheek black with night, the low rumble of engines and the slow snoring of a slightly obese lady next to her. She feels the panic rise as she becomes fully awake. A plane. She was on a plane. But how? What was she doing here? How did she get here? And where was she going? She takes a few d