In the land of dreams there is a marketplace. Quaint stores front the busy cobble street, people going to and fro in their errands.
One building stands tall amongst them. There are stairs on the outside of the building leading to the second floor. This level is empty, a large square room full of boxes. In it, monsters prowl. Somewhere in this room, there is a small doorway, hidden behind the boxes. The trick is to avoid the monsters and find the door. Behind the door there is another world.
In the land of dreams there is a collapsing building in a large lot or field. The wooden floors are rotted, the space of the garage is unstable and tippy. There are tools in the garage, giant bandsaws and mysterious machines. Somehow it is my grandfather's shop with wood and supplies stacked along the walls. In other ways it is a complete machine shop unlike anything we have ever owned.
In the building proper there are children's rooms, empty, full of litter and toys and clothes. Sometimes this house is collapsing, other times it is home to a family that is currently not there. But I am there, exploring.
In one of the rooms, in the back of the closet there is a small opening, like a vent but covered with wood. Opening it there is a narrow passage, and that passage leads to another world. In that other world there is a is a marketplace. Quaint stores front the busy cobble street, people going to and fro in their errands.
Following the street you find that it leads to an ocean, and in that ocean there is a bridge that soars above the land. Driving to the bridge you climb the slender on-ramp up into the clouds and pass through the gateway onto the bridge itself.
The bridge is narrow and without sides. It sways in the wind, high above the water. But you manage to stay in the center, keeping moving with the other traffic. The traffic is always light.
The bridge dips down into the water, skims under the surface, so you have to keep driving along it without seeing it, surrounded by bottomless ocean.
At the end of the bridge, there is an island. In the island there is a beach and happy people. A fair drive inland, along a dirt logging road that winds along hills and has ruts so deep the threaten to capture your vehicle, you can find a peaceful glenn. A hike across the glenn, through some trees and around some campsites, there are large rocks and a river flowing through them. At one point the river dives over a shallow waterfall and into a deep pool, swirling around before skipping under ground.
This is a place of peace and quiet, a place to relax, a safe place. Sometimes there are other people here quietly playing. Sometimes I am alone with the pool. It is always quietly sunny.
In the land of dreams there is a school with many buildings. I go to this school and I have a locker in one of the buildings.
I have to go to class, but I can't find the room. I have to get my books but I barely find my locker and then I don't remember the combination. I have to go to class but don't remember my room, so I go to the office to ask, so I am late. I find my math class but I don't know the math, it is the wrong class. I have to go to class.
In this school there is a massive room of showers and toilets and lockers, perhaps attached to the gym. I seem to be hunted there, so I stay quiet, stay hidden. The toilets are all broken, the showers are wet but still, the halls are empty of visible people.
Near this locker room is a cavernous theater, with catwalks along the top, or perhaps a hallway that looks over the seats. In this theater there are elevators, and these elevators are dangerously broken.
In the land of dreams there is a tall building, broken inside like an abandoned factory. There are machines and offices and rubble. In this building there are elevators, and these elevators are dangerously broken.
In the land of dreams there is an apartment building, tall with narrow crowded halls and shabby small rooms. It is full of people, overcrowded and cluttered, people and clothes and toys spilling out of every door. Some of the rooms have friends in them but most of them hold strangers.
In the building there is a child's room, empty, full of litter and toys and clothes. I am there, exploring. In the back of the closet, behind clothes and piles of plush animals, there is a small door. Opening it there is a narrow passage, and that passage leads to another world.
In this apartment building there are elevators, and these elevators are dangerously broken.
In the land of dreams there is an opera house, grand and sparkling, with well dressed people crowding the entrance room. Tuxedos and dresses and furs and jewels press together and swirl around under glittering chandeliers. A grand stairway leads up to the higher levels.
Above the theater there is a room that looks down over the seats and the stage. In other rooms on that level there are clean bright offices.
In this theater there are elevators, and these elevators are dangerously broken.
I am running from someone, or perhaps I am just exploring, but I need to take the elevator to go up or down. Inside it I push a button and the elevator moves. And stops.
Sometimes it falls, leaving me weightless and wondering how it will feel to be crushed when it hits the ground. I lay down, hoping to survive. There are springs at the bottom that catch it, though, or I think there must be. I never find out, because it eventually stops.
Sometimes the elevator is not a room at all but a platform that shakes and wobbles when you climb onto it. It travels unpredictably, high above the ground. It is unsafe, dangerously unstable.
Sometimes the elevator doesn't have a door but looks out over black emptiness.
But always the elevator frightens me. And always I must take it to get where I am going.
In all the buildings there are elevators, and these elevators are dangerously broken.
But still I survive, and escape. I try to find my way to the city with the market, so I can take the high road to the island, to the rocks and the pool.
Sometimes I can swim and I do so, easily avoiding the whirlpool in the center that would drag me to my death. Other times I simply sit in the trees nearby and listen to the quiet. There is always a way to the island, through the doors and building and elevators and lockers. I don't always find it, but I know it's there.
If death were to release me into this land of dreams I would not fear it, because at least in that land I have the promise of the peaceful island.
Posted by Edwin at December 16, 2004 10:37 AM