She opened her eyes and looked around; the scene had changed, again. Now she was standing in a fast moving train, in a corridor of bunk-beds, with the sly rays of a setting sun finding their way through the left hand side windows and partly lighting up the walls and ceiling. Outside she saw a swiftly moving world; a blur of emerald trees and outstretched meadows, their mossy floors broken only by the occasional tele-posts, wired together over the lands like silver thread, stitching up the skies.
She turned towards the corridor. Her gaze drawn by a door close by that stood out among the rest, in the seemingly endless, otherwise monotonic space. She slid up to the door to inspect it closer, and as she approached she was struck by one obvious fact; this door was odd. Odd in a way that could compare even to the obscure events that'd taken place lately. Strange though things where, everything did at least seam to have some certain order to them. That's what she'd clung to throughout all this; finding the order of things in every new place, that particular sphere's basic rules and standards. They all had them, and she'd made it her mission to find them out and pin them down in their different stratums. That's what she'd clung to and it kept her from falling. The only problem was that every new location she ended up in was compounded so differently and by such different elements of natural laws and physics that, more often then not, she had to come up with entirely new schematic systems for each of them. She tried to think of it as a way of keeping her mind occupied in those dreary gaps of confusion and bewilderment, but it was getting harder for each jump. At first, though it had scared the wit out of her, it had entirely ensnared the scientist in her. She clambered on to the realization of this mindbogglingly opportunity and what it would mean to the world of science; and, she had to admit, what it might conjure in her career. This would change everything; for everyone, not just scientists. But the small part of her brain that had managed to obtain a stubborn sense for the true character of her situation, was starting to nibble its way into her privy thoughts. At first it had only been a meek sensation in addition to the chaotic and insensible visions that now ruled her night-time dreams, but it had soon taken a stronger form and was now starting to leak in to the waking hours of the day.
Yes, chaotic though things might seem, they always had their place and their particular function. But this door, it did't just look different, she thought, it felt.. out of place. And then again. she regarded the door for a moment. No, it felt - out of space; like crammed in a gap of alternate space that wasn't really supposed to be there. Even as she stood observing it, it seemed to slightly flicker in her field of vision. Intrigued, she reached out a hand to touch it - and breathed in harshly. The door felt real enough under her touch, but the surface was, well, surprising. She frowned at her own unimaginative choice of words, but that's what it was, plain and simple; Surprising. The door, unlike the others lining the corridor, that was set in white steel with big windows covered with dark curtains, was, or looked like it was, made of solid iron. It'd, at some point, been painted bright red, but years of neglect had made the paint peal off and reveal a rusty and dented surface underneath; but as she touched it, it's mass gave way to her fingers like fine sand. Amazed, she traced her fingers along the face of the door, making soft impressions in the sandy substance that melted back together to regain their original form as her hand passed.
Instinctively, she reached for the handle, expecting the same effect, but was surprised to find her fingers met by the solid iron it gave the impression of being. Further more, in contrary to the door itself, the handle was new. It had a polished shine to it and a freshly applied layer of paint, and it felt cool and smooth like glass under her touch. She gripped it tight with the intention of trying to pull it free, but felt the door nudge under her hand as she tugged it. She froze. This is different, said a voice from somewhere inside, urging to alert her. There had never been a door before; or at least a door had always been just a door; or a cave mouth, or an archway, or a hole in a tree, or the mouth of a well, or a rift in the fabric of space or any other strange phenomenon she couldn't hope to name. But the point was, it had always been a part of that place; a way to get from one point to the other in that same universe. This had not been how she traveled. It had been involuntary, capricious; unpredictable. This was a door, that didn't fit. This would take her to another place entirely - by an active choice of weather to open it. She sensed it. And that was all she needed. She was given a choice, and so she chose. She turned the knob and the door swung open without a creak.
As she stepped through the door she was instantly blinded by a white light, and as she stood, waiting for her eyes to recover, she became aware that she was standing on soft ground, and that she was no longer inside the train. The world had stopped moving. Then, slowly, as her eyes got used to the sudden shift of light, the scene started to reveal itself. A sea of bright white sand spread out in front of her; even brighter than the glowing white sky that encircled the world like a gigantic glass dome, curving itself over her head until it hugged the lip of the horizon where it met the never ending sand plain. That was the first thing that struck her; the white. That and the incomprehensible sensation of vastness as she stared out across the empty, mystic plain. She suddenly felt an irrational desire to feel the sand under her feet. She removed her shoes and buried her toes down deep. The sand was even smoother than it looked, and unexpectedly cool.
It was when she bent down to pick up her shoes that she saw it; a sentence, written in the sand by her feet. Step forward and go deep. She considered the words for a moment, then she looked up and glanced around thinking that she might spot who'd written the words down, but there was no one to be seen for as far as her eyes could reach. She looked down at the words again. There was no wind in the air, so the words could have been written down some while ago. In fact, she thought as she glanced around, from the look of how remarkably undisturbed the sand lay on the flat ground, it seemed as though no wind had found it's way to this plain for, well, ever. Only a few months earlier, this would have disturbed her deeply, but now she only made a quick note in her mind to find it out later, when she'd get a chance. Right now however, she was curious about the writing in the sand. For all she knew it could have been written ages ago, or just yesterday; whatever that meant here, a small voice in her head quickly added. What did bother her though was the lack of footprints in the sand. If there was no wind to disturb the writing then, consequently, there would be no wind to disturb any impressions that would have been made by the individual who wrote it, or else they'd done a remarkable job of covering it up, she thought, eyeing the strikingly smooth sand. Well, she said to herself, there's nothing to it but to start exploring. Who knew for how long she'd stay this time, she might not have that much of an opportunity to investigate it properly. And suddenly, and for quite the first time, she got anxious that she'd have to leave. The feeling almost overwhelmed her. It was strange, for as far as she could see, there was nothing here, but this place; it made her feel.. something. She couldn't quite identify the sensation. 'Yet', she resolved. She made an approach to head inland, but as she stepped across the writing, something shifted in the ground beneath her. Suddenly, the sand started to pour away from under her feet, creating a perfectly round hole, right where she stood. Her stomach reared upwards and her head started to spin. She clamped her eyes shut and held her breath. But nothing happened. She didn't feel a fall. Carefully, she moved her feet about, feeling for ground; there was nothing there. She opened her eyes slowly, peeking down. The hole was there, about three feet across, and she was right above it; hanging freely in the air. She gasped, marveled, because through the opening she didn't see the dark tunnel or damp pit she'd expected; what she saw was a whole world. Or rather several worlds, precisely like this one, stacked upon one another without end. The vision just kept on going, like mirrors set up to reflect their own images into infinity. For a minute, she couldn't do nothing but stare. Well, she mused, almost in a trance, this would explain the lack of footprints.
If she'd turned around then, she would have seen a small golden bird alighting upon the shining handle of the door as it slid shut behind her. It cocked it's head from side to side and eyed her curiously. Then it lifted and flew past her, shimmering slightly as it fluttered a few feet over the sand and disappeared into the hazy distance. Presently, she became aware of clear sounds in the distance. Light bells, tingling sweetly with a sound like fine gold, and... voices, rang in the air around her. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away from the hole and glanced upwards. A hazy shape was suddenly visible in the distance, some way ahead, and as she looked, she saw the figure raise a hand and wave, as if befalling her to come closer. Looking down again, she carefully moved her feet, afraid that the strange spell that held her hanging in the air would suddenly brake, and reached for the rim of the hole. But as she moved the hole moved with her, causing her to tread withing the opening. Awestruck, she took another step, and another, but with the same effect. She was was literally walking in thin air. She started to walk a bit more steadily, and resolved to keep her gaze fixed on the shape ahead.
As she moved closer to the figure, the ringing of the bells and the voices grew louder and clearer, and as the distance between them closed in, she could even make out words. She listened in amazement. The words echoed beautifully, sung out in a constantly flowing, enigmatic and enthralling melody. The sounds seemed to come from the figure, or rather, to vibrate in the air that surrounded him, and as she watched, she noted a slight flicker of gold, circling the air around him. As she came up to him, he smiled, kindly and knowingly, as if greeting an old friend. She suddenly realized that the words in the air was that of the words written in the sand by the door; repeated over and over in a strange yet familiar language. She stepped even closed and listened in enchantment. His smile widened and he stretched out his hand; an invite to take it, but she was too wrapped up in the words.
'What do they imply?' She asked, regarding him carefully.
The air shifted slightly as the song changed character. The shimmering object that had circled the air settled down upon his shoulder. She saw it was a small golden bird.
'It means,' The air sang, and she realized with wonder that the sound was coming from the bird. 'tread in the world like you tread this ground; in the void of the familiar, yet in the reflection of your life and of those around you. It means; see what is not shown, hear what is not said; do what you do not dare or think you're capable of. Do that, and the world will open at your feet.' The words rang in the air for a moment, before the bird raised itself and went back to circling the air, taking up the song once more. Step forward and go deep.
'But, the word's,' She couldn't help herself; something tugged at the back of her head, struggling to break free. 'they're not in any language I'm familiar with, but... I know them,' she said, straining to lure out the sensation that was nudging her. 'I understand their meaning, although I've never heard the tongue in which they're spoken before.'
This time it was not the bird, but the man who spoke. 'You have heard it before, you've just failed to remember it.' His voice was as strong and clear as the birds, and the syllables rang out and mixed with the song. She stared at him, her head throbbing. He continued; 'It's a language independent of origin or kin, known by everyone. It's used everywhere and everyday, yet few stays to listen to its meaning.'
She regarded this for a moment. 'When I walked through that door,' She began.
'You made a choice.' He looked at her searchingly.
'But I felt as if the door wasn't suppose to be there' She insisted, but trailed of as he grimly shook his head.
'That door has a certain function, as you're sure to remember. It wasn't that the door wasn't suppose to be there. It was you who wasn't supposed to be on that side of it. You'd miss-used it's original purpose. You knew it then, but chose not to see it.' He added mournfully; 'And everything you had created for yourself out there, made it so much harder for you to find your way back to it.'
She drew a shivering breath as something let go and fell into place somewhere inside her, and she looked down at his still outstretched hand. 'I know you.' She said.
The smile lit up his face once more, though it twisted in a way that could only be called sad. 'Of course you do. I walked through that same door a long time ago, at a time when it was always open.'
She looked down at the scene sailing past slowly under her feet. It intrigued and scared her at the same time. She thought of all the things she'd held fast for so long. Her charts and models and know-how's. She thought of the door. Then she looked back at him, and the patient smile on his lips said he was waiting for another choice. He didn't have to wait long. She reached out and took his hand. The spell released it's grip and they both tumbled down into the void.
A note on the text: This short story is written after the model of a writing game formed by David Morley and presented in his book 'The Cambridge Introduction to Creative Writing'. Even if you do not find appeal in my own version of this exercise, do not let that be of weight while regarding this book, since each and every exercise is open for interpretation, and this is just how I chose to shape it. This guide into the world of creative writing is a true treasure for anyone interested in gaining knowledge of the aspects and disciplines of both writing and reading, be it fiction, non-fiction, fantasy or writing of assays and scientific texts, and, to use Morley's own words; 'Aspiring authors and teachers of writing will find much to discover and enjoy.'
She turned towards the corridor. Her gaze drawn by a door close by that stood out among the rest, in the seemingly endless, otherwise monotonic space. She slid up to the door to inspect it closer, and as she approached she was struck by one obvious fact; this door was odd. Odd in a way that could compare even to the obscure events that'd taken place lately. Strange though things where, everything did at least seam to have some certain order to them. That's what she'd clung to throughout all this; finding the order of things in every new place, that particular sphere's basic rules and standards. They all had them, and she'd made it her mission to find them out and pin them down in their different stratums. That's what she'd clung to and it kept her from falling. The only problem was that every new location she ended up in was compounded so differently and by such different elements of natural laws and physics that, more often then not, she had to come up with entirely new schematic systems for each of them. She tried to think of it as a way of keeping her mind occupied in those dreary gaps of confusion and bewilderment, but it was getting harder for each jump. At first, though it had scared the wit out of her, it had entirely ensnared the scientist in her. She clambered on to the realization of this mindbogglingly opportunity and what it would mean to the world of science; and, she had to admit, what it might conjure in her career. This would change everything; for everyone, not just scientists. But the small part of her brain that had managed to obtain a stubborn sense for the true character of her situation, was starting to nibble its way into her privy thoughts. At first it had only been a meek sensation in addition to the chaotic and insensible visions that now ruled her night-time dreams, but it had soon taken a stronger form and was now starting to leak in to the waking hours of the day.
Yes, chaotic though things might seem, they always had their place and their particular function. But this door, it did't just look different, she thought, it felt.. out of place. And then again. she regarded the door for a moment. No, it felt - out of space; like crammed in a gap of alternate space that wasn't really supposed to be there. Even as she stood observing it, it seemed to slightly flicker in her field of vision. Intrigued, she reached out a hand to touch it - and breathed in harshly. The door felt real enough under her touch, but the surface was, well, surprising. She frowned at her own unimaginative choice of words, but that's what it was, plain and simple; Surprising. The door, unlike the others lining the corridor, that was set in white steel with big windows covered with dark curtains, was, or looked like it was, made of solid iron. It'd, at some point, been painted bright red, but years of neglect had made the paint peal off and reveal a rusty and dented surface underneath; but as she touched it, it's mass gave way to her fingers like fine sand. Amazed, she traced her fingers along the face of the door, making soft impressions in the sandy substance that melted back together to regain their original form as her hand passed.
Instinctively, she reached for the handle, expecting the same effect, but was surprised to find her fingers met by the solid iron it gave the impression of being. Further more, in contrary to the door itself, the handle was new. It had a polished shine to it and a freshly applied layer of paint, and it felt cool and smooth like glass under her touch. She gripped it tight with the intention of trying to pull it free, but felt the door nudge under her hand as she tugged it. She froze. This is different, said a voice from somewhere inside, urging to alert her. There had never been a door before; or at least a door had always been just a door; or a cave mouth, or an archway, or a hole in a tree, or the mouth of a well, or a rift in the fabric of space or any other strange phenomenon she couldn't hope to name. But the point was, it had always been a part of that place; a way to get from one point to the other in that same universe. This had not been how she traveled. It had been involuntary, capricious; unpredictable. This was a door, that didn't fit. This would take her to another place entirely - by an active choice of weather to open it. She sensed it. And that was all she needed. She was given a choice, and so she chose. She turned the knob and the door swung open without a creak.
As she stepped through the door she was instantly blinded by a white light, and as she stood, waiting for her eyes to recover, she became aware that she was standing on soft ground, and that she was no longer inside the train. The world had stopped moving. Then, slowly, as her eyes got used to the sudden shift of light, the scene started to reveal itself. A sea of bright white sand spread out in front of her; even brighter than the glowing white sky that encircled the world like a gigantic glass dome, curving itself over her head until it hugged the lip of the horizon where it met the never ending sand plain. That was the first thing that struck her; the white. That and the incomprehensible sensation of vastness as she stared out across the empty, mystic plain. She suddenly felt an irrational desire to feel the sand under her feet. She removed her shoes and buried her toes down deep. The sand was even smoother than it looked, and unexpectedly cool.
It was when she bent down to pick up her shoes that she saw it; a sentence, written in the sand by her feet. Step forward and go deep. She considered the words for a moment, then she looked up and glanced around thinking that she might spot who'd written the words down, but there was no one to be seen for as far as her eyes could reach. She looked down at the words again. There was no wind in the air, so the words could have been written down some while ago. In fact, she thought as she glanced around, from the look of how remarkably undisturbed the sand lay on the flat ground, it seemed as though no wind had found it's way to this plain for, well, ever. Only a few months earlier, this would have disturbed her deeply, but now she only made a quick note in her mind to find it out later, when she'd get a chance. Right now however, she was curious about the writing in the sand. For all she knew it could have been written ages ago, or just yesterday; whatever that meant here, a small voice in her head quickly added. What did bother her though was the lack of footprints in the sand. If there was no wind to disturb the writing then, consequently, there would be no wind to disturb any impressions that would have been made by the individual who wrote it, or else they'd done a remarkable job of covering it up, she thought, eyeing the strikingly smooth sand. Well, she said to herself, there's nothing to it but to start exploring. Who knew for how long she'd stay this time, she might not have that much of an opportunity to investigate it properly. And suddenly, and for quite the first time, she got anxious that she'd have to leave. The feeling almost overwhelmed her. It was strange, for as far as she could see, there was nothing here, but this place; it made her feel.. something. She couldn't quite identify the sensation. 'Yet', she resolved. She made an approach to head inland, but as she stepped across the writing, something shifted in the ground beneath her. Suddenly, the sand started to pour away from under her feet, creating a perfectly round hole, right where she stood. Her stomach reared upwards and her head started to spin. She clamped her eyes shut and held her breath. But nothing happened. She didn't feel a fall. Carefully, she moved her feet about, feeling for ground; there was nothing there. She opened her eyes slowly, peeking down. The hole was there, about three feet across, and she was right above it; hanging freely in the air. She gasped, marveled, because through the opening she didn't see the dark tunnel or damp pit she'd expected; what she saw was a whole world. Or rather several worlds, precisely like this one, stacked upon one another without end. The vision just kept on going, like mirrors set up to reflect their own images into infinity. For a minute, she couldn't do nothing but stare. Well, she mused, almost in a trance, this would explain the lack of footprints.
If she'd turned around then, she would have seen a small golden bird alighting upon the shining handle of the door as it slid shut behind her. It cocked it's head from side to side and eyed her curiously. Then it lifted and flew past her, shimmering slightly as it fluttered a few feet over the sand and disappeared into the hazy distance. Presently, she became aware of clear sounds in the distance. Light bells, tingling sweetly with a sound like fine gold, and... voices, rang in the air around her. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away from the hole and glanced upwards. A hazy shape was suddenly visible in the distance, some way ahead, and as she looked, she saw the figure raise a hand and wave, as if befalling her to come closer. Looking down again, she carefully moved her feet, afraid that the strange spell that held her hanging in the air would suddenly brake, and reached for the rim of the hole. But as she moved the hole moved with her, causing her to tread withing the opening. Awestruck, she took another step, and another, but with the same effect. She was was literally walking in thin air. She started to walk a bit more steadily, and resolved to keep her gaze fixed on the shape ahead.
As she moved closer to the figure, the ringing of the bells and the voices grew louder and clearer, and as the distance between them closed in, she could even make out words. She listened in amazement. The words echoed beautifully, sung out in a constantly flowing, enigmatic and enthralling melody. The sounds seemed to come from the figure, or rather, to vibrate in the air that surrounded him, and as she watched, she noted a slight flicker of gold, circling the air around him. As she came up to him, he smiled, kindly and knowingly, as if greeting an old friend. She suddenly realized that the words in the air was that of the words written in the sand by the door; repeated over and over in a strange yet familiar language. She stepped even closed and listened in enchantment. His smile widened and he stretched out his hand; an invite to take it, but she was too wrapped up in the words.
'What do they imply?' She asked, regarding him carefully.
The air shifted slightly as the song changed character. The shimmering object that had circled the air settled down upon his shoulder. She saw it was a small golden bird.
'It means,' The air sang, and she realized with wonder that the sound was coming from the bird. 'tread in the world like you tread this ground; in the void of the familiar, yet in the reflection of your life and of those around you. It means; see what is not shown, hear what is not said; do what you do not dare or think you're capable of. Do that, and the world will open at your feet.' The words rang in the air for a moment, before the bird raised itself and went back to circling the air, taking up the song once more. Step forward and go deep.
'But, the word's,' She couldn't help herself; something tugged at the back of her head, struggling to break free. 'they're not in any language I'm familiar with, but... I know them,' she said, straining to lure out the sensation that was nudging her. 'I understand their meaning, although I've never heard the tongue in which they're spoken before.'
This time it was not the bird, but the man who spoke. 'You have heard it before, you've just failed to remember it.' His voice was as strong and clear as the birds, and the syllables rang out and mixed with the song. She stared at him, her head throbbing. He continued; 'It's a language independent of origin or kin, known by everyone. It's used everywhere and everyday, yet few stays to listen to its meaning.'
She regarded this for a moment. 'When I walked through that door,' She began.
'You made a choice.' He looked at her searchingly.
'But I felt as if the door wasn't suppose to be there' She insisted, but trailed of as he grimly shook his head.
'That door has a certain function, as you're sure to remember. It wasn't that the door wasn't suppose to be there. It was you who wasn't supposed to be on that side of it. You'd miss-used it's original purpose. You knew it then, but chose not to see it.' He added mournfully; 'And everything you had created for yourself out there, made it so much harder for you to find your way back to it.'
She drew a shivering breath as something let go and fell into place somewhere inside her, and she looked down at his still outstretched hand. 'I know you.' She said.
The smile lit up his face once more, though it twisted in a way that could only be called sad. 'Of course you do. I walked through that same door a long time ago, at a time when it was always open.'
She looked down at the scene sailing past slowly under her feet. It intrigued and scared her at the same time. She thought of all the things she'd held fast for so long. Her charts and models and know-how's. She thought of the door. Then she looked back at him, and the patient smile on his lips said he was waiting for another choice. He didn't have to wait long. She reached out and took his hand. The spell released it's grip and they both tumbled down into the void.
A note on the text: This short story is written after the model of a writing game formed by David Morley and presented in his book 'The Cambridge Introduction to Creative Writing'. Even if you do not find appeal in my own version of this exercise, do not let that be of weight while regarding this book, since each and every exercise is open for interpretation, and this is just how I chose to shape it. This guide into the world of creative writing is a true treasure for anyone interested in gaining knowledge of the aspects and disciplines of both writing and reading, be it fiction, non-fiction, fantasy or writing of assays and scientific texts, and, to use Morley's own words; 'Aspiring authors and teachers of writing will find much to discover and enjoy.'
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