With each turn of the page, windows to new worlds burst open, overwhelming my senses. To some, it is only paper and ink, but looking though my time-worn spectacles, their black, steel frames littered with microscopic scratches, it is a passport, a teleporter, a ticket – to my freedom.
Turn once. The crisp page crackles under my dry fingers. A warm breeze caresses my face, a seagull squawking in the distance. Waves of white wash onto the soft sand, pulling back with them whatever small creatures are caught in their grasp. Tiny feet scuttle across the soppy shore, scooping up a peice of brittle ivory. Another addition to a growing collection. I reach too, wanting to take with me one of nature’s souveniers, but alas, my time has come.
Turn twice. A smudge of jelly stains the paper before I bring about a moist finger to wipe it away. The cool mist settles on my bones, the sun’s last rays disappearing over the mountain’s ridge. Crickets begin their symphony in unison, the opening number to the wilderness’ lullaby. Dry leaves rustle in the shadows, the creaking of a taut bow disrupting the owl’s concerto. A strand of hair dances in the breeze before it is tucked away behind a pointed ear. Whip. Whistle. The wooden arrow sings as it darts towards the target. Suddenly, silence settles over the trees, the ochestra appauled at the interruption. Squeal. Anguish. Plop. The ranger steps out of her hiding place, concealed by her tattered cloak, her hair tucked within the hood. The moonlight glimmers as she flashes a smirk, gripping the large bow in her hand. She breaks off into a run, her boots creating only a faint noise. I wish to join her, but my time has once again come just as the fireflies begin to dance to the orchestra’s next peice.
Turn thrice. My palm brushes aside three lone cookie crumbs that have ventured onto the smooth page. As they fall to the floor, an intense heat overtakes me. The crumbs disappear into a lake of fire and lava below my perch on a soft cloud. I shield my eyes as a bright sword clashes with another: one gold and majestic, the other twisted and gnarled. Above me, hordes of men in golden breastplates and regal robes face off a legion of sharp-toothed creatures covered in boils and disfigurements. Despite their poor appearance, they too wield dangerous weapons and are covered in armour of iron. A trumpet blasts, the sound defeaning yet pure, striking fear and respect. I am covered in goosebumps.
And suddenly, my glasses slip off my nose. My goosebumps are gone. The air conditioner hums softly. I am sitting in my favorite armchair, its plush cushions hugging me gently. The time has come. The windows are shut. Tomorrow is another day. I wipe my brow and a small trace of ash rests on the back of my hand. Tomorrow is another day.
