a new life

I was living on Earth in 4000 AD. The planet had undergone a monumental shift - a death and rebirth - which had occurred sometime in the 21st Century, not too far in the future. I was the same age I am now. Earth seemed, somehow, smaller and more industrial, even fabricated, in part. An apocalypse had occurred. I heard stories of how, slowly, survivors found one another, crawled out from where they had been near-buried, and started again, doing their best to reestablish humanity's earlier learnings. They tried to remember the truths, the lessons, but it seemed everything was slightly askew. Their ways of doing things resembled life before; but, with the same foundations, they had created new pathways, new patterns, new cultures. New ways to interact with one another. I had a friend - a woman older than me and much taller and finer, who seemed to serve as a guide. It was evident I was new here; woken, perhaps, from an imposed sleep. Had I too survived and been so severely damaged I was in an induced state of slumber until that time it was safe to be alive? I was out of place. My way of being in the world was not the new way of being. Everyone seemed to have an innate knowledge of what to do, the order of things. My friend and I were talking about family. I told her I had had a beautiful family - a mother, a father, a sister and brother, and extended family, all so dear to me. I ached with longing to see them again and regretted time spent apart. The woman asked if I had had children and if I would like to begin my family anew. I doubted, at my age, it was likely, but she assured me it was indeed probable, and encouraged me to waste no time - to fall pregnant that very day. I agreed and we went to a particular shop that sold herbs, spices and other rarities, stocked in vast jars on the shelves. Rather than talking to the shop owner directly, the woman pointed to various jars, commenting on the contents. It was a code, a message to the shopkeeper, telling her why we were there. The shop owner understood and looked at me intently, then ushered me inside and made me comfortable at the rear of the shop. She fetched tea then opened a store cupboard; an unusual man appeared and approached me. He was, perhaps, of Arabic descent - a handsome man with black hair, dark eyes and caramel skin - but the most unusual thing about him was the blue aura around him, which resembled the mist that might surround a genie. Rather than being sexual, I understood him to be a eunuch with special esoteric powers, who, somehow, was about to impregnate me. But, first, he read me - my mind, my body - he could read the person I was. I was not afraid; rather, I knew this was the way to begin again.

protected

Lying on the floor in a room where small children played happily and my dog nosed at a ball. A mammoth green and black python slid into the room. The children were unafraid and one child - sitting just next to me - reached out and patted the snake on the tip of its tail. Agitated, it lashed around and appeared to come straight at me. I closed my eyes, certain I would feel its mouth close around my hand or face. When I opened my eyes, my dog gazed down at me anxiously, lovingly, wagging her tail. The children told me she had launched at the snake and finished it before it could hurt me.

rabbit and snake

We were staying in her parents' home while they were away. Everything was tidy and the house had obviously been cleaned, but now there were droppings; little brown mounds spread across the floor and even up the walls. A plastic bag under a table moved and I picked it up, my hand firm around the opening. Inside, a small grey rabbit with a white chest and tail writhed - the culprit. I went to walk to the door to release the rabbit outside, but my friend stopped me, telling me the rabbit was a pest. I didn't want to hurt the rabbit; it was so sweet. Or was it? Suddenly, the rabbit changed. Its face distorted, its eyes bulged and its teeth became big, sharp rectangles that nipped at my hand through the bag. I dropped the bag and the rabbit disappeared.
Next, in the same room, a group of people gathered. They sat on available furniture and, where chairs, lounges or beds weren't available, they sat on the floor or on the shelves. A giant black and lemon python slithered into the room and coiled its body against a wall of the room. I went to the corner furthest from the snake and sat under a shelf on the floor. The python, seemingly serene, followed me and relocated its heavy body to the shelf above my head. No one else seemed bothered by its presence, but I felt unsafe, sitting directly under it. I slowly, and with deliberate calm, gathered my bag and went to leave. Again the python followed me. It slithered alongside me and raised its head up to sniff my bag. I could see - feel - soft hair growing out of its nose, brushing my hand. I awoke and my dog, Billie Bear, was softly sniffing my hand. Relief!

outgrown her life

A friend, who lives remotely, holidayed in the city. Upon returning home, she felt she'd outgrown her life. I knew this not by speaking with her or hearing of her predicament; rather, I saw images of her caged inside her home. I could see her looking out her window and she was far too big for the room. She had to duck her head to fit inside and her arms and legs pressed against the walls. She no longer belonged, nor could she fit back into her existence.

crash

My friend and I were riding in a helicopter, piloted by another close friend. I was impressed by her bravery as I had not known she possessed a licence to fly. She looked the part, wearing a black outfit and cap, and she was clearly confident in her ability. We flew through the city, dipping dangerously low, tracing the streets between the buildings. We were so close to the ground I could see the hair of the walkers below blowing about in the wind created by the propellors. I noticed, although the helicopter moved almost erratically, I did not experience motion sickness. Suddenly my friend and I were still flying through the air, but the helicopter had crashed behind us. We looked back to see it crumpled on the ground and in flames. People were running and screaming, but we were calm. We realised we must be dead, our physical bodies burning in the wreckage on the road. Although we looked the same to one another, we were ghosts of our Earthly selves. My friend was outraged. 'I don't have time for this,' she exclaimed. 'I've not made any plans for my death and no one will know what to do if I'm gone.'

identity

I was with my friend on our way to visit my family, when we decided to drop in on some old friends. He had maintained close friendships with them, but I had not seen them for some time. We entered the home of a couple we had known for many years, the morning after a big party we had not attended. People were waking up and suffering a little from the night before. I was glad to be feeling bright and alert, having been awake for hours. Regardless that I had not been close with the circle of friends for years, they were mostly welcoming, if a little cool, and tried to involve me in a project they were working on, as though I'd never left. I ventured into the kitchen and saw more faces I'd not seen for a while, and, although pleased to see them, I felt no desire to resume my place among them. I was keen to visit my family with my friend, but he was now involved in the party of people, unaware of how I felt. I saw him standing with friends by a long table, eating food and laughing, and I had no wish to hurry him. I hoped he'd remember our plan and independently decide to leave with me. I waited for a while, anxious to see my parents, who lived just around the corner.
The scene changed and my friend showed me an illustration on the cover of a book. It looked familiar and he explained he'd sourced it at a famous news stand in New York. Somehow, without boarding a plane, we rose into the sky to a great height, shunted at lightning speed through the air, and descended into a street in New York, just near the said news stand. I sat at an outdoor table, taking a break, while my friend spoke with the man behind the counter. The man brought out a folder containing numerous illustrations and documents, flicking through it. Again, I recognised the work and suddenly realised it was mine. It was a folder containing my old drawings, some I'd forgotten I'd done, as well as documents such as school reports, references, CVs, university transcripts and so on. It was my personal identification folder. I told the man it was mine and, upon seeing his expression, said I could prove it by matching my signature with that on several of the documents. I opened my wallet to find a card bearing my signature, but the cards all seemed to be old, from various phases of my life, and my signature looked younger, typical of the time in which the cards were signed. There were cards from high school and from places I'd worked throughout my twenties and thirties. I pulled out my driver's license, but could see no signature on it. I could find nothing right. I took a pen and signed my name on a piece of paper, several times, hoping I could convince him of my identity and reclaim my folder. I wondered, however, if I were to lose the folder, who I could be without it.

leap of faith

I had been telling my mother about a shop that stocked all kinds of wonderful things when we happened upon it, after hours. We peered through the glass doors and, in doing so, found the shop was unlocked and empty. The stock and shelves had been removed and all that remained were bare white-brick walls. It was an extraordinary space - very large with an extremely high ceiling and stairs on either side of the front wall, leading up to a balcony that crossed the back wall. Above the balcony was a vast window, which let in a beautiful blue light. It was raining outside and somehow - a play of light, perhaps - the rain appeared to shower down through the window into the room, although the room was perfectly dry. My mother and sister ran inside and up the stairs on the right side of the space, more or less dancing and running across the balcony and down the set of stairs on the other side. They seemed to know the space, and to know exactly what to do. They were carefree and exuberant. I followed them at a much slower pace, a little bewildered, climbing the stairs and walking across the balcony, wanting to share their sense of freedom and growing accustomed to the seemingly enchanted space. In the middle of the balcony crossing, I stopped and sat down, surveying the giant room. I imagined it being ideal for theatre with its generous size and the unusual, almost theatre-in-the-round design. I tested the acoustics, singing lines of songs. The notes resounded around the room. While I was singing, more people entered the space. Some ran up the stairs, along the balcony and down the other stairs. Others leapt off the balcony, hurtling downward until an unseen force  - a gust of gravity - slowed their descent, so they landed softly on the cement floor. Some people, after falling down, instead of landing, rose back up through the air to the level of the balcony before plunging down once again. This was a game of trust. A lighting box appeared in the rear left-hand corner of the room, a little lower than the balcony, and I could see a few people through the glass, operating lights inside. My dear friend A was there. A small stage appeared against the front-right corner. Two people I recognised rose in the air before me - I remembered them from long ago and instantly felt unsure, for they were gossipers and unkind to many. They plummeted back down and, imagining their ending, I said, 'Splat'. Immediately, I withdrew my thought, just in case they did, in fact, die upon landing. Although I was wary of them, I didn't want anything horrible to happen in this room. I looked instead at my friend through the glass of the lighting box, knowing that she would always be a true friend. I noticed a group of people were now sitting beside me on the balcony, their legs similarly dangling over the edge. The young man beside me took my hand and, together, we jumped. We whipped through the air, hearts pounding, until only a few feet before the bottom, it was as though the very air gathered and held us up, cushioning our landing. We lay on the floor, arms and legs wrapped around each other, exhilarated and breathless. My heart was racing in a way it had not for many years. I felt younger, as though a something was remembered, as though I had come through a lackluster wilderness and was now reborn into light. We lay there, unconcerned about our bodies touching, until we caught our breath. We had no attachment to one another beyond sharing the jump and, after recovering, we parted ways. Now, the room filled with people, ready for a performance. Vast cement steps appeared, skirting three sides of the room, so that the audience could sit on the steps and the balcony to view the small stage at the front. I took a seat, transfixed by the performance that had begun. A woman I know delivered a monologue, captivating us with her outstanding performance. A short break before a man took the stage and told us a wild tale, improvising parts, appearing completely comfortable and confident. It seemed the room, the theatre, somehow brought out the best in everyone. It supported those who dared. I looked around at the audience and could see two close friends sitting in a row perpendicular to mine. One of them saw me and waved, smiling warmly. She said something quietly to me and somehow I heard her clearly, as though she whispered in my ear, even though she was at least twenty feet away. I was delighted to see them both, but particularly buoyed by my friend's words and presence; I felt she was my guardian angel and I knew she wished me well and loved me. I also noticed another friend - a mentor - sitting further along the same row. After the man's performance, my mentor walked over to me and gave me a sheet of paper, saying she had had an idea: I was to perform next, singing three songs. I was shocked and, in that state, could not make head or tail of the words on the page, but realised that it was the programme - I was listed to sing next. Although completely unprepared, I was willing to sing. I tried to think of three complete songs I knew well enough to perform, but could not. I decided to wing it. I dared.