The bones and most of the organs of this piece were a brilliant dream I have just woken from.
I want to go back.
I woke up, despite its oddness, missing the place.
I don’t know any of the faces I met. The only voice I recognised was my brother’s. Come with me…
The day was wet. The sort of wet that empties the streets and fills the shop windows with grumbling expressions.
I usually love this kind of rain and can usually be found in the deserted street dancing for the window faces.
This day I appeared to be in quite a melancholy mood.
The bar I found myself in suited that mood.
It was a dark bar, set in a disused room underneath the arches of a limestone bridge. The stone inside was artfully exposed and rustic benches filled the centre.
I purchased a beer and sat alone on a bench, alone in the bar.
I wasn’t entirely unhappy being on my own. I had things to figure out.
What those things were are neither here nor the other.
After a few moments of studying the stained patterns in the grain of the wood, I was joined by several people dressed for a night out.
There conversations floated about my beer relaxed head. I had swallowed quite a bit of liquid, yet the glass had remained as full as it had been since the moment I had bought it.
I spilled a little on the table, looked around the room, at the men standing in their fine clothes and at the women sitting chatting in their bling, before looking back at my glass.
It was full again.
I spilled a little more and looked up. I studied the cobwebbed, arched ceiling.
I could hear a lady’s voice stating that she thought that I must be nervous. I looked down and across and told them I wasn’t nervous, merely clumsy. It was a gene that veined my family.
She smiled and asked me to join her group. One of her friends, in a strange show of how much she wanted me there clasped my hand in a motherly, non-sexual way.
I agreed and was introduced to their friends.
They all seemed much bigger than I. Even the women. Bigger, broader and yet not intimidating in the slightest.
Even one giant guy, in a shirt and sweater combo whose second head split from his regular head whenever it felt like agreeing with a point the first was making, didn’t seem threatening at all.
At a prefixed time, unbeknown to me until directed, we exited the room by a scratty, unfurnished, pine door by the side of the bar, up a flight of carpet-less stairs and exited on top of a lush green hill that looked down upon a blanket of fields.
The high sun was warm and welcoming to my skin.
Little broccoli sprouts of wooded areas could be seen dotted here and there below me. Crystal rivers sped along around and in between them. Huge coloured tents were in the process of being erected and there was an air of festival excitement.
I turned to express this to the crowd of large people, only to find that they were younger and smaller than the ones I’d arrived with. I’d say teenaged to early twenties. They led me jovially to a white picket fenced off area. Fenced off like a cabbage patch…