Birds & children
feat.Dreamily
Images generated by Stable Diffusion
«I wonder what you are going to do next,» she asks as she steps into the room. Everyday communication is based on memory management and storytelling. Today’s story is a retelling of an event. It has to be interesting enough for the audience, but not so exciting as it could get boring. The sun is shining brightly overhead as a breeze sweeps through the room, carrying with it the sound of birds chirping and children laughing, making everything so much more peaceful. I am sitting with my eyes closed, cross legged in front of the desk where I have been instructed to wait for further instructions. In other words, I’m being a good student. This would normally be enough for me, but today I have a different agenda.
It seems everyone in the building is out doing something. There are two people here who are supposed to tell me when I have finished my story; one of which is currently missing. «Do I look like someone who has any idea what they’re doing right now?» She snickers back at me as she stands up. «I’ve never played this before. I think we might have gotten off the track somewhere. You know how sometimes the story gets left unfinished or doesn’t end up happening exactly how we planned it? Sometimes it’s because someone had different ideas or just wanted to explore things themselves while still keeping their main goal in mind, even if those plans didn’t work out perfectly. That’s why there will always be a way to finish your story. Some stories aren’t meant to be written down until after the events happened, and some aren’t meant to be told at all.»
The mechanism that allows us to disconnect from our immediate reality in order to immerse in a story is similar to the paralysis that keeps our sleeping body still as our brains act out fantastical dream scenarios. We are usually not aware of this. If a story was told to us while our brain was truly awake, the only person capable of experiencing the story in real time would be the storyteller. I smile at her, happy to finally meet someone else in the building to share this particular moment. «So I suppose that means I should start telling these silly little fables then?» I ask as she pulls out some chairs. She walks over and plops herself down in front of me, stretching her arms out to the side as she crosses her legs. «Of course! Why don’t we start with something simple? You can choose whatever you want to see happen to your characters. Maybe you’d like to see someone fall asleep or watch them run away. I hear there’s a nice park down the street…» I nod my head in agreement. The minor trauma of a sudden transfer from one surrounding to another would be perfect for me right now.
The sounds of birds and children gradually get louder as we head to the park. She picks up a pen and scribbles something down on a piece of paper before looking back up at me with a big grin on her face. I can sense that she is trying to contain her excitement about getting to actually tell me a story. Her enthusiasm is infectious and makes me excited too. Before we begin, though, the woman looks me straight in the eyes. She has to stand on tip toe to be able to meet my gaze but she does nonetheless. With all seriousness in her voice and posture, she states, «First of all, there's nothing quite like it when you're a child. Nothing quite compares. And I'm sorry if I'm being too dramatic, but I honestly believe that no story is complete without a child playing the role of protagonist in it, no matter how young.» My heart feels warm as I nod my head again in approval, agreeing with every word.
After we find a comfortable position on the ground, she takes a seat close to my feet. She sits so we can both see the sky. I follow suit by lying flat on my stomach, my hands resting on my head and my elbows propped up in the grass. The sky isn't exactly clear, but with a bit of light pollution, it is beautiful. As she begins her tale, my attention is drawn to the sounds coming from a nearby playground. Every once in a while, there is a loud splash from the play area. The children laugh and scream and shriek as they race around each other. The contrast between the unassuming strangeness of her words and the parent-approved chaos of the playground is so jarring that I cannot help but giggle slightly. After an extended period of silence between the voices, my curiosity gets the better of me. «Is this supposed to happen? Is this story supposed to be scary? How come I don’t know anything about it?» A deep breath escapes her lips, her shoulders relaxing as she continues her strange little fable. Her child protagonist is now standing in the middle of the sidewalk in an empty city street when suddenly, a black cloud envelopes her.
No screams ring out, no movement happens. Only a terrible calmness. She continues to walk, her steps dragging on the ground. She stares into the distance, her brow creasing in concentration. She takes a few steps forward—her toes brush against the gravel underneath her shoes. Suddenly, she splits in two. The girl hesitates and turns around, but she is no longer alone. She meets what seems to be her mirror reflection and lets out a whimper. Her reflection gives her an uneasy feeling. It appears excessively friendly to the point of emptiness. She continues to watch as her reflection extends its thin arm towards her. Slowly, her hand closes around hers, causing the reflection to pull her towards its own face. Then the image explodes into shards of bright white light. She stumbles backwards but manages to stay upright. The fragments of the broken mirror scatter all across the road and disappear. As the last piece falls apart, the darkness starts to recede.
The child tries to breathe deeply, slowly returning to her senses. The world around her comes back in sharper focus. Everything is as it was before and yet not entirely the same. She sees a figure crouching beside her. «Are you okay, miss?» He asked, his voice gentle and low. The words seem arranged in a familiar way, like they were pulled straight from a story book. She nods her head slowly in response. She is unable to engage beyond that. After her dramatic split, something seems different inside her. Like some part of her that was vanishing as she grew older had returned to life and now sits at the very core of her being. «Where did you come from? Are you lost?» The man asks. «No. I’m not lost.» She whispers. Something feels off about him in the same way that her mirror image did. «You’re not safe here.» The man says before he stands up and offers her his hand. She looks around and notices that the street is now filled with people. They are all busy talking amongst themselves. She recognizes in them the same empty expression from her reflection. She turns back to the man and looks him directly in the eyes. She speaks with conviction in her voice «I know who I am and where I belong.» He smiles in a friendly manner as she turns around and heads down the road. She does not want to be near those people. Not now. She walks for almost half an hour until finally, she finds an abandoned house.
She looks down at the page in her hand, turning it over a few times to ensure that it’s blank. She places the pen against the page before starting the next line. When she reaches this section, however, she finds something that seems to put an end to her storytelling. For the longest amount of time she stares into space with her eyes closed. «Once more, I step into the unknown. Again I am walking through the streets of a foreign town. As far as I can tell, we live only in our own bubble, isolated from our physical surroundings. The difference between being inside our own world and not is not easy to explain. When we are inside our world, it feels real, we feel normal and secure within its confines. However, when we leave, we begin to experience feelings of unease and panic. My protagonist's eerie mirror image is a side effect of the immersion we undergo in order to appear normal.» She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. «This is the part where the story goes from one side to the other.»
I take the pen from the page and write something down. She looks at it and asks «What do you mean by “a world in which we are free to roam?” Do you know what happens in this world?» I shake my head «We don’t know how this place works yet, remember?» «Yeah, yeah. But does that have to stop us from exploring? We don’t need to pretend.» I turn my eyes back to the paper, thinking hard about how to phrase my next question. «I guess you could call this a game. What if we played the roles of protagonists? Like we play this game and whoever is chosen will continue the story?» She thinks for a moment, considering what I have said. «I like the sound of that.» The two of us smile before taking to our positions once again. The scene is already set, there’s no need to waste energy trying to get it perfect. We are both ready. My hands begin moving, quickly scribbling away on a piece of paper. Her face lights up and almost makes me forget what we're doing here. «Wait, this isn't an ordinary game.» Her gaze is locked onto mine. «We can chose our setting based on our description of the world.» I nod and put down the pen. «That seems fair enough.» I'm about to say more when she holds up her hand, stopping me. «I know where we can find the exact abandoned house in the story. Our experiences there will be our proof that the universe allows us to make decisions based on our own desires.» We look at each other, both knowing what the other wants to hear.
It is a strange experience writing a story while sitting on the floor of an abandoned house, listening to the distant sounds of people shouting in confusion outside. The walls look old and moldy, just like the building itself. It is covered in moss but somehow, it doesn't seem dirty or neglected. «Oh wow, this must have been quite a lovely house once upon a time.» «The windows look foggy», I comment as she enters. She nods her head vigorously in agreement. «Yes, very foggy. This whole scene would be ideal for making it difficult for anyone to spy on us.» It is also a strange experience seeing the images that come to life in my mind as if they are already there. I imagine each word as she speaks them in a voice that is very different from mine. «I'll get our little protagonist inside the abandoned house so we can continue from there.», she announces. I can’t help but let out a small chuckle, although she probably doesn’t notice. «Ok, I'm exploring the house. There are signs of recent construction, but I think it still looks fairly intact.» She pauses briefly and starts writing.
There is a large tree next to a door with only a small window to let some light inside. She reaches in and opens the door slowly, holding onto the doorknob. Inside, the room is dark, but a faint glimmer shines from behind her closed eyelids. She turns around quickly, only to see nothing, yet the glow continues.
«Come here, I found something», I whisper as I sit up and stretch my back. The woman jumps out of her trance, clearly startled by my sudden appearance. «Did you say something?» «No, I said that I found something. Come here. You’ll see for yourself.» I stand up and extend my hand. She looks at the outstretched arm with a confused face. She grabs my hand as I pull her to her feet. Together, we head down the hallway until we reach the kitchen table. I show her the object laying on top of it. It’s an old radio. She turns it on immediately and a loud noise fills the room. It begins to crackle and whine as static fills the air. «Try tuning the dial.» I tell her. She does it, but the only thing we hear is another long burst of noise. She turns the knob and nothing happens. While she keeps trying every single station she can reach, I go to the sink to pour myself some water. I open a cupboard and search for a glass. Before I find one, however, I spot something else: a full body headless mannequin. I open a second cupboard underneath the sink and pull out a glass. As I start filling it, I can feel the mannequin's headless gaze on me. I finish filling it and hand it to her. «Here.» I take a sip of my water and turn around to face her. As I do so, she drops the glass, sending it shattering on the floor below us. She rushes over to pick it up, her hands shaking. «Wow.» She sighs as she stares at the mannequin. «That shit is beautiful», I laugh slightly before I realize what she has said. «Hahaha… Yeah, pretty amazing, isn't it?», and she returns my laughter. The radio suddenly bursts into a slow, haunting song, startling both of us. She holds the pieces of glass in her trembling hands. The radio cuts out and everything stops as suddenly as it began. The silence settles in and for a brief moment, there is nothing but absolute silence. A glorious smile spreads on her lips. «Do you recognize that song?» I nod my head and reply «Of course. It's a lullaby. From before the end of the world.» She lets go of the glass and places it on the table. «A lullaby, that’s right. In the world of dreams.» She sits down at the table and pulls out her notebook.
A loud thud echoes throughout the house. The little light grows stronger, brighter and brighter until suddenly, she can hear music playing through an old radio sitting on the kitchen table. When she opens her eyes, she is standing at a party. People are slow dancing to a song she cannot place, her heart beats rapidly as she looks around the room in disbelief. Her senses are heightened, she takes in everything, she's acutely aware of her surroundings as she absorbs them all into herself. Her heartbeat slowly become steady and calm. She watches as one of the many strangers catches sight of her. Before she knows it, everyone in the room is staring at her as if she was some sort of miracle. Their eyes widen at the sight of her, their mouths hanging open. Suddenly, her body moves before she can think. Before she knows it, she is dancing very slowly. She's never danced anything remotely resembling this before, it's completely foreign to her but somehow, she finds herself enjoying it. She begins to sing along to the music. At first, the words sound strange coming from her mouth, but eventually, she finds that she knows how to pronounce all of them. In her peripheral vision, she glimpses more than one pair of surprised eyes watching her. Some of them even join in on her dancing. Soon, she is surrounded by all these unfamiliar faces and the world becomes a blur. But somehow she doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Instead, she feels safe, she truly feels at ease and does not notice a small child standing on the table, looking around curiously. Her face contorts into a puzzled expression when she notices the girl singing alongside her.
«We now have a second protagonist», she states, smiling broadly at me. I turn around and start writing. She looks into my eyes, then the page, curiosity written all over her face.
I try to remember everything that happened that day. I want to recall every detail and commit it to memory. And why shouldn't I, after all? I always felt that the questions weren't answered by writing, but by understanding. Maybe that's true, maybe it's not. But every time I think that I know where the story should go, something comes up to throw everything off balance again and confuse me. I feel like I can’t afford to miss any details, the answer isn't going to appear in front of me if I don't keep digging deeper. She watches intently as I stare at the page. She smiles gently, a soft expression I've never seen her wear before. «This is the beginning of our journey.» Her voice breaks as she utters those last words. «Our journey.» Afterwards, there is a moment where nobody moves or says anything while we remain sitting on the floor. Eventually, I break the silence. «You were right.» She looks at me questioningly. I shake my head and shrug. «We don’t need to pretend. It's not so much about writing a story as it is about living it.» I point to the pages of the notebook in my hands. «Writing about the unknown is challenging simply because we haven't had the opportunity to experience it. That's why we have to keep searching for new experiences to add to our collection in order to expand the world that exists only within the pages of our minds, or else the story will become an empty shell without fresh perspectives.» «Yeah» she agrees simply.
After that, I can’t help but wonder if perhaps she really believes all of what I just said. Is she scared that experiencing the unknown might destroy the content of her imagination? Does she believe that it is dangerous? I don't know. I don't know anything about her. I don't know anything anymore. When I finally look away from the notebook, I am met with her warm smile. It makes me freeze momentarily as I watch her move closer. Slowly and carefully she leans over until our foreheads almost touch. Her eyes shine with the purest compassion as they search my own. «What would you like to hear right now?» I ask softly. She hums lightly as she grabs my hand and brings it towards her chest. «The music», she whispers. I give her the smallest nod. She places my hand against her chest slowly, moving my hand in slow movements. She closes her eyes and I do the same as we listen to the rhythm of the melody slowly getting softer. Slowly but surely, the melody changes and evolves. We sway together for a few moments as the notes begin changing again. Then she opens her eyes. «Thank you» she whispers. «For letting me share this place with you.» I'm speechless for a few seconds. «We've turned this into a dream. If anyone deserves to be able to have a dream like this, it’s us. What do you call this feeling you have inside you whenever you see this room?» She laughs softly before answering me, «It feels so right. Like there's no other place I'd rather be right now.» I can’t bring myself to speak any more. All the words I wanted to express in my mind just aren't finding their way to my lips.
After we stand there together for a few minutes in silence, she slowly removes my hand from her chest. My eyes follow her movements as she disappears into the back hallway, and soon enough I feel her presence spreading across the entire house. It starts out small, like a breeze blowing across the room. I feel it everywhere, inside and outside me. I realize now that I've never felt so at ease before. I am filled with a deep sense of warmth that has nothing to do with romantic desire, it's like a revelation. Perhaps this is how it feels when you are not alone.» I turn around and notice a door opening behind me. She walks over to me, holding a key. For a moment she just stands there silently. «I'm coming to terms with this sense of calm. Everything appears to be lighter and simpler.» I say and she nods in agreement. «That's the difference between being inside our own world and not.» Her hand reaches for mine and she puts the keys in it. «I found this under the radio. It fits right in your palm, let's look around and figure out which door to open. I nod my head and follow her, leaving the room behind.
She leads me to a wooden ladder and points to a hatch door at the top. It doesn't seem to match anything in the house. I climb up, reach for the door and push it upwards gently. I look at her and smile. «It won't budge.» A smile spreads across her face. «I'll turn on the radio while you try the key.» With that, she steps aside. I place the key in the lock and turn it a few times. Finally, it clicks into place. I take hold of the handle and push upward, as the door slowly creaks. I wait for a sign from her. When none comes, I step forward and peek my head into the opening. After taking a breath, I climb inside. I look around and see nothing but darkness. After a brief moment, I make out the faint outline of a desk and next to it a bench. I walk cautiously to the bench and sit down. I reach my arms out blindly into the dark as if I expected something solid to materialize right under my fingers. A low pitch, droning sound begins to resonate through the room. A cold shiver runs down my spine as the noise gets steadily louder, until it starts to sound like being on a long flight in a pitch black passenger plane. It's a beautiful sound, and it fills my heart with such a sense of serenity that I can't help but find myself relaxing into its embrace. There is an elusive sense of truthfulness about it that's just difficult to pin down. My head feels so light I might float away. The noise continues, as if someone were calling out to me from afar, but I don't understand who it could be. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the sounds as I fall deeper into the abyss.