The Traveller

There isn’t a time that she can remember not dreaming this way. It started the same every night, as she got lost in her slumber, falling deeper into her mind, then just like that, she would end up on that wall, alone always and anticipating the inevitable. The wall was long and its width just wide enough to meet her dimensions. There was darkness all around and the bottom so dark and deep that not even the dim spotlight on her could penetrate the abyss below. Although it was wide enough to hold her, it was an impossible task for her to remain on that wall. There was always a fear of falling off, the imminent fate. The wall neither shook nor shrunk, but yet every night she would meet the same end, falling off that wall into the abyss. And this is how her dreams would begin every night. This night, however, it would begin differently.

It was a Friday night like any other, uneventful. She lived alone, as she was an empty nester. She now resided in a trendy townhouse alone. It was still too cold for most of her friends to want to step out for some fun tonight. Unlike her friends, she enjoys the cold weather and has a predilection for storms. She has always found comfort in a good storm. She normally spends her Fridays eating and drinking at her favorite restaurant, but today she felt tired and was looking forward to climbing into her bed. Falling and staying asleep has become a task lately, and no matter how exhausted she would be, by a certain time she knew without the help of a sleep aid she would not get a good night’s rest. She just felt that this was going to be one of those nights.

As she drifted to sleep, she was pleased to soon find herself on the wall and all she had to do was make sure she fell into the abyss and hoped that the abyss wouldn’t spit her back out. Tonight, however, she was not alone on this wall, it felt different, it seemed wider and more stable. She then felt it, an object flat with straight edges, against her hand. It was just as she thought, a book. A black book with no writings on its cover, and the edges of the sheets were lined with gold. She examined it up and down and all around before opening to the pages. She got this strange feeling that she should open the book, but she was nervous. Her feeling similar to the anxiety that she always felt trying to stay on the wall knowing it would only result in her falling off. The cover felt almost alive not quite like skin, but not quite plastic. The blackness not shimmering, but not dull, just mesmerizing and almost fluid. The lure to open the book despite her apprehensions, was far too strong. She examined the outside a bit more, looking for some hints or clue as to what its contents were. There was absolutely nothing visibly or physically wrong, absolutely no imperfections. She ran her finger along the gold lined edges of the book, and to her surprise they were smoother than the cover, not quite metallic and not quite organic. There was nothing left to examine except for a peek at what was inside. So why was she so anxious about opening the book? There was no fear of falling off the wall tonight, but could opening the book end her time on the wall?

It had been an amazing day. The kind where everything seemed to align to her every move. Days like this come once in a blue moon and she could never seem to remember to take full advantage of the many opportunities that were there for her to grabbing. At least not until the final few hours of the day, when it was too late. She had been tensed the past few months, unable to get a good night’s rest. Today, she woke up pain free not a knot in her neck or shoulders, no headaches, and no tension of any kind. Suspicious, she was hopeful this was one of those lucky days and decided to test it out. It was in her thought that she would not waste a day like this. She stopped in front of the mirror in her hallway right before the door and was extremely pleased with how well put together she appeared. Her hair shiny and full of bounce, considering she only had to touch up just the front of her hair with some few untamed strands. Her outfit enhancing every curve. She wore that expensive pair tights, she had been saving for a special occasion. The one that tucked away imperfections and lifted her bum to defy gravity while shaping her legs to accentuate her nice large firm calves. Her extensive workouts were paying off. What better way to show off the curves of her breasts and the definition of her waist then with that loose fitting, almost see-through, delicate white blouse that tied off right below her bosoms and tucked at the waist. Her bra black and laced with push-ups in all the right places to give the world a peek of her endowments. Since it was still cold out, on this early Saturday morning, she grabbed her well fitted brown leather blazer that matched her favorite brown leather boots. Her skin so clear and glowing she only needed her lip-gloss. She was impressed and knew this was going to be one of her lucky days.

As she walked out to her car, her steps felt light, free, and very well coordinated. As she strutted down the driveway, she imagined she was on a runway, showing off some designer’s work of art. Her first stop would be the convenience store where they sold lottery tickets. Yes, this she had never attempted before, a mistake she won’t make again. She greeted the cashier with a cheerful smile, which was reciprocated equally and cheerfully. She casually and randomly selected a scratch off card. As soon as she entered her car, she took a deep breath and released her excitement and fear. This was the moment, first opportunity, scratch and win baby!

She didn’t match the grand prize but instead scored a match for $20,000 dollars in cash. She jumped so hard with joy, that she bumped her head on the ceiling of her car. This amount was more than she needed to jump start her new endeavors. She has always wanted to own a beach house. A beach house that she could turn into an Inn during the summer months and offer special dinners and brunches. Cooking had become a passion of hers and she has always enjoyed hosting dinners for family and friends who have always showered her with compliments.

As awake and excited as she was, she went straight to her favorite coffee shop for her usual latte. This was by far the best latte they’ve ever made for her. It was one of those frequented places where everyone working there knew her name and her order. She exhaled, took a sip, and it was like all the molecules were vibing to her frequency. At that moment, while soaking in the perfection of her drink, she had a flash of an image in her head that made time briefly stand still. It was an image of a small black book. And then came numerous images flashing by too fast for the human brain to articulate separately. Deep down she knew she understood. It was like previous knowledge, more like memories, no, reminders. She understood it, but yet could not put it all together. She felt a sense of duty, and an innate knowledge of how to get it done. Most importantly, she understood that there was more to her wall and the black book. She felt it deep down that she was now on borrowed time! This didn’t sadden her but excite her. She felt a sense of purpose again.

It was simple, she was a visitor, immersed in our world, looking through our eyes. She isn’t alone, there are many visitors traveling through our world in this fashion. Always born the seventh child of every seventh generation of the family; that is the generational jump and mitochondrial pattern. Born of a blood line of strong O blood type, and the chance of male or female left to probabilities. While they are born with this knowledge, it all gets lost in translation as their brains develop forming more rigid boundaries. To keep in touch with their origin, they must cross a bridge, not metaphorically but metaphysically. This bridge is easily crossed during sleep. Once our visitors reach a certain cycle or age of experiences, they must report back.

Getting to the bridge isn’t as simple as falling asleep, it is being able to visualize that bridge. As mentioned, the knowledge is lost in translation, as the human mind develops, this causes limitations. It is all left to that individual’s interpretation based on environment and experience. In her case, as a child, she was not exposed to bridges, no images whatsoever. Thus, her mind interpretated this bridge as a wall, simply because that is what she had observed connecting one point to another. Her wall always unstable, because as a child a wall meant height and the possibility of falling over. HER WALL WAS HER BRIDGE. The black book was a reminder or message from across the bridge of her duties.

Last night, when she opened the little black book, images swarmed all around her. The images were beyond what a human mind can comprehend, but on the bridge, she was able to accept them. The more she accepted them the more sense they made. Her wall was no longer a wall, but really a bridge, more like a tunnel, of light almost translucent with flashes of color. Similar to light going through a prism the colors flashed horizontally giving the impression that the bridge itself was moving. The bridge span for what seemed an eternity, into the dark of space, but she knew its destination. From now on, she would have to cross this bridge every night, to bring back all the experiences she had lived in this life. It also meant she had very few years left in this life, maybe, if she’s lucky she could last up to 10 years. Crossing the bridge frequently will have its toll on her. It will stress her brain, bending and stretching those rigid boundaries. Hence, the bridge will deteriorate proportionately to her human mind, until the connection is severed.

She will wake up every morning with no memory of the bridge or her interstellar trips. Deep down, it is will all be there. Her mind will be unable to keep the bridge open while she is awake. She will remain only with a sense of purpose and anticipation, until she closes her eyes and is on her bridge again.