A dream of silence and invisibility
I walk quietly through the middle of a high-canopied forest.
Small shops, hot dog stands, coffee bars and shoe-shine stalls are arranged to provide the casual walker
with entertainments and disatractions.
The people around me, the other pedestrians in this jungle, all carry sticks and large rucksacks, they are Walking with a capital W. They all seem to be serious about enjoying the scenery. This attitude seems incongruous with
the cheerful faces of the monkeys and chimps staffing the stalls.
Some of these simians are talkative and all are quite friendly. I chat with them, but there seems to be nothing odd or
Dr Doolittle-ish about that, as though we were simply making everyday small talk about the weather.
I chance upon one of the larger shopping arcades and walk inside. It is darker indoors, but the shelves of the stores are
full of light and colour; desirable objects dazzle me and make me greedily reach for them.
I remember only the colours: bright reds and silver. I begin to feel trapped by the paths
I am chosing around the store. The same paths are re-trodden, deteriorating behind me, and I become
frustrated that I am not any closer to reaching the exit. The things on display are sufficient distraction,
but only for so long. Soon I am asking for directions, but nobody can hear me.
I try to scream in the middle of the largest of the shop aisles - now dark and claustrophoic, no longer any sign of the lush vegitation outside. Noone can hear me, or if they can they are paying no attention despite the increasing volume and urgency of my screaming. I crescendo. I throw myself, baby-like, to the ground. It's a gut-wrenching, desperate action. I am ignored. People walk past, around and even over me.
I wake up sweating. Panting. Glad it's a dream.
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