Daymares 6

I am floating.  The world has gone quite white.  I shift a bit to the left and I find myself drifting several feet on the soft currents that hold me aloft. There are no greys here.  Not a single one.  Nothing that whispers of shadow.  Only the whiteness that surrounds me.  Or is me, I can't really tell.  Have I mentioned, the world has gone white?

At least in this absence of color there is also an absence of temperature.  This here is neither hot nor cold.  It cannot be described as temperate either.  It is simply none of the above.  I suspect that if this were a food or a drink it would have no flavor either.  As I think of it, there has been not a sound.  Well, no sound other then those in my own head.  Those of course are consistently loud.  I can't get rid of them I fear.  They go with me everywhere. 

Even here in the quite white world, where everything that was is absent.  Except, I guess, me.  My floating comes to a rather abrupt halt with that thought.  I hover.  I now know what it feels like to be "thunderstuck".  I am what is here.  Imagine that.  Everything else is what is not here.  I suppose that makes me as real as I will ever be.  In this time and space that is.  Slowly I feel the smile stretch across my face.  I am grinning like a gap-toothed kid at the county fair staring at the cotton candy.  I let myself spin.  Not a good idea, spinning sets me darting in one direction then zipping off in another.  Floating is much less pleasant at higher speeds in a world where everything is absent and there is nothing to stop you.  Well, come to think of it, at least I am not likely to break my neck.  Am I?

I pull back from the spin and set about trying to right myself, attempting to find that comfortable float again.  I over adjust several times before I finally give in to the zip and dip, assuming that at some point my velocity will wear down and I will reach "float point" again. I would close my eyes, but all I would trade is a world of white for the darkness behind my eyelids, a world of black, the darkness formed from the absence of light.  Not much of a difference.  Most people think of them both as the absence of color.  I suppose they are, in one way or another.  But for now I just float.  Besides, I fear that closing my eyes will close this world to me and I am not prepared to go.

It takes awhile, but I realize, as much as I prefer not being restricted to my bed, not fearing the movement of the light in the window as it passes the time between the blades, I am dreadfully bored.  This is not quite what I had hoped for in a window of escape.  But then, how am I to know if I have escaped?

I have been told I have a vivid imagination.  It is one of the reasons they value me so.  Why they harvest my images.  Perhaps this is just another set of images that will fall prey to the blades.  I let my eyes flutter closed and settle into the ease of floating.  There is really only one way to find out afterall.  Isn't there?