As you raise your foot,
Feel the last droplets fall,
Rolling back down the stone into the rushing stream behind you.
Settle yourself and breathe in the damp air.
Cool,
Almost soft on your skin,
Within your lungs.
Let that pulse of life hold you for a moment,
Feet on firm,
Smooth rock,
As the air flows in,
Out.
Take in these remembered surroundings and all they hold.
The open cavern,
Rounded and worn,
Natural except for the carved steps.
Those sacred stairs that gave you such pause once before.
Notice the light throughout the place,
A faint glimmer of blues reflected off the pure,
Clear water.
That's Omti,
Which you once tread down this smoothed walkway.
Take your first stride,
Feeling hesitancy,
Tentativeness coming back to you.
Settle in this space,
Wait,
And let the agitation leave you,
Simply standing until that fear has gone.
Wait.
With the return of the calm,
Take your next stride,
And again,
Climbing those steps leading towards that darkened passage.
Focus on that brief walkway until you reach it.
There is only the next step.
Do not worry about what is ahead.
Leaving the last of the stone stairs and striding into the narrow passage,
See the careful craftsmanship of the walls,
Perfectly smooth,
Coming to a point above.
And there,
In front of you,
The exit.
From the edge,
Notice how you can see almost the entire lower space,
The sand and rock.
And distant,
That other archway,
Mirroring the one in which you now stand.
Yet,
Also take in how you cannot see the tiered seats above,
The majority of the underground Coliseum hidden from your view.
An intentional effect,
You are certain,
Keeping the traveler unaware of what waits above them.
Feel another pang of fear attempt to grab you,
And breathe.
Let it settle.
You are now stronger than when you fled through here once before.
You know the dance now.
Breathe in,
Out.
As you inhale again,
Leap forward,
Landing to your far left,
One foot drawing you on.
Steadying on that foot,
Coil,
And as you do so,
Spring to your right,
Once,
Then again,
Three steps completed.
As you twirl forward and to your left once more,
Take note of the faces,
All watching,
And see how different they are.
Another step to your left reveals how timid the hungry court is,
Cringing back from your presence,
Shuddering,
Scared.
They hide behind the strange,
Shriveled trees and those stone seats.
None dare approach.
None dare look away from your performance.
Tipping as you leap right,
Continuing the zigzagging pattern,
Find your feet moving with perfectly practiced steps,
Aware of where they need to be even before you are.
Another short step,
Re-centering you between the two doors.
Press your feet into the last of the motions,
A quick,
Stomping dance,
Powerful but short,
A gesture of strength before you leap across into the final stance.
Feel their gaze upon you,
Each terrified,
And know these ghosts have no power over you anymore.
Step forward,
That one lone step required to reach the doorway,
Without even a glance back.
Broken shades to be discarded.
Instead,
Look forward as you walk on smooth stone once more,
Almost silken in its gentle texture,
Only a little ways until you find that opening out onto the grey,
Shifting world.
Torn edges pulling at the entirety of its existence.
Watch a moment as the clouds shift and distort,
The water and rain twirling and shivering past.
Even the rocks and the trees ripple and tear,
Shades of grey merging into one another,
The entire world's image blurring as though ink dampened by tears.
As you step onto the shifting pathway down,
Watch the dirt ripple from your feet,
That swirling.
Remember the fear when you were here last,
The uncertainty.
This time will be different,
With the rain splattering against you,
Noticeable and yet also not affecting you.
Seek in the valley you are walking through,
The deep ravines and high cliffs,
Jagged points swirled and pulled by the wind and rain.
And there,
Ahead,
A faint light,
A lantern.
Tried towards it,
Steps heavy and confident,
Despite the weather.
As you approach that figure,
Take in its wide umbrella and see it has stationed itself around a bluff.
Beyond it,
A clearing on the edge of these high,
Rocky paths,
The figure itself has its flickering lantern and a tiny fire,
Barely protected by the canvas and wood.
Its scales and tiny claws are careful in preparing a kettle and leaves,
Rubbing them gently between its hands.
It seems focused,
Intent on preparing tea,
With a setting for two.
As it glances up,
Notice how it takes in your appearance,
Surprised at your presence.
Then carefully withdraws a third cup,
Nodding to you.
A gesture of acceptance and appreciation,
You are welcome here.
In that nod,
Take note that in the clearing,
There are figures now,
Out well past the edge of the umbrella.
It's almost time.
This has been a dance anew,
A blue path meditation of the fatal neutrinos.
Stories of histories that weren't,
Futures that mustn't,
And places that cannot be.
We're nearing the end of this little journey.
I hope you'll stick around.
This is Easton,
And remember,
I'm as much a work of fiction as anything you hear.
