In All The World I Dream Of Paper…
You are falling. Falling down a large rabbit hole you so happened to stumble across while taking a walk in the woods. You are falling slowly, slow enough that you can register that this is no normal hole. The tunnel you are falling down has shelves, and lots of them.
They are filled with strange instruments, ancient looking books and jars of… Jam. You reach out to one of the jars, this one is labelled 'Strawberry Jam'. You open the jar and the sweet aroma of strawberry fills the air. You dip your finger into the red sticky substance and put the guilty finger in your mouth. It is the best strawberry jam you have ever tasted, and probably ever taste again.
Guilt begins to overwhelm you, the guilt of tasting someone else's jam – they very worst guilt of all. You attempt to put the jar back on the shelf, but you drop it. You attempt to grab it, but just missed it. Deciding not to fret over the lost jar you look down. The whole tunnel is well light and you think you can see the bottom.
Clink. Shatter. You hear to sound of breaking glass and next thing you know you are plummeting downwards, at a high speed. Falling. You scream. But no sound comes from your mouth. You keep screaming, not noticing you are making no noise. Screaming. Falling.
Stop. You stop mid air, just inches above the floor. Thud. You land on the white and blue tiled floor and it oddly didn't hurt. You look around. The walls are white, there is a small table in the centre and a white door to your left. You think this is oddly like Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and walk over to the table and expect to see a small bottle labelled 'drink me'. Instead, there is a rose.
This is no common garden rose. This rose is made from paper. Yes, paper. No, not coloured paper - white paper. It looks like a real rose, perfectly constructed and looks as if the Gods made it themselves. You gasp. The simplicity of the paper rose makes it unusually beautiful and oddly perfect. There is a piece of paper attached to the rose by string. In gold writing are the words 'In All The World I Dream Of Paper'
"In All The World I Dream Of Paper?" you repeated, bewildered, what a strange thing to write. You pick up the rose and bring it towards your nose. Even though you are doing it you think it's a strange idea. You inhale deeply. It does smell like a rose, a sweet, aromatic rose. You reach to put the rose in your pocket, then, remembering the jam, you decide against it and place it neatly on the table.
You step back and a crinkling noise reaches your ear and you look down. The blue and white tiled floor beneath you is paper. You are torn between surprise and half-expectance; it should have been obvious the floor would also be made from paper. Now that you begin to focus more on your surroundings, you notice almost everything is made from intricately folder, cut and designed paper.
The table, you notice, is made from glass and also are the windows. The windows that look out on a white, seemingly endless, landscape of nothingness. As you re-think the last sentence through your mind a sharp, cold, chill rapidly makes its way down your spine, you shiver slightly at the thought.
Ignoring your senses that scream "no - turn away and never look back" you make your way slowly to the white door to your left. You feel as if something is pulling you towards the door, something that you, strangely enough, don't want to fight.
You reach forward, extending your arm and unclenching your fist. You firmly grasp the white door knob, and as you do so an uncomfortable tingling sensation begins to slowly weave its way around your circulatory system, and you begin to lose all feeling in your feet. The numbness is spreading. Soon you are unable to stand without wavering because you can't feel your legs, the numbness spreads up your torso and into your arms. You feel less and less of yourself, until the only part of you that isn't numb is the hand holding the door knob.
You laugh nervously. You don't know why you did, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do it the situation. You try to shake yourself, yet you are unsure if you did so since you couldn't feel it. Your mind is beginning to go blank; you can't fully remember why you are here, or why you decided to go towards the door. You remember falling, and vaguely remember the jam and the rose with the strange message.
You look down at the hand you can feel, however you can't remember why you are holding the door handle. Swallowing, you unconsciously turn the handle and once you've realised what you did, you didn't try to close it. Instead you let go of the handle, and as you did so all feeling rushed back into your body.
The door swung open. You hold your breath. You take a step forward. You briefly see a world of white. You take another step, for a closer look. You fall - again.