In the Room



The last thing I recall is Mani calling my name. She yelled for me to watch my step, but it was already too late. The dirt path rounding the jungle-mountain gave to my weight, and I found myself tumbling.
At the bottom I ache like I never had before. I closed my eyes hoping it would ease the pain.
Waking, I found myself in an all white room. Not white like eggshell or taupe or even ivory. Not the vanilla bean ice cream variety either. It was more intense and vibrant, like the ancestor of navajo white. I am talking about a color so alive and powerful it affects all the senses.
My sight was shocked until my retina burned, and my hearing could have found marching ants a mile away. I could have molded clouds like clay, tasted the excitement of active atoms, and the smell was that of smoldering planets and stars.
Everywhere and nowhere was white, the purest sense of the concept, not just the word. I heard mumblings that reminded me of the finest orchestra. I was most definitely somewhere I should not have been prohibited to experience and remember.
As my world returned to normal, the jungle brushery materializing around me, Mani stood over my crumpled body saying she would find help. I didn’t really care about finding a doctor or medic. I wanted to know what was up with that white room.

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