Your journey into White

Your journey into White

Every night for the past seven weeks you’ve had the same dream: A room. A dark room. You step inside and a single, dim light on the ceiling flashes on. All you see are four walls, grey and dull. There’s nothing interesting so you turn around to leave, but you face the doorway and you see no door at all. Instead, there’s a refrigerator. On the door handle there’s a sheet of paper, and the word ‘White’ is scribbled on it. Every time you see the refrigerator you feel hungry. You imagine all sorts of delicious food inside, waiting to paint your tongue with flavors. Roast chicken, salad, pizza, yogurt, steak, noodles—you can almost smell the aromas coming from this fridge named White. You want to open White’s door, but you never can. Your feet are stuck. You can’t move. White calls you. You’re hungry. And you wake up.

This happens for several more weeks and you make an amazing discovery one night: White’s door is ajar. You can see the golden light streaming from within, out into the dull room. If your arms were longer, perhaps you could reach and pull open the door, but your arms aren’t that long and all you can do is imagine a feast waiting inside. A feast you may probably never, ever taste.

On the ninth week you realize your feet aren’t stuck anymore. You take a shaky step towards White’s door, still ajar, you wrap your fingers around the handle, and the sheet of paper labled ‘White’ glides to the floor. With one swift pull, you fling White open and the golden light blinds you momentarily. A few seconds pass and your eyes slowly adjust. What you see confuses you greatly.

There’s nothing inside. The word ‘Nothing’ is written on a second sheet of paper that sits on the top shelf. Disappointed, you close White’s door and hear a noise. It comes from within the fridge. What is it? you wonder. It sounds like the whispers of a child. At first you don’t want to see, but curiosity overwhelms you. You pull the door open letting the golden light flood the room again, and you gasp in shock.

You are inside White. The five-year-old version of you. You look at yourself, small and smiling, eyes twinkling up at you. You feel fear. You can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it.

Little You suddenly raises a small hand. Such a tiny hand, pure and innocent. You hesitate, but you take it. For a brief moment you look down at yourself and expect yourself to speak, but you don’t. You’re about to let go of the small hand when Little You pulls you in with great force. You fall and fall, deep into White, and you see nothing but eternal, golden light. A small pressure squeezes your hand, and you know it’s Little You, but you can’t see yourself anywhere. The world has turned into a world of light and there’s nothing to see but infinite gold.

Then you’re not falling anymore. Your feet are standing on solid ground. The little hand squeezes yours and you squeeze back. A sound suddenly reaches your ears. For some reason it reminds you of a park. A park you went to when you were a child. You see kids and slides and swings and you feel little again. You want to swing. You want to slide. You want to go and laugh along with the others.

The park disappears and you see a place that scared you when you were little. You see it and you feel the fear, deep within your very soul. Little You squeezes your hand and you’re not afraid anymore. You know everything is alright.

An aroma reaches your nostrils and you remember the smell of another place. A friendlier place. A place that wasn’t home, but reminds you strongly of it. A place that is almost lost in the layers of your mind, but still manages to resurface with very little detail. This place is special to you. You feel like you need to go back and visit.

And then you feel a pair of lips. The first lips that you ever kissed. This memory brings a smile to your face and you wish you could relive the moment. You want to go back and make eveything better, not just to that moment, but to other moments of your past as well.

But you can’t. You can’t and you know it. The path you chose is the path you took and you can only change where you’re going, not where you went. The footsteps you left behind on your path are forever printed there. They are your past. The path ahead is free of footprints and it’s your choice if you want to keep walking that path, or cut through the trees and follow another one, perhaps darker, perhaps lighter. The decision is yours and Little You reminds you with one last squeeze of your hand.

You wake up from the dream and your heart pounds softly. You feel your lungs breathing, your eyes blinking. You feel alive. It’s another day in your life. The dream left you a bit uneasy, but you know you have to make a decision. You have to make it and you have to make it now. You get up to your feet, walk to your mirror, and you look at your eyes, your hair, your nose, your mouth. Choose a path. Will you follow the one you’re already on, or will you change course? Remember your past, reflect on your present. Do you like them? Do you want to have a similar future?

You take a step back from the mirror and stare at your whole body. That person in the reflection is you, and that same person staring back at you has to make a decision.

What will it be?

-Ralph Serr

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2 thoughts on “Your journey into White

    • Yeah, but not with refrigerators. It’s like this weird shack where a furnace is stored. It’s just there in a dark room and there’s the sound of loads of pebbles rolling down a slope. It’s a recurrent dream, but not a whole lot like in the story. Comes around every few months or so.

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