Imaginary Writing

You approach the cabin from the west face with the wind gusting at your back and the rain as light as mist. The route is rough and rocky, and you are unsure what awaits you at the top.

Digging your fingers into the soaked earth, you haul yourself over the last outcropping as the valley falls away beneath you, and your hours of toil raise you to the summit.

You stand as boldly as the tousled pines that clutch the hide of the earth within their roots. Then you turn to the cabin. This is the reason you have come. You wish to know who inhabits the cabin.

Do they have what you seek? Can you swap stories with the purpose of growing closer to the eternal mysteries of life?

As you approach the cabin across the stones, you wonder why they have chosen such a desolate location. Surely, if they are the one you seek, they could live wherever their imagination could take them. Why here?

As you approach the door, you feel the presence of the cabin like an old friend. It lends a sense of companionship in this vast landscape of jutting ridges and raging skies.

You raise your muddied hand to the oak door and pause. What if they are not home? What if you have come all this way only to find an abandoned house? All of its life would drain away, and you would see it then as just another faceless rock.

You falter and then reach for the latch. The door moves easily on its hinges, and the breath that escapes is the air of a living home. You sense the smell of spices, of rosemary, of green tea.

You step onto the rug and pull around the door into the hollow of the house. The door closes, and you blink the darkness from your eyes. Nothing is immediately clear.

There is a simple living room with a wooden bench and a squat table covered in papers and pens. The walls are alive with murals, images, scenes, waves of color, and they are encrusted with stones and shells. You take another step and something moves.

Pausing, you find your breath held up by the tension. The house complains that you are being too uptight. Your shoulders relax and you let out a long, slow breath. Then something slips into the pale light and looks you over.

It is a cat with stormy gray fur and deep eyes full of intelligence and emotion. It makes eye contact before slipping through a door, slightly ajar with the unknown. You follow, feeling however, that you are wearing the wrong sort of footwear. Slippers would be more appropriate.

You push aside the door and realize that the cat has vanished down a flight of stairs into the earth. Your eyes are wide with apprehension, but your feet have already begun their steps.

You had hoped to find someone who could answer your questions. But now you are surrounded by darkness in a world where anything could exist. And sure enough, your imagination is already tingling. You can see shapes, figures, scenes, places, moments that capture your entire being as if you were living someone else's memory.

The possibilities are astounding. You approach the first shape, ready to reveal what you have been seeking. Here, surely, you must find the answers to your questions. But when the darkness falls away, you are left breathless and confused.

You are left staring into your imagination.

The End

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