It was quiet here. Unnaturally quiet. I was sure I was fairly deep into the forest at this point; the sound of the bustling village had long since vanished. But it was still a surreal feeling. This silence. The absence of the village hum; the shrill of shrieking children; the droning of the village elders. It was silent as the night.
Except it was not night. I was sure of it. Though the cool touch of the shade enveloped the forest floor, spears of sunlight betrayed the illusion. These diminutive breaches still humidified the woodland’s atmosphere with a hazy, drowsy demeanor one would expect from a hot summer day. They still bathed the forest a vibrant green instead of the muted blue of a sleeping Earth.
Even with the inhibition of the summer heat, the cicadas still churned their chorus. But here, despite the absence of humanity’s disruption, they too were absent. I had heard them earlier, at the mouth of the forest. But now, they were gone. So too was the wild song of the forest sparrows. Even the rustling of leaves had stifled. What was left was a feeling of total isolation; of banishment from the world; as if the surroundings had reached an eternal stand-still, solidifying like a painting.
Had I come to pass? Perhaps a dream, I had thought. Perhaps I would soon wake up, and the spell would be broken. But in the moment, I relished myself with the phantasm, and let my feet wander until this ethereal garden ejected me from its haven. I did not try to fight it. If I had indeed passed, it would have been a futile effort to try and make any sense of it. Perhaps I would’ve wandered endlessly, for centuries at time, without ever leaving again.
If it was a dream, it was not eternally constant. Eventually, a metamorphosis came across the scene. It began as a glimmer, obscured by the forest pillars and blanketed shrubbery. Despite my aimless wandering, I approached this glimmer, and as I approached it, the glow grew stronger. As though a shard of light had fallen from the sun and cleaved its fortress. While my eyes adjusted from the mellow shade, I distinguished it was not a shard of light, but instead a simple clearing. At least, what I thought was simple. In the middle laid a stone, bathing in the full grandeur of the Sun. By itself, in a field of grass; starkly contrasted. Alone, just like I was. For reasons I was not aware of, I was compelled to break my roam and approach this stone. And seemingly, the stone waited patiently in its place, gazing with unflinching fortitude.
At its heels, I stood over it and observed. It was not a tall rock. Even a child could have sat on top of it. Moss covered its head, like living a carpet, inviting me to sit down. I felt it, and felt the warmth of the Sun on my back. As my hand ran through the stones mossy furrow, it came across a split in the moss. Digging my fingers into it, I felt a clean fracture in the stone. A minuscule and slender hole that I could have easily missed if I had sat down on the stone. The moss had already grown over the hole and to creep inside.
I sat down on the stone, next to the hole, and wondered if there was perhaps another world beyond this small fracture. A world of stone, or perhaps a miniature parallel to this side. I did not wonder for too long, however, as the drowsy warmth of the clearing encouraged me to lie down and let my limbs go limp, snuggling into place on top of the stone. I shut my eyes to shield them from the sun, thinking about how pleasant it was; the warmth and the silence. It was the last thought I remember before I had presumably dozed off.