The Vividness of the Unreal.

From the dark wooden arch of the narrow opening to the lonely turret, also made of dark wood, standing on the third step of the winding wooden stair-case, I could see the beautiful amalgamation of bright colours.

The lush and refreshing green of the grass, the bright golden yellow flowers, with petals shaped like the rays of the sun, a few wing-tailed brilliant-blue butterflies.

The sky was a cloudless azure, clear as the colours I could see (and as clear as clear could possibly be).

A loud, happy chattering of families with little children, seated on numerous white tables and chairs, gathered as if for an occasion, emanated through the lightly fragrant air. But, I couldn’t figure out what occasion.

The children would duck under the tables, hide and laugh like a thousand chimes chiming together. The adults sat bantering and match-making, with tea in lightly decorated porcelain cups. The women dressed in flowing and comfortable gowns, the men, in light-coloured coats and cotton pants.

From within the lonely turret, among the dark wood inside and the brightness outside, I could see myself, except for my face. My hands, they were gloved with creamy-white satin-silk-cotton, lightly laced with delicately embroidered flowers and leaves. I was dressed in an off-white flowing gown of the same comfortable fabric. It was beautiful. Whatever I was dressed in, for whatever the occasion.

I wasn’t very old. I must be around 12.

Just as I was about to climb up the stair-case, a very familiar, and expected voice of another 12 year old called out my name and I turned.

Years passed by and I visited the turret and the grass with the differently shaped yellow flowers often. It never changed. The colours were always as vivid as they had been the first time. The dark wood impeccably maintained. The only difference was, the people kept reducing, and so did the white tables and chairs. The loud and happy chattering grew fainter with time.

Today, I was standing on the same stair, the third one, on the spiralling wooden stair-case, watching the scene from the same arched opening. Today, too, the sky was the clear azure, the grass- refreshing green, the flowers- bright golden-yellow. But there were no bright-blue wing-tailed butterflies, and absolutely no one outside. Not even the white tables and chairs. Nothing animate.

Today, I stepped out of the turret. For the first time ever, in all these years. I looked at my hands, clothed in the same gloves. Myself, clothed in the same off-white gown. The fabric shone a bit in the warm and soft sunlight.

And then, I heard the distant hooves of a stallion. To my right, and about a few miles away, I could vaguely see the shiny black of the stallion, walking away from me. There was no one on his back. No one, I could see, around him. I watched him until he walked so far away that I could no longer see an outline.

And I waited.

I yearned within.

What for, I never knew.

Eight years have passed since I’d first come here.