The
World
I am in a room tiled from floor to ceiling. It's a place I know well, a labyrinth with colored mosaics. A joyful, colorful prison. I don't remember since when I was here. I stare at the blue, blue, green, pink, white, white, yellow, green, orange, brown, blue, green tiles that parade under my steps, climb the walls, walk along the walls. There is a staircase in front of me: a staircase that leads nowhere. It stops after about twenty steps in the void. It looks like a diving board: beyond this staircase, there is nothing. Just a cliff. A void covered with colored tiles.
I place my foot on the first step. The tiles shine. I begin to climb the stairs slowly. The sound of my footsteps echoes delicately, as if I were walking on glass. Three steps, two, then the last one. The top. I get closer to the edge and clamp my toes down before dipping my gaze below. It's so deep you can't even make out the bottom: the tiles shrink until they are lost below.
Suddenly, a rustle of wings. A beautiful bird flies up the gaping hole: its powerful wings carry it, its shining eyes stare at me gently.
I am not afraid.
I jump, unfolding my arms like wings. The bird catches me. I am now flying with it, riding on its back. It is the end of the journey. The air caresses my cheeks. We cross corridors, and start feeling the light. At the end of a tunnel, a small square of another shade of blue than that of the mosaics appears. The bird rushes towards it. I distinguish some clouds in the little square of sky. We fly so fast now that the tiles scroll and distort, leaving only colored trails. The opening fills all my field of vision.
Appeased, I bury my face in the soft plumage of the bird.
Finally we emerge into the open air.