Find full details of the challenge here.
I was happy living once. My home was large and spacious, warm light flooded every nook and I was content. Every morning I would wake in my white linen bedspread and the light would rise to greet me. I was energetic making my mourning routine an engaging ritual. Meditation, washing, yoga, dressing. Fresh faced for breakfast.
The table provided whatever I desired, and along with it a serene corner of my home to eat each meal. The rest of my day was spent reading fantastical fiction about imaginary worlds, cleaning my space, writing my own stories, exercising and then settling down for sleep.
I read about other humans in books, sometimes whole colonies of them lived together, some even sharing beds. I always found this concept hard to consider, the idea of another ‘person’. I’d feel so crowded. I mainly wrote about one person worlds like mine. I was so grateful it was just me.
Until one day my world broke. Or that’s the only way I could understand it at the time. One morning I sat at my table and it didn’t light up. I couldn’t chose my breakfast, I couldn’t understand how table could do this to me. All day I went without food. I’d never experienced hunger before but it reminded me of some of the books I’d read, some people didn’t have food. But they usually didn’t have homes either, living in masses on ‘streets’.
My world didn’t have streets, just my one big home, bed, table, bookshelves, bathroom. I didn’t understand the appeal of empty outdoor spaces, they sounded overwhelming.
The night after the day of hunger I found it hard to sleep. And that’s when the door appeared. My world had never had a door before, and now there was a door and it was opening. Opening to what?! How did a world open. I’d never read or imagined a world opening. The next thing I saw froze me in my bed, if I’d have seen me, I would have looked petrified. Torrents of stillness rolled over me as something else created movement into my home.
The first ever human that wasn’t me entered my world.
To be continued… maybe.