I turned around and looked below me. It was wet, I could feel the cold water, at least I hoped it was water, but I couldn't see anything. It was pitch-dark. It smelled wet. I stretched our my arms, and felt a smooth surface on both sides. Walls? Was I walking through a corridor?
A flooded corridor?
I continued to walk. Slowly, carefully, kind of dragging my feet through the water, rather than raising them.
It got a bit deeper, now it was up to my knees.
My fingertips kept touching the imagined walls, but they seemed to grow apart as I moved forward. The space was gradually becoming wider, as the water was deeper and deeper. It was up to my thighs, and I could no longer feel the walls. My arms were still standing out, slightly raised, but with no surface to meet my fingertips.
No support, no safety.
What a weird thought. Why would a wall represent safety? Because it was something to lean on?What a silly idea. Under certain circumstances, a wall may offer protection from raging winds, but here, it was rather as if the water was contained by the walls. In that sense, fewer walls would mean less water. Or were the walls indeed protection? Who knows, maybe this whole structure was underwater. Maybe these walls were all that stood between me and drowning. Alright. Not such a silly association after all. Moving on...
I continued to step forward, slowly, carefully, one foot in front of the other, dragging my legs through the water, growing more and more impatient and irritated with my own prudence with every step I took.
End of part 1
The Unwritten Story, by Sabina Nore
What is this all about??
I would like to concoct a story in several parts, with "audience participation". That means, your thoughts and/or questions may (or may not) influence the continuation of the story.
Inspired by 