1/5/2017: Interwoven Stories

I am outside, in the light of a bright morning sun. The sky is blue and wispy clouds are dotted around. In front of me lies a green and inviting landscape; there are rolling grass-covered hills and a river that seems to go on infinitely. I am by one of its meanders and I am trying to take a photograph of the place, to capture its memory before it fades. I cannot do it.

Cut scene.

The landscape is beyond my view. I have moved to a grand home, where the hills and river can be seen from a French window in the far distance. The inside of the house is dark wood and crystal chandeliers, with oil paintings down its corridors. From another window, I see hundreds of white swans swimming in a lake. They glide peacefully, almost rhythmically.

Cut scene.

I have just exited the swan lake. I go to the changing rooms. These are the changing rooms I remember from my school days, and when I look out, the landscape has shifted to the school. There is the glinting pool and the shaded stands. There is the football field, dry from the sun, but muddy where the goalposts are. I shower and get changed, though all my clothes are soaked from my swim, and I have to scavenge clothes from other bags. I am clad in a large pale pink shirt and white sneakers.

As I leave, there is a man at the exit, with short, dark hair and shining eyes. He says to me sadly:- “it is a shame that you are not dating the better quality,” as if referring to himself. I tell him that he’s rude and that he has never met my partner, so has no right to judge. He agrees and leaves.

I venture to the canteen; it looks the same as I remember it with long tables and many bold and greasy smells emitting from the kitchens. I have a pile of wet clothes in my arms which a kind lady says she’ll dry for me.

She tells me not to worry.

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