The book I have read before, it’s well known to me, a comfort, familiar, certain. The spine is well cracked and the pages well worn with a slight bend to the cover in the right hand corner. A book well travelled.
I’m nearing one of its most pivotal moments, our protagonist has arrived outside of the legendary chateau, impressed by its facade, its stature, unaware of the horrors that lay ahead.
I’m comfy in my seat, firmly settled in, secured by a single belt across my lap; I pull the strap a little tighter.
Our hero enters his new abode, anxious to get to work on the important real estate. Excited to one day introduce his family to their forever home.
I glance outside my window, a chaotic tirade of cloud, smoke and fast whirring images. Wispy white cotton wool fills the space.
Our fellow walks cautiously through the candle lit hallway, adorned with antique furniture and an old tatty red rug. Apart from the rhythmic ‘clip claps’ of his hardy boot heels on the wooden floor, the house is silent.
Shouts, screams and unfamiliarity reverberate into my ears, nearly, but not quite, drowning out the pulsating of my own blood vessels and pounding chest.
He progresses down the hall into a dimly lit round study, floor to ceiling bookcases are filled to the brim with classics; sandwiched and squished next to each other, standing cover to cover, like peas in a pod.
I feel the brush of another passenger’s arm, an electricity passes between us followed by intermittent tremors caused by uncontrollable sobs. A small friction between the hairs on my arm and theirs comforts me. I don’t look at them.
The study is dusty, untouched for quite sometime, tiny particles of smut fill the air, a mix of dead skin, hair and earth. A dryness enters his mouth, coating his teeth, his gums, his lips. A dry cough escapes leaving a brittle taste.
A sudden jolt allows me to defy gravity for a split second. The impact causes me to accidentally bite my tongue, a salty, iron taste emerges like I’ve just licked a penny. I swallow.
He reaches for one of the books, ejecting it from its long standing home, it is hard-backed and embossed with a beautiful gold clasp. He removes the remaining dust with one short blow, the dancing of powder tickling his nostril hair producing a not so unpleasant musty smell.
A merger of sweetness, fuel and chemicals inhale my lungs which is slightly assaulting. For the briefest moment, I feel euphoria, which is quickly replaced by consternation and dizziness. Thick fumes wave over me making it difficult for me to read what comes next despite me desperately trying. Through the disorder, I forget the storyline, unsure of where we travel next with our fellow passenger.
I hear the whirring of metal on metal, I smell the odour of burning oil and rubber, I taste a harsh and bitter acid which leaves my mouth tingling, I feel a refreshing gale of wind as it whips and vibrates my cheeks and I see an array of objects in the air, their metallic parts reflecting in the sunlight. Ah I remember now.