Lavender Mist

An Endless Cage

When she climbed up the stairs and stopped in the decaying entrance hall of the theatre, Maggie felt like she went through a destructive storm: tired, despondent and powerless. From somewhere (probably from some worn-out window behind a corner), a light was coming, looking goldish and setting, which reminded Maggie of how much she once loved staring at the twilight with Pablo, excited, waiting for pearly eyes of the stars to peek over the horizon. And then, one thought, as if it was medicinal, woke up her strength: if the light was coming from the window, it meant that there was an exit somewhere near. Quickly, but still as quietly as she could, Maggie ran towards the warm, glowing track, laid on the ground. However, the longer she followed it, the more it grew, even making turns for a few times and, not paying attention to where she was going, she ended up in an unknown part of the theatre.

The beam of sunlight lead her to a large wall, where it cut off and faded, given that the night was falling and the dusk was getting closer to its end. Maggie palpated the wall with her fingers, as if she was, in despair, looking for a crack or an edge, that could hint that there was still a door. She would probably scream and cry, if she wasn't so weak and weary. Instead of that, she turned towards an only door, on the opposite side of the empty space, seemingly too new for an abandoned place.

A scent of an old carpet chased out of a dimly lit, little room, that opened up before Maggie. She stepped inside and felt the floor moving and folding under her foot. She was, however, sure that there was a heavy pile of other covers, not only the carpet, on it: a few doormats, that belonged in front of someone's house, woollen blankets with stains, that mixed with colourful patterns, so that they were no longer differing from them, thrown pieces of fabric and sponge, thin, hardened scarves, worn out costumes, decorated with tiny crystals, which occasionally sparkled in the weak light, uncomfortable for the eyes, so much that Maggie would had prefered if there was complete darkness. Her eyes watered and she firmly shut them, rubbing her eyelids with her fingers. However, it only made it so that, when she opened them again, the illumination became unbearable and so much tears accumulated, that they soon started flowing in streams down her flushed face. She looked for a bulb, a lamp or a lantern, but she didn't know where the light was coming from and spreading throughout the entire room.

By the beige walls with an infinite number of bumps and dimples, like they were shaped in clay, tall mannequins were standing, coated in red velvet. However, they didn't look like the ones, that she would see in shop windows, when she would go for long walks through the town with her parents. They were headless and limbless - just distorted, uneven torsos, some standing up straight, and some slightly crooked on the slim, metal poles. Some were still cloaked in long, ornate fur coats, yet most of them were stripped and forgotten. They were standing in dense rows on both sides of the room, and one of them was lying, partially hidden by a few layers of clothes and carpets, while only its wide, iron pedestal was poking out, with decorative curls and flowers, made out of brass.

The bang of the door, which suddenly slammed shut, although there were no signs of wind, reminded Maggie of where she was and what she wanted to do. She took a step forward, towards the wall across, which was only glimpsing through in sight, corrupted by tears. Already after that first step, under her feet, she felt some folded sleeve and dense layers of different kinds of material. After only a few acts of movement, she realized that she was out of breath and that her legs were shaking from exhaustion. However, when she turned back to the direction, that she came from, she saw that she almost didn't even move away from the door. She made a few more steps, but it became harder and harder with every attempt. Some ropes were tangling around her ankles and thrown rags were piling up in front of her. The air seemed more and more suffocating. The room was cramped. She could see the opposite wall and an open door - it was almost in the reach of her hand, only five or six steps from her! However, as it seemed, she struggled, for a long time, to fight through the mess. She could only hear her own voice, straining and groaning in fatigue. But, when she looked back again, the wall was still there, right behind her, as if she didn't make a single step. She was no longer certain if the floor even existed under the sea of soft material. She wasn't sure how many steps she made in pure despair, holding onto a wall with one hand and looking for at least the smallest opening, fighting for a breath of air. The heat was flaming in her forehead and lowering down her face and neck. Her clothes were sticking to her body. She spent a long while gasping with a pressure on her chest, that was tightening, until she collapsed onto the thick pile.