The sun cast its golden rays through the windows of Elara's high school, illuminating the bustling hallways filled with students chattering excitedly as they moved from one class to another. Among them walked Elara, a solitary figure lost in the crowd, her long dark hair framing her face like a veil as she kept her gaze fixed on the floor. Her thoughts were elsewhere, as if in another universe created entirely by her mind. Was it her instinct that told her to take refuge there? As a natural defense mechanism. There is no need to tell her tragic story, suffice it to say that she has lived alone for many years, in a small apartment that she pays for thanks to monthly "compensation" aid, dependent on the food offered when restaurants close. What she hated almost as much as the incomprehension of the people around her was their pity. Life is hard, it must be said, but what is the point of feeling sorry for yourself, or looking for empathy in people when you know very well that there is none? really and that the artifice of these pitiful faces only serves the downfall of a person who must in fact build themselves up.
As she navigated the maze of corridors, Elara felt the weight of the world pressing down upon her shoulders. It seemed as though every step she took was a struggle, as though she were wading through a thick fog that threatened to engulf her completely. The voices of her classmates blended together into a cacophony of noise, their laughter and chatter like daggers to her ears.
Whispers followed her wherever she went, like a ghost haunting her every step.
"There goes the weird girl," she heard someone mutter as she passed by, their words stinging like a sharp slap to the face. But Elara was used to it by now. She had long ago learned to build walls around herself, to shut out the cruel words and mocking laughter of her classmates. When we are alone and labeled, there is no support, neither from the adults around us, nor from our "comrades". Comrades, a funny name to characterize the relationship that binds people in the world when we know very well that the daggers come from our enemies as well as from our friends, our comrades. It is then necessary to create armor strong enough not to let any dagger slip through, but also not to let out any feeling that could offend a face, a stoic image. This is what is most dangerous in the young girl's situation, letting her feelings show, even the smallest ones. This shell, although long to build, is surely what has allowed her to survive until now.
In class, she sat in silence, her eyes fixed on the pages of her textbook as the teacher droned on about dates and events that held no meaning for her. She felt as though she were a ghost, a mere observer in a world that had long ago passed her by. She had the impression that although an essential figure, material in this world, she was not really part of it. All these past historical events only seemed to feed this resentment. What is the point of learning about our past kings and the many wars which led to many deaths, sometimes even causing a small ice age because so many men were killed, why then learn about these victories, these defeats, these games strategy, revenge, architecture aimed at best at killing opposing troops... what's the point if we don't learn from our mistakes, if we do the same things again and again today. Elara often thought of this infernal loop in which, by her status as a human being, she was locked. Falling, getting up, and falling again lower, such is the world that presents itself to his eyes, a world designed by man in the image of his violence, a world where man is so deeply consumed by hatred that he could start a war over a simple woman. The more she tried to convince herself otherwise, the more she understood that she did not belong to this world, to this species so simplistic and eaten to the core by hatred.
When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Elara gathered her books and made her way to the parking lot, where her battered old van awaited her. It was a relic from another era, its paint chipped and rusted from years of neglect, but it was hers—a sanctuary in a world that too often felt hostile and unwelcoming. As she drove through the familiar streets of her small town, Elara couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at her insides. She longed for something more, something beyond the confines of her mundane existence—a world where she could be free to be herself, without fear of judgment or ridicule.
Her home was a small apartment above an old bookstore, a place she had come to call her own after her parents had passed away. It was a refuge from the outside world, a sanctuary where she could escape from the harsh realities of life and lose herself in the pages of her books. Elara climbed the stairs to her apartment and unlocked the door, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She kicked off her shoes and sank onto the worn couch, closing her eyes and letting out a long sigh of relief.
But even in the quiet solitude of her apartment, she couldn't escape the feeling of loneliness that seemed to linger like a shadow at the edge of her consciousness. The walls seemed to close in around her, suffocating her with their oppressive silence. She longed for someone to share her space, to fill the emptiness that echoed within her soul. But she knew very well that she could not find this person here, among the beings inhabiting this same vessel called earth. These beings who alienated her every day just for so little as "impressions". How then could she find someone else here, someone who would understand her. It was like looking for the key to millions of doors, the locks of which were hidden.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness fell over the town, Elara sat alone in the stillness of her apartment, lost in thought. It was then that she felt it—a strange tingling sensation, like electricity dancing along her skin. It wasn't a foreign sensation, she had felt it before, many times in fact. But the last time was a long time ago, when the wallet and the cost of electricity had not yet become a problem. This feeling only appeared when the problem disappeared. However, that wasn't the case that night, but Elara felt it all the same. It was different, as if this thing was there this time because she needed it. At first, she thought it was merely her imagination, a trick of the mind brought on by the long day. But as the sensation grew stronger, she realized that it was something more, something she couldn't quite explain.
She knew very well that she could not do her history homework with this state of mind. So she decided to go to bed. This is in fact the moment when the problems are supposed to disappear, where no barrier, no shell is no longer present, where the unconscious would even almost take over the limits that we set for it when we are awake. Only, it had been a long time since Elara had felt this release, since she had not dreamed. There was no particular reason, in any case she wasn't looking for any answer or explanation. Sitting on her bed, she set her alarm and closed her eyes.
Friday, at midnight,
It didn't take long before Elara felt herself being pulled away from the world around her, drawn into the depths of her own mind. And as she drifted into sleep, she found herself standing once again in this dark place, a dark and never ending room she used to know.
"Welcome back, Elara," the figure said, their voice echoing softly through the room. "I have been expecting you..".
YOU ARE READING
The Dreamwalker Chronicles
FantasíaIn "The Dreamwalker Chronicles" readers are swept into a world where dreams hold the key to unlocking the mysteries of existence. At the center of this captivating narrative is Elara, a young woman who grapples with the weight of her own solitude an...
