The Dream Trotters

Chapter 13

A few hours later, Phillipa and Finn boarded their jet at the airport. From the first moment that Phillipa walked up the precarious stairs, she felt special. All these preparations had been made for them, and only them.  She wanted to feel proud, but in reality, she was embarrassed.  The newsmen made her sound like a hero, but all she had done was run out in the middle of a thunderstorm, directly disobeying school orders.    

Yet as the plane rose in elevation, and houses began to look like the playthings of toddlers, melancholy thoughts left her head.  A few flight attendants meandered around the medium sized jet, serving expensive refreshments and the same, stale biscotti cookies.  

The two teenagers sat on opposite sides of the row, and not too long later, they were absorbed in the cinema screens that were erected before them. Hours and many sitcoms later, they landed.  Before Phillipa and Finn could take in their surroundings, two identical blindfolds were placed over their eyes, quickly ripping away any clarity.  

They were lead down hallways, soon forgetting any sense of direction they had previous had.  The only sound that accompanied them was the onomatopoeia of breath and harmony created by the contact of their shoes against the cement floor.  

As it began to get more and more quiet, each tiny detail seemed more important.  Whether the creak of a door or even the sound of one of the men next to them swallowing.  The breathing of the quartet varied drastically.  With Phillipa, air seemed to dart almost silently inside and out of her mouth, in the pattern of a fox slipping through its hole.

Finn’s breathing was slightly heavier, laden with a tinge of nervousness.  But the inhaling of the man was the most contrasting.  Rather than a quiet or even subdued breathing pattern, both men consumed air as if it might run out at any second.  They took breaths incredibly frequently, the same way toddler eats cheerios.  

But each breath was consistent, a quality which Phillipa was thankful for, because it meant that she had a way to gauge how long they had been walking.  The mask that covered her eyes was scratchy, a constant weight which kept her thoughts tethered to the present situation.  Whether it was five, ten, or even sixty minutes that had passed, the teenagers didn’t know.

All of a sudden, it was over.  As quickly as they had started walking, they had stopped.  It was similar to how after a day has passed, you can hardly remember what you ate for breakfast.  It doesn’t matter what you wore last Tuesday, or how many minutes you spent running the mile in PE.  The more you life, the more you do, the less you remember.  Whether this is a blessing or the greatest curse, humans are best at forgetting.

The creaking of a door, its own mass resisting against the hinges which so desperately desired to open it, was all she heard.  The battle within the door was won by the hinges, and it opened.  As the blindfolds were slid off the faces of the teens, a flood of sensations overwhelmed their senses.  The room was not fancy, it was hardly even decorated.  

Yet to a person who has spent the last ten minutes staring into the woven strands of a blindfold, even the most mundane embellishments become interesting, an upgrade on their last conditions.  The walls were brown.  But this brown wasn’t similar to cheap coffee, polished boots, or warm winter blankets.  It was a stark color, resembling the coldness of refrigerator doors and solemnity of black umbrellas at a funeral.

 A single silver desk was in the middle of the room, taking up a significant amount of the space, while still giving the room an empty-like appearance.  On the surface was a few black notebooks, a simple jar of pens, and all the classic office equipment.

Phillipa and Finn were both seated in sleek, silver chairs.  Besides the two men standing behind them, there was only one other man in the room: the president.  He was an honest looking man, with closely cropped brown hair and enervated brown eyes.  The gray in his hair and wrinkles around his forehead suggested that he was older than he really was, a condition caused by responsibility and stress.  He sat tall in his seat, sitting the way any leader of an entire nation would.