Memories (Of Dreams and Demons)

The Map

I sit gingerly on my bed's edge, turning an old, thick book over and over in my hands.

I've read this one a dozen times, and its sequels, and every book on my little wooden bookshelf.

My eyes wander over them; books full of stories, of passion and purpose, of love and great adventures and battles between heroes the likes my world will never know.

When I sit and think about it, I wonder if the safety and normality of the real world truly compares to the dangers and pain of fantastical adventures.

Not that I don't appreciate the blessings of a safe life, but still.

I want my own story, my own world; one I can adventure in forever. Something exactly like what I read in all these favorite books; far away in the realms of my imagination.

Somewhere of lands without end to get lost within; dangerous and mystical. A place that isn't always easy, isn't always beautiful, but where the good guys always win. And, most importantly, somewhere I can share with Naoko.

I think back to the night I met her at the library, and how from that moment everything about my life changed. The normal had become the fantastic, the mundane an adventure.

That sets my imagination off, and so I lean over to start scribbling in a folder that rests on the bed with me.

I'll draw a map, a map of this imaginary world. There's a dark forest, full of peril and terror, and ancient ruins from times long lost. Everywhere is wild and rugged, void of civilization, but hiding forgotten treasures, ripe for exploration and adventure.

It's got huge mountains, larger than anything the natural world could conceive, snow-tipped and jagged, riddled with caves and caverns and tunnels that would take lifetimes to explore. They split the land in two, meeting oceans bound only by the edges of my paper.

Tapping the pen lightly against my lips, I wonder if they should stretch on for eternity. A chaotic and primordial ocean, from which anything could be conceived. Of course they do. They are filled with endless islands to explore, full of secret magic and dangerous monsters.

I take my time to carefully pen in the outlines of my imagination, and shade every area of my map with care, so that it looks as realistic as possible.

Every landmark could fit a dozen stories, and I join them carefully together with rivers, fields and hills, like pieces of a larger puzzle.

Thinking about a puzzle reminds me of Naoko, and of the puzzle we kept trying to put together. We had spent years trying to find the right pieces; pieces that didn't sting when you picked them up.

I frown at a snap. The tip of my pen cracks sideways, and black ink runs down along the edge of the continent, over where I had started to draw ocean waves.

It drools and spreads over the water and off the edge of the paper. Holding back a childish curse, I resist the urge to try and dab away the excess ink, knowing I will just smudge things up completely.

The growing black blotch of ink can just become a swamp. But what should I call it? The Swamp of Shadows would be far too childish, far too cliché. I'll call it Erebus; you can't get much darker than thick black ink.

As if called, flickers of shadow swirl around the edges of my room; streamers celebrating the dark thoughts in the corners of my mind.

It's never going to matter how detailed I make my map; I have to remember I'm stuck in this room. There are no adventures here, just walls reminding me that I am trapped in this dark reality until death.