My panic subsided once I realized there was no longer any sense of urgency. The ride seemed indefinite. I could barely remember when it began and it seemed to have no end. I had the sense of being caught in some circle of infinity and it relaxed me to some degree. My only goal now was to find some escape. I could see all that was about me. Confined within the tube I felt the presence of others. I could see my surroundings yet I had no eyes. I could hear voices and even thoughts, yet I had no ears. The worst was the invasion of feelings. I sensed the feelings and emotions of everyone near me. I felt their fears, angers and remorse. These emotions were difficult to separate from my own thoughts and sense of being, yet I must, if I were to survive. Without body or physical being I must depend on my wit and somehow beckon logic to prevail. Where was I and how did I get here? Did I follow steps and could reversing my steps take me out of this place? Typically I should have taken up a pen and written out details but I am without pen, paper, or even my own body to work with. What then would be my first step? I imagined myself in a class room. Since I found myself asking questions I should become a teacher at a blackboard, yet I could also be the pupil in a seat. Yes this would suffice nicely, I could be both. But is this the beginning of escape or of madness? Undaunted by the question, I began to write.
STEPS:
Listening to details about a ride
Desiring such a ride
Going to the carnival
Buying a ticket
Climbing into the capsule
These were the actions I had taken. To the side of the first list I wrote
POSSIBILITIES:
I am in a dream and will soon wake up
I am under the influence of hallucinagenic drugs
This is all real and I am in grave danger
Seeing the writing in my mind formed the basis of a type of reality to me. Suddenly the words "I think, therefore I am" made more sense to me yet mere thought could not have constructed my being. I could add more to my lists when they occured to me, but for now I had some basis for consideration. As I had been thinking and writing, I could hear the many voices around me. I could feel them. I knew each person by their own signature. Please do not ask me to explain this. I can't, but I knew the pain and desperation in the feelings of a young girl even as I realized the lust and treachery of the man behind me. He was invading her with his thoughts, his prurient and vile lust, and all the sounds were deafoning screams in the air. I sensed the rage within another and I knew, even as it happened the murder as it occured. The tattooed man had become enraged and had stabbed the man who once smoked his cigar.He stabbed the man continuously with a large knife. But there could be no knife. This was a contrivance of his mind and both men were still alive. There could be no death in this place. Thoughts controlled every occurance, yet nothing was real. I heard the sobbing of the young girl, felt the consolation of the tattooed man and heard the laughter of the man behind me. It was not a laugh beget by humor but of incredulity ... of madness. Could anyone survive this place? (to be continued)
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