ANNIKA

The vibrant world around her urged her to run. She looked left and right, and into other dimensions, flying alongside blind blue butterflies, riding silver unicorns, and swimming with dolphins. She longed to escape her monotonous confinement, her impatience consuming her. She envisioned herself as a bee and took flight, believing she could outrun a deer, but found herself as clumsy as a boar among the grass where they grazed peacefully. She could still hear melodies, whispers of quiet conversations, gentle caresses, and pleasant thoughts that haunted her dreams.

Someone was dreaming in her place, amidst the jingling of bells. She pretended to wear cute yellow shoes—dazzling yellow, which he adored. She climbed into elegant boats, slid down yogurt slides, nibbled on gingerbread shaped like mythosaurs, and listened to the Mandalorian's tale through an old, forgotten speaker hanging in the primordial nail of the milky wall. Sleep came and went, much like the snacks that quickly vanished into her eager throat. She saw herself striding through a field bathed in orange hues, littered with fallen bananas and adorned with imagined poems of gray elegance. From time to time, she admired the voices that multiplied her ideas, words, whispers, and memories. It felt as if she had journeyed from a distant place and carried a quiver of feelings. It was as though she had been here forever, marveling at the vast amount of knowledge she possessed and the sense of having lived a different life, perhaps in another world, long ago, with her head uncovered under the midday sun. Gathering grapes, corn, and more, she was weary and eager to return home. She knew every nook and cranny, leaping over slopes, building ancient haystacks, tending to the fields, growing up, marrying, having children, and finally finding rest. After a time, she would begin anew, embarking on a different path, wrapped in new splendours. The wooden gates stood before her—imperfect but sturdy, reflecting on the grain of the fir boards. They echoed reminders, regrets, and poignant words, etched on a street with names carved from stone. She turned the doorknob, but instead of opening, it resisted, turning stubbornly away. It was like an angel-eyed whirlwind, riding the mythical Shadowfax of a world beyond the horizon. And when the whirlwind finally stilled, Annika, exhausted, smiled.