You stand at the edge of a river whose waters are deep, dark, and dangerously swift. A thick mist clings to it but if you look hard enough you can make out a shore on the other side. It’s always been there though nobody else around you seems to see it. The world on this side of the river is known to you and comfortable. They don’t understand why you’d ever want to leave it. Yet you do. You always have felt drawn to that distant land.
So you wait on the bank. What are you waiting for? You don’t know. Something though. It will come when it needs to. It’s a truth. It has to be. You’ve waited your whole life here hoping beyond reason that it be so.
A distant light flickers in the mist while a familiar tune reaches your ears. It grows larger as it draws nearer. The melody grows more familiar. You can begin to make out the words.
Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.
You can see it now. A long, narrow boat seems to glide effortlessly through the quiet pull of the river. There are no oars. Indeed, nothing you can make out explains how it cuts across and yet on some level you accept that this is how it is. The way the boat is shaped is odd. The angles are harsh. The cut of it is so jarring to the mind that you find it hard to focus on them. Instead, you look to the two silhouettes within.
A man on the far side of the boat stands tall and bent while covered in a dark cowl with frayed and unravelled edges. The covered figure is not bent over. No. He is crooked as if whatever was beneath the covering was contorted into something only vaguely recognizable as human. He said not a word as the boat drew close. You knew instinctively that this was how it should be. That man does not talk. Cannot talk. Must not talk.
The other man faced away from the shore and towards his companion. It was from him that the song came and it was only as the boat hit the shore that he stopped. He turned towards you, and without rising proffered a helping hand.
~~~
Heavy lids flicker open. It was just a dream and the details of it slowly slip away from waking memory. Such is the way of dreams. The unconscious mind is capable of understanding things the consciousness has simply no way of interpreting rationally. It tries to nudge us here and there but so often those little hints go unnoticed or misinterpreted. Then again, sometimes a dream is only just a dream.
The real world pulls you from your thoughts as the plane shakes. A cart rolls down an aisle and crashes and topples over in the back of the plane. People pay it only a passing notice. No stewardess is seen rushing to pick it up. No voice is heard warning passengers to their seats as the plane continues to experience turbulence. Nothing happens. Nobody stirs. A moment of deep confusion is shared by the odd twenty or so passengers.
A small number but the evidence of there having been more is plain around them. Luggage is packed above every seat, plates of food and drinks are abandoned across the plane. If someone bothered to reach down and check a seat they’d find it still warm. This plane has been filled only minutes ago and now it was nearly empty. Course, that was not the reason for the remaining passengers’ distress.
They didn’t belong here. It was wrong. They had all been somewhere else. Some had been in bed, others simply napping, and yet they all wound up here on this plane going who knows where. For all this though, there was an odd calm to it. Nobody was panicking just yet. Everyone seemed to be taking a moment to work through it all before they even decided if it was even real much less react to it.
Nearby a pair of men sat together as they shared hurried whispers. One man, who we shall name The German, spoke soothing as he tried to calm his compatriot. He had an obvious accent that wouldn’t have sounded out of place for a villain for some nineties action flick. His friend, The Malcontent, was clearly older and had a casual refinement to him that went beyond his clothes. The way he looked about him seemed to suggest that rather than surprise at waking up here he was annoyed at the inconvenience and somehow it was all The German’s fault.
On the other side of the plane, snuggled deep into a window seat, sat The Child. A young boy of no more than ten looked about the cabin like a rabbit about to run. They were clearly alarmed and were likely plucked from their bed if their Batman pajamas was any evidence. Their eyes, however, always found their way back to the window. There was something out there that both terrified and fascinated The Child.
In the middle aisle between them sat The Troubled and The Dreamer. The Troubled was a young woman who clicked her nails in quick succession on her armrest while taking deep controlled breaths. What exactly she was hoping to accomplish even she likely didn’t know but she felt compelled to continue doing it anyway. The Dreamer was an old man who continued to snore peacefully with a content smile on his face. The woman glared at him.
The Brave was a man who has risen from his seat to look about the plane. He clearly was confused as any of them but he seemed to have a level head. The Brave explored the ship and began looking through any cabinets and compartments. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he felt certain that there must be something.
The Lost hid inside a bathroom and was quite happy being there. They had called out initially but upon finding that others were there seemed to have calmed down. What they were doing or how they had gotten in there was anyones guess.
The door to the nose of the plane stood ajar though nobody has discovered this of yet or if they had they certainly hadn’t risen up the courage to look inside. While the opposite end of the plane a hatch on the floor lay open and down below awaited the cargo hold of the plane.