The room was spinning. Not that I could tell; it was all white with round walls. The floor, too, was curved ever so gentlely to a dip in the center. It would have been more accurate to say that I was spinning and the room remained stationary. I stood, feet shoulder width apart, in a inch deep pool of water in the center of the room, soaked from head to toe, and slightly nauseous. Then a small electric shock refocused my senses, and that is what I had been waiting for. The pool of water retracted up my clothes, like the water itself was more absorbant. As it passed my mouth I took a gulp and swallowed. It was kind of a superstition of mine. About a foot above my now dry head, the collased water drew iteslf into a shpere, as if it were in a zero gravity situation. Then the atmosphere of the room became warm and dry, there was the snap of another electrical discharge, and the water above vaporized into gentle steam.
I took a deep breath and walked up the gentle slope to a seemingly innocuous section of the curved wall. I touched it with my finger gently, a ripple emitting from the point of contact. By the time the ripple effect reached about my height the section of wall had vanished. I stepped through.
I started down a long, mostly white, hallway–paying no attention to the wall replacing itself as I left the room. This was my time to think. This walk was always great solitude. I felt most myself on this jaunt. Standing still, feeling a sleep come over me, and opening my eyes to find my surroundings gone and replaced with the room I had just walked out of. I constantly amazed my instructors during training because they had never seen someone who had awakened before the ‘dry snap’. That was what we came to call that moment the water-sphere above your head vaporizes.
I took a moment in the hallway to gaze out one of the full size openings that lined the outside wall. Beyond was the multi-specturm light I had missed; clouds of dust and gases coalescing in a dance that has drifted silently on. I reached out to put my hand to the glass, in the hopes of making a connection with what was out there. My hand passed beyond the point where the glass should’ve been, and I grabbed the tiniest bit of sand that happened to be floating by. I retracked my hand and rubbed the grit between my fingers and smilled. I thought, “That’s right, no glass. There doesn’t have to be.” I put my hands in my pockets and continued my stroll down the hallway. Right before I reached the central nexus of all the hallways (which then lead to the meeting chamber), I gazed through a portal again and then back down the hallway to my embarcation chamber. I smiled again. I enjoyed being there, because I could come back here. I enjoyed being here because I knew what had came before.