He could hear only the faint murmur of voices around him, and beyond that he could only make out brief, fleeting images that seemed to come and go. Just a few minutes ago, everything was quite normal. By normal, he had come to define it as the monotonous humdrum of noise and glaring lights. It almost always felt to him as if his skull would crack from the dizzying migraine he had to endure. It had been a taxing day, and surely some rest after the struggle would be most welcome.

Surprisingly though, he was becoming aware of something quite peculiar. While he was most certainly fixed in his place, he couldn’t help but feel that he was losing contact with the world around him, bit by bit. The noise that hounded his ears was slowly becoming a whisper. The lights that sought to blind him were slowly becoming a haze. He had no idea where he was going, and how he had gotten there. All he knew was a certain feeling of peace that filled his whole being.

This was not something unfamiliar to him. But even then, he knew not to question the events that led him to that place; the place where time went by at a snail’s pace. A place, where nothing else mattered.

Almost an hour had passed. Had he had his way, he would not have moved from his location. Unfortunately, his moment of departure had arrived.

It’s not far down to paradise
At least it’s not for me
And if the wind is right you can sail away
And find tranquility

-Christopher Cross, “Sailing”

-Ed. E.