Hūr

Hūr Amran woke up sitting upright, too tight on a chair, his head supported by a backrest. His wrists were red and raw, and they itched, as if they had been tied with ropes. He moved his arms. They worked fine. He kicked his legs back and forth. They worked fine. He remembered exactly what had happened before he ended up here: he could not erase her from his mind. The girl dancing in white in the clearing in New Zealand. Animals observing with solemn glances, seriousness in their posture and gaze. That magical clearing. He knew it was not a dream. Hūr Amran may be many things in life, but he was not delusional. He knew it had been real. The question was, where was he now. It was only then that he started to look around. He was facing a wall made of metal, or made to look like metal, and he turned and looked both ways. Walls, brick, stone, he got up, heart starting to pound furiously, he was not fond of small spaces, he did not do well in small spaces. He sighed as he saw a small corridor behind him. Brightly lit. At least there was more, he was not in a small room, that corridor probably led somewhere.

As he walked, a pop sounded, and a voice came alive.

Distinct, British. Clear.

Welcome Hūr. We have been waiting rather anxiously for you to wake up.

Who are you? He called out. Why am i here?

We are the ones who will be there at the end. We need to know what you remember. Why you went to the Holy Place.

Holy place? Look, dude, you have me confused with someone else. I don't know what you’re talking about.

Silence. The corridor was much longer than he thought. He could smell lavender in the air, it reminded him of the clearing, he shook his head. He could hear the whirring of machines, and below it, barely perceptible, the rustling of leaves. That too, reminded him of the clearing. He shook his head angrily. Trying to get it out of his head. Right now, he needed to focus. The corridor was hard like steel and bouncy like rubber shoes. The air was sterile but for that lavender.

At least he knew one thing, the police had not finally caught up to him. 

That was a relief, or was it? It was what it was. Now he had to get out. He thought he spied a door at the end of the corridor. He walked towards it. Tried the handle, it wouldnt budge. He tried again. A loud sigh as it moved...

...He walked into a dark cavern lit only by the glow of a television screen, divided up into many parts. On each of them, he saw people or as if people were wearing the cameras that fed into these screens on their faces, in their eyes. A chair stood empty in front of the monitors. It was moving, ever so slightly, as if its occupant had recently gotten up.

Tea? A man offered from behind him.

Hūr started.