In the landscape of my mind there are mountains, dark, eerie forests, vast oceans, plains, pebbled beaches, seedy alleyways and pleasant airy towns with cheery playgrounds.
I have, at one time or another, explored all of these places. Some have fascinated me and some have frightened me. But nothing compares to The Wilder.
In the landscape of my mind is The Wilder, a desert so huge there are no words to describe it.
The Wilder is the only place I have never explored in my mind. It’s a vast flat plain, eye-burning white and stifling. I’ve stood on the edge and looked into its heart and felt it staring back into mine. It seems to breathe, to be alive.
Nothing about me frightens me more than The Wilder.
I’ve been lost there before, on two occasions. Once, when I was about ten or eleven. The other about 5 or 6 years ago. Both times I was dragged out of its jaws by my sister, who seems to be the only person I know who is unafraid of it.
I’m beginning to feel like I’m lost in the Wilder again. It would take me far too long to explain why I think that, or what it means. I have begun to believe that this is a desert I must cross.
And I think I must cross it alone.