Dreaming of Transition

When I was a kid, the department store in the county town had a mirrored staircase. The store held two floors, the ground floor and the basement, and there were two broad flights of stairs between them. The three walls of that stairwell were walled in mirrors, so that as you walked down them, you could see yourself arcing out to infinity on either side, endlessly traversing up and down the steps, caught in transition between up and down, echoed to infinity on all sides.

It was fascinating. I used to spend as much time as humanly possible on the staircase, when we were in that store. (Admittedly, part of that was that I hated clothes shopping, and shoe shopping, and had to be dragged around the place at the best of times). Mam never had to use the intercom when we wandered off there. She just had to swing by the stairs on the way out. Reliable as clockwork, that's where I'd be.

Sometimes, when I look at the dreams I have ... I think that staircase must have flipped some sort of switch in my brain, or something. Because I have a fondness for ... I suppose you could call them 'transitional spaces'? *smiles faintly* I don't know. Stairs. Tunnels. Bridges. Hotel lobbies. Piers. Trains. The between places. The places between one stop and the next. They are ... I don't know. They do something.

I had a dream, once, where I stepped off a stairs not unlike that one, and out into ...

( An endless, electric night )