It had been twenty years since Ava Ovaloft fell into the bubble.
There was nothing particularly interesting to tell about the event, either. One moment she was in, and the next, she was… Out. Or, ‘sorry, the reverse of that’, she would say. Out, then in. In the bubble. Outside of the world. It was terribly confusing, and Ava didn’t like to think about it too much. So she typically didn’t. That was the nice thing about her thoughts in the bubble. They shared a kinship with their surrounding. Everything in the bubble is intense and fleeting. A rainbow stretched until it becomes a canvas. A twisting road that leads into the same, untrod path. Lights and thoughts flicker across the bubble’s surface even now, a wonder to behold.
Ava’s attention never rested there, though. Something about the endless horizons shimmering on the bubble’s surface made her uncomfortable. It was a place where she could truly be lost. She was already much too lost. She was much too out. ‘Sorry, too in.’ Beyond the transparent film’s shifting beauty, there was a comforting constancy. For today, she was within a bathroom. The bubble always seemed to land in places like this. Intimate, and plain. Abby was singing her songs again. They were lovely. Ava had named the lady in the shower Abby a few days ago, for all of her favorite songs seemed to chirp the name. Abby had a wondrous singing voice, and Ava felt, somewhere deep within her, that she was the only one who had ever heard it. She did not know how this made her feel. Lonely, but happy.
A piercing high note shifted the surface of the bubble, shaping Abby’s voice into waves of change and beauty. Ava marveled at the sound, then frowned. Abby had cut herself short. Worried of being heard. Ava felt the winds picking up, as the shower head cut off. Abby walked through the bubble on her way to brush, and Ava felt encouraged by her expression. Abby was happy. Brought to joy by half a song. Bright-eyed at half a note. Perhaps Ava had misjudged. There was beauty to be found in the worry as well. The love of a secret well kept. The winds spun her around, and she wished Abby well, as the bubble took to the skies once again.
Twenty years was a long time, Ava thought. The land soared by underneath her. Didn’t she have needs at some point? Where had they gone? The bubble was kind, in many ways. Ava no longer felt the hunger that she had felt while she was in the world. She no longer had need for purpose, or direction. No goals, or struggle, simply existence. Yet, even in its kindness, Ava felt that the bubble had stolen from her. Was it possible to long for longing? To pursue something to pursue? The thought stretched, as the bubble dipped underground.
She was caught again. In the stillness, the bubble swirled around her. She did a lazy backflip. Then another. If it weren’t for the faint luminescence of the bubble, Ava wouldn’t have seen anything, though she didn’t think about that. That shine had long since become a part of her vision. She felt her eyes steadily adjust to the dim, as she danced in waiting. Eventually, her sight grew to fill the cave that she had landed in.
The twisting, curious rocks were likely beautiful in their own right, but Ava paid them no mind. She could only see the ocean. It was faded, patchy, but all-consuming. The wall was covered by the markings of waves and sand. Fish swam, clams clustered, and a great whale moaned its power, all while Ava glanced about. The water in the great mural was green, and the sands were red. Ava briefly wondered if these were the true colors of the scene that the ancient artist had drawn, or simply a limitation of their color palette. How long ago had this been painted? Ava looked at her surroundings for the first time. No entrances, no exits. A bubble in the Earth. Would it ever be discovered? She looked again at the mural. Would it ever need to be?
There was something childish in the painting which spoke to her. She felt, she knew, that even when the painter was alive, he had kept this scene hidden away. The waves were jagged, the clams were bulbous. The whale, though. The whale was immaculate. A story unfolded in the lines on the rock. A boy with unusual passion, and little skill. A secret, and a lifetime of secrets to follow. A skill which blossomed. And one day, perhaps, a chance encounter with something so massive, so beautiful, that it demanded tribute. A return to his scene of the sea, to place the mark of a grown man upon the scribbles of a young boy. A conclusion, to the beginning of so long ago. Ava could not decide which she loved more. The start, or the end? Skill, or passion? Or was it the tale behind them both which she treasured most? Her thoughts wandered once again, as her eyes were lost in the colors and lines of the cave painting.
Twenty years, Ava wondered. She held up her hand, and the skin was not quite as taut as she remembered. It seems that even the bubble could not cure the flow of time. Was it all worthwhile? Ava tilted her head at that thought. Was, what worthwhile? Her time. Ah, yes, her time. The time which she could not retrieve. She was briefly distracted by the meandering light of the bubble, soothing her, stretching out her thought. She had not chosen to fall into the bubble, why should she care of its worth? Should she care about worth, when it is not chosen? When it is invisible? The mural once again caught her eye. ‘Yes, I think I should.’
The winds were soft, trepidatious. They lifted her softly above the sea, and rolled her back onto land. Ava felt, for the first time, that the winds had direction. Soft, careful purpose, guiding her journey towards where it should go. She felt unusually hesitant to arrive. Coast gave way to plains, plains gave way to people. The bubble caught in a dark corner of a city, in a bright corner of a bar. Ava relaxed. These were among her favorite places to land. The alleyways of modernity. So achingly close to everything. Three steps from conversation, friends, jokes and laughter. Yet so distinctly separate. Ava stared at the film of the bubble with different eyes, for only a moment.
It took her a few hours to realize that something was wrong. ‘Not wrong, different.’ The bar was like no other which she had landed in. No unlit booth, sweetly whispering to a pair of lovebirds. No lone writer, jealously guarding the contents of their laptop. No sad soul, coloring their body limp with new combinations of drink. This place was bright and lovely. Every single part of it. Why had she landed here?
Ava floated over an empty table, occupied by a plain black notebook, and a plain yellow pencil. As she looked at the table, that feeling came to her once again. The longing for longing. The desire to desire. She saw the blank pages, and wanted them to be filled. Wanted to turn pencil into stub, by her own hand. Wanted to see, something. Something new. Something made. Something made by her.
Ava fell out of the bubble. Into the world.
As the years passed, Ava created a dark corner in the bright bar. Filling her notebook with tales and drawings. Thoughts and observations. Sorrow and joy. She often remembered her time in the bubble, and wondered if there might be another traveler, watching from the rafters. Seeing the things no one was meant to see. She would smile at the thought. Ava trusted them to keep her secrets. Indeed, she hoped that they would one day create their own. To create a world overflowing with beauty to be found.