The dreamscape of Al Thisir

The Orange City

The bar's blue neon lights gleamed against my skin, casting a sheen over my jet-black hair tied up in a simple bun. Reflected in my dark pupils was the final row of red plastic cups across the beer pong table.

He had one left. I had two. Victory was within reach.

My opponent tossed the ball. It arched in a smooth, high curve before splashing straight into my cup, drenching my shirt in the process.

Tie game. Last shot.

He looked up with a smirk:

- Hey, how about a wager?

- No thanks, I'm good.

- Afraid of losing?

- What? I'm sinking the next shot anyway!

- Then you've got nothing to lose, right?

His arrogance grated on me, but the adrenaline won out.

- What are you putting up?

He slowly slid a ring off his finger and set it on the sticky wooden table. It was a gold band, etched with strange, mesmerizing inscriptions. It caught my eye immediately.

- In exchange, I want one of your bracelets.

I glanced down at my left wrist, wrapped in woven bands. Each held a memory, friends, my sister, travels. Mingled among them were a few cheap trinkets. I slipped one off with a quick flick of my wrist.

- I hope you're ready to say goodbye to that ring, I replied. Because I'm not missing.

- Go on, show me.

I picked up the white ball, light and damp. My grip tightened, my arm drew back, and I threw.

My eyes tracked its flight through the air. It dropped cleanly into the bottom of his red cup.

Game over. I won.

The room erupted around us. My friends threw their arms around my neck, shouting in celebration:
- Yes, Élise!

The hype settled down as my opponent walked over, hand outstretched.

- Well played. Guess I underestimated you. Here, it's yours now.

He pressed the band into my palm, smiled, and headed to the counter for another round. The alcohol was starting to go to my head. Captivated by the gold glinting in the light, I slipped the ring onto my finger.

The night wore on with music, laughter, and empty glasses. A few hours later, I pushed open the door to my apartment, exhausted.

I tossed my bag into the entryway and headed straight for the shower. Scalding water washed away the fatigue and the smell of stale beer.

I crawled between my clean sheets.
But the night would bring anything but ordinary rest.

Surrounding me were towering ochre dwellings stretching down a massive avenue. I moved swiftly, carried by footsteps I couldn't control.

The cubic mud-brick houses and the flowing robes of the passersby evoked an ancient North African settlement, yet the garments were heavy and thick, made for harsh mountain cold.

My consciousness was trapped inside a stranger's body.

Navigating a maze of narrow alleys, I emerged onto a vast public square. At its center stood an imposing fountain. Beneath the shaded colonnades, merchants bargained with families.

I sidestepped running children and met the gaze of elders sipping steaming tea. The rhythm of an unknown tongue filled the air, completely foreign, yet somehow intimately familiar.