Everything began on a rainy Monday morning, when our guide, more precisely our history teacher, ushered us into a vast hall full of paintings, statues, vases and other ancient, artistic items. We were rushed by an angry police officer and an old and gloomy lady wearing a pink dress and contemplating a tiny and rusty statue of a lion or something similar to that. It wasn’t the first time that we visited an exquisite museum like this, nevertheless, none of us were willing to behave as quietly and politely as our supervisor expected when he decided to organize a field trip.
But soon, reluctantly though, our teacher accepted that all his attempts to maintain the silence were doomed to failure and not a single child from the group was interested in vanished cultures and civilizations. From that moment on, he no longer endeavoured to discipline us, but left our side and headed to the old lady in order to conduct a scientific conversation on the circumstances under which the sculpture had been made.
I stopped in the centre of the hall and watched my companions playing hare and hounds around the exhibited works of art. The room was full of tourists from all over the world, and I also noticed a kid wearing a dark green jacket that resembled mine. It was only a matter of time before we caught the attention of the police officer. When he began to approach us, my classmates started to run in different directions, causing indignance among the visitors. The commotion culminated in one of the students pushing a carved vase off its stand.
We saw a priceless value breaking into a plenty of pieces, futhermore, we wittnessed an ancient epoch falling apart. We blamed ourselves for being unable to prevent the irreplaceable damage. My classmate responsible for shattering the vase lowered his head ashamed when he came to understand that all apologies were in vain. When the museum’s security guards arrived, we already anticipated another storm on the horizont.
Suddenly, my attention was grabbed by a medium-sized exhibition object attached to the wall, located in the right corner, that had the likeness of a picture rather than a painting. I took advantage of the newly awakened chaos and stepped closer, being determined to observe it in detail. At first I had the impression that it was a security camera recording, because it depicted the exact moment when we entered the hall. I noticed the lady wearing a pink dress in the background, as well as the police officer leaning against the wall and staring at the loud companionship with fury in his eyes.
Suddenly, a strange idea flashed across my mind that made me wonder. I looked around to make sure that no one paid attention to me, then, being unable to curb my curiosity, I acted spontaneously. No sooner had I touched the exhibit than a hurricane generated around my finger and engulfed me. I felt dizzy as it spun me round and round, tarnishing my eyesight. If the spirallings into the unknown had continued for just another second, I would have probably fainted.
When the seemingly eternal nightmare was finally over and I somehow managed to open my eyes, I felt unspeakably relieved for a moment, after I realized that I hadn’t moved an inch from my initial spot. But my placidity immediately transformed into confusion and fear when I noticed my classmates crossing the threshold for the second time. I turned around rapidly, wanting to pretend that the one painting on the opposite wall completely dazzled me, but I didn’t have time for that.
I was caught in another rampageous storm, again and again. Since I had no choice, I subjected myself to an experiment in order to find a way out from this endless spiral, which wasn’t the easiest, due to the reason that I couldn’t think clearly in the ubiquitous dizziness. After my escape plan failed a dozen times, I became aware of one usable fact that sowed the seeds of success. I ascertained that the more I managed get away from the item, the more I was able to remain in that certain time zone without getting absorbed by the familiar hurricane, and with this, my ultimate escape route began to outline.
As I felt solid ground under my feet, I clutched the object that had caused me so much trouble with both of my hands and, gathering all my remaining strength and hope, I scurried to the entrance, where I had to meet up with myself. In the decisive moment, I jumped forward and hurled the object at the group consisting of unwilling students and a hopeful history teacher.
I didn’t think I would ever declare that, but entering the hall full of ancient artistic items for the second time and seeing that old vase in one piece was the most beautiful thing that happened to me on that rainy Monday morning. Routing the impossible, I deleted, or notably altered our present and future. I compared this whole phenomenon to the characteristics of a circle with the difference that in this case, I knew where the multiple repetitive cycle began to exist. The solution resided in the intertwining of the two different timelines.
I still don’t have the slightest idea of what exactly the other tourists who dared to approach that accursed exhibited object all experienced, but from the fact that they avoided it by far, I concluded that finding a way to overcome infinity had been enough excitement for everyone for one day. I was only concerned about those who never made it out.
Szilágyi Amália X.R
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