The Station, Part 60

That place I saw in my last sleep lesson. I said I would talk of it again. I needed to understand a little more of what I saw. I believe I have arrived at that point now. It’s where I came from, where all of this began. That sickly, forlorn faced…person was me. Or rather, what I once was. Before I first tread here. Long before I ate of the fruit that made me a true part of the Whale, as I have just now come to know this place. Whale. It just sounds right in my mind. I say it out loud and it sounds right as it echoes of the walls of this tunnel I currently travel. Speaking of which, my eyes are like they were in the cave; I see details on these walls, smooth, undulating waves of blackness almost look alive. It piques my curiosity. I lay a hand on the one spot, press hard, and wait. Yes, ever so slight, a movement occurs, a shifting in reaction to the pressure of my added weight. I take my hand away. I have left an impression. As I wait again, the impression very slowly fills in. And now there is no trace I was ever here. I take a step back and what do I see—Impressions of my huge feet of course! And they too after a brief time begin to fill in as well. Remarkable. After all that I have seen, I can still be surprised by a small thing such as this.

The tunnel has ended with another surprise, albeit a less than pleasant one. I’m staring out into a dense jungle. I can’t peer that far in due to the thickness of the foliage. There is every possible shade of green. This is not the kind of thing I would have expected this close to the Junction. It appears that I have yet another hurdle to surmount before I meet my goal. And I am so unprepared for this kind of heat and humidity…well perhaps I will be. It’s remarkable how well and how rapidly my body adapts to every new miniature world I encounter. I was so enthralled with the newfound nature of the tunnels that I failed to notice what was happening to me. Most of the white, or transparent fur to be more accurate, has grown thinner and much darker. And my hands, my hands are so elongated now, attached to arms that seem impossibly long. My feet as well have seen change. The big toes, now a second set of opposable thumbs, can mean only one thing: I was just now built for this place; my body somehow anticipated the change before my conscious mind even knew of the jungle’s existence. I was designed to live here. No, more than that—I was designed to thrive.

I can see now that I was not meant to scour the leaf-strewn ground for signs of the final pathway. That idea is just ridiculous that this point. Instead, I look up into the canopy for signs of passage. I can focus onto objects with such clarity it is almost startling. I notice places in the immense twisting tree that could serve as foot- and handholds. I know their distance from me, how much to bunch my musculature in order to make a successful landing. It’s so much readily available knowledge that I am actually and tremendously excited to try out my newly acquired abilities. And do so I shall. I choose a nearly tree, huge just like the rest, a gnarled twisted thing that is rife with climbing opportunities. I immediately recall the last time I had a needed to do this, the time I was very interested in the ancient figs. The thought of the figs sets my stomach growling. How I can go from no hunger to an almost ravenous state is beyond my understanding. Nevertheless, I need to find food now. And I mean right now.