Hadrian's Wall (76 page)

Perhaps it will interest
your psychiatrist,
said the voice of
reason, distilling cynicism.

I took small steps as I moved along the
fresco, following with interest the succession of themes.
Naturally, I was amazed at the grace and lightness of the
paintings. However, the suspense of the events narrated by them
left me with a feeling that it was difficult to breathe...or
perhaps it was claustrophobia finally registered when I realized
that the walkway had narrowed considerably, making me feel like I
was inside a real tomb.

This is interactive art!

Ignoring the discomfort, I continued... The
paintings affected me like powerful magnets. I was surprised to
discover that the university had so fascinating reproductions
inside their facilities.

In the next painting, the
subjects were
paying homage
to the god-pharaoh. Hovering over their heads was
the "all-seeing eye" as if to indicate a transcendent plane to the
human theater.

When I reached the end of this gallery, I
realized that the frescoes continued into another area,
Instinctively, I went down the stairs, following the biography of
the mysterious king; however, in the first round, I came across a
painting that dominated the wall from floor to ceiling. In it, the
pharaoh would raise his scepter.

I felt the full impact of
that gesture. It was as if he called upon the visitors to think
before acting. The decision to go down those steps should be taken
consciously and with respect to
the
immortal’s world order.
Swallowing hard, I
decide to go, even with the uneasy feeling that my fate was
sealed.

On the next wall was a picture of the
Pharaoh welcoming the jackal-headed god. The painting showed a
subtle, sophisticated intrigue developing between the dark gods
behind the king and Anubis. It would change the history of people,
as well as the use of the magic word. Saying their purposes on
behalf of the Universe, the gods would see the reality changes
irrevocably and they would have to bear the consequences for
that.

Then the king was closed
inside a coffin of gold. Behind the heavy death mask, I could see
his eyes moving, looking at the wall. Wow! Behind him, the shadow
of a powerful enemy with a ram’s head raised his arms to complete
the enchantment.

Suddenly, in the next illustration, I saw
the familiar panther. It fixed its terrible yellow eyes on a
fragile human who was watching his heart being weighed on the
balance scale of Osiris.

I continued down the hall,
now lit by torches, but more I advanced, the farther I seemed to be
far from the end. I looked back, searching for a reference point,
but from where I was standing, I could not see either the way I’d
come or the way to get out.

Am I really in the right
place? When I entered, the people at the information desk assured
me that the Art Department’s office was here. At first, I thought I
was going through an exotic gallery, but now, I don’t know where I
am.

Suddenly I was grabbed by
invisible hands and
carried
through a dark, humid corridor. The air was cold
and darkness become one only blackness. I could not see anything...
until a beam of light "gushed" about me. Besides it, everything
remained black and impenetrable.

Within the perimeter of
light, there was a high-back, upholstered chair. Even though my
wobbly legs needed support, I didn’t want to sit down, but like it
or not, I was dragged to it and forced to sit. My wrists were tied
behind my back. Having completed that task, both masked guards
moved away, indifferent to my pleas.
What’s going on? Why are they are treating me this
way?

The light above me remained
constant, but soon the area around me started to gradually light
up—at least, enough to begin to have a vague notion of my
surroundings. At first it seemed an office...and then I realized it
looked more like a courtroom.

There was a long table in
the middle and high, so that to get up there you had to climb a up
steps built along the side. There were some people there. I
couldn’t distinguish their faces very well, but I realized they
were "pale-faces." They were probably important or
influential...probably professors.
Are
those togas they’re wearing?

The pale-faces watched me
with relentless yellow eyes. At that moment, a heated quarrel
erupted among them so that they were ignoring me completely. Each
one uttered a different judgment about the subject and soon I
realized they were talking about
me
.

It was all very confusing
and ridiculous. One of them said I had no talent to warrant
admission into college. Another objected, saying I was a talented
and creative artist. A total of seven votes were cast—four against
me and three in favor of my admission. The favorable votes came
from a big bearded man, a stocky man next to him, and a woman with
small, clever-looking eyes. But their votes were not enough. A guy
with a face like a Franciscan monk, supported by two others,
determined that I was condemned to death.

My heart was pounding in
the chest in the face of such absurdity. I tried to free my hands,
but it was impossible and then I saw her just beyond the
light—Asia. Her yellow eyes glowed eerily in the dark until her
silhouette finally reached the light. She was holding a little
bottle in her hand, held between her thumb and
forefinger.

She leaned perilously
close to me and with her free hand pointed in the opposite
direction. I looked there and what I saw horrified me. Adrian was
inside a caged arena, doing battle with
my
winged monster. He was bleeding
profusely from tears in his skin and his clothes were ripped to
shreds.

Suddenly, the monster was perched on top of
the dome, watching Adrian stumbling and then falling to ground. Its
powerful claws let go of the bars and he made a flyby over
Adrian.

“Noooo!”
I screamed loudly
...

When I found myself
sitting on my bed in my room at McPherson House, it took me a few
seconds to realize that I’d had another nightmare.
I looked at my PDA and I realized that it was
almost dawn. What’s the use of staying in bed? Moreover, I was
terrified of the possibility of going back to sleep.

Sighing deeply, I got up, took my pouch of
bath accessories and a towel, and then staggered to the door.

Passing through the corridor, I glanced out
the high window and I thought I saw the shadow of a cat running
through the trees. I backed up a few steps and pressed my forehead
on the glass. After a short time, nothing had moved outside, so I
decided to go on to the showers. Just as I turned away, the shadow
passed again. This time the yellow eyes looked at me.

I leaped away from the
window, pressing my back against the wall on the opposite side of
the corridor. It felt like my heart was in my throat.
Coward! You’re safe inside this
house
. Stephen should be out there
somewhere...
Stephen!
Panic set in when I remembered I’d left my cell phone in my
room.

Still clinging to the wall, I peered through
the window again. I saw her standing in the foliage. She looked
directly at me...Asia Chadwick.

For a few distressing seconds, we stared at
each other. I felt paralyzed by her two yellow eyes—like
headlights. Her face twisted into a hideous grimace, but suddenly,
something startled her. She slowly turned around, looking behind
her into the dark forest.

A bone-chilling roar erupted and she began
to run until she became a blur in the woods. With fluid movements,
the panther hurtled itself after her until they both disappeared
from my view. Everything became still again...ending as if it had
never happened.

But it had happened. This
time it wasn’t a dream. On the other hand, it could have been a
hallucination.
Girl, anything is possible
in Hadrian’s Wall!
Well, incredible as it
seemed, the scene that happened outside terrified me as much as the
nightmare.

Vivid dreams sooner or later end up becoming
a reality. My intuition told me something was about to happen.

I need to pay more
attention to the signs
...

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Felicia Jensen (a pen name)
comes from an eclectic family: Her mother was a teacher, her
grandfather was a conductor and pianist, and her father was an
accountant. Her interest in reading and writing began in her
childhood, focusing on the comics. She wrote and inked some comics
characters which were published in alternative magazines popularly
called “fanzines.” At that time, everything was done on paper with
montages and collages. She was an enthusiastic, idealistic
adolescent. Plenty of her creativity was exercised in those hard,
but also good times. Then
Pretty in
Pink’s
time was over. Real life beckoned
her to make different decisions with regard to her earlier dreams.
She became a teacher, did volunteer psychological counseling work,
and supported teachers and students, never allowing herself the
time (or courage) to devote herself to pursue a writing career
until she reached the age of 33.
Then she
felt something was missing—unsure what it would be until faced with
a critical experience that made her review all of her goals.
She
re-discovered who she was, so she
pulled her projects out of a drawer and started looking at life
with through different eyes.

Felicia Jensen