A Goal Without a Name
The fairground lay still in the afternoon heat. Only the metallic click of the turnstiles and distant voices broke the air. He was not alone. Two figures accompanied him. Somehow familiar, yet without a history. A closeness he could not place. Almost like a word he knew without ever having heard it.
But there was a third. Strange and mysterious. Like an agent. Every step, every movement seemed to point to a plan only he knew. Just beyond the entrance control began the restricted area, guarded by men whose gaze weighed more than any barrier. The agent left no doubt: the goal lay beyond.
Precise timing, no pause, no hesitation. When he took the step, the moment felt calculated. A brief break in attention, and he was through. Alone.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and metal. Between coils of cable and heavy tool cases lay a handful of coins, as if someone had left them there on purpose. He picked them up, tried to fit them into a pocket that was too tight. The edges pressed into the fabric, slipped out again. He wanted to tell the others he had made it, but his fingers slid across the wrong keys. The message remained incomplete. Something did not feel as it should.
Suddenly, they were beside him. No sound, no footsteps. Only their presence, as if they had always been there. Without understanding what had happened, they continued together. They moved silently through narrow corridors, passed through doors, until they reached a technical room. No one had noticed them. Relief spread.
They sat down at a table. The room was filled with warm dust and a deep, unbroken hum. Out of the shadows stepped a woman with long dark hair. Her gaze rested on him, searching but without harshness. In her hand she held a small card, which she placed before him without a word. He understood neither the pattern nor the symbols, yet something about it felt right. As if this meeting were the true objective.
The agent rose, and the woman disappeared. No command, no signal. Only a movement that meant it was time to go. They followed him silently into a corridor where the neon tubes flickered restlessly.
At a crossing, a guard appeared, but they had already left the restricted area. He said nothing, yet studied him with an attention too heavy to be casual. This time, however, he felt something different. No doubt, no fear. Only a sensation he could not name. Somehow familiar and unfamiliar at once.
The agent turned abruptly into a side passage. They passed a row of empty booths, doors half open as if someone had stopped work mid-task. On the floor lay a sheet of paper, lines without explanation, a plan without a legend.
Beyond it began the stair. Long, straight, without a railing, as if it had not been built for humans. With each step the light changed – from cold neon to a warm, almost liquid glow. Something stirred within him, as if each step were leading him to something he did not yet understand. Not yet.
He awoke. Curled in his blanket, eyes tired as if he had not slept. Something in reality had shifted. Without being able to say exactly what he felt, he got up and wrote down the entry – just as he always did.
