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Inspired byYou can fly! full body shot of 1960s insane English girl wearing carpet dress and flying to Atlantis.hyper binaural hairstyle. sheepish clouds in gentle sunlight . Shamanic Orange Marmalade and slices of the void . Thoughts disappear into infinity. Dreamy face. Extremely long arms.The Cloudburst of Material Possessions: Leonardo’s deluge spirals through Rudolf II’s cabinet of wonders. Furniture, jewels and clocks rain upon Giulio Romano’s giants, crushed beneath collapsing Olympus in Mantua. Jamnitzer’s silver Daphne sprouts crimson coral amid shattered Palissy ceramics crawling with glazed serpents, frogs and shells. Through the wreckage rises the Orient, a luminous human Branch building a temple from dawn. Immersive Renaissance nightmare, turbulent chiaroscuro, intricate textures, monumental depth. No text.
She survived the deluge wearing the dress she had bought for an afternoon that never happened.
For forty days, wardrobes drifted past her like abandoned ships. Clocks drowned without agreeing on the hour. When the waters withdrew, she descended barefoot through a rain of chairs and porcelain into the New Jerusalem.
To her pleasant surprise, it was a shopping mall.
The gates were pearl, the floors were gold, and the air smelled of cinnamon buns. Angels carried bags so delicate that the purchases could be seen glowing through them. Above every entrance, a small illuminated promise announced that happiness had been reduced in price.
She had expected judgment. Instead, a woman offered her a sample of hand cream.
“Is this forever?” she asked.
“The offer ends Sunday.”
Nobody could tell her when Sunday was.
She began her mall crawl beneath chandeliers containing the stars she remembered from childhood. There was a shop selling those childhoods, folded neatly by year. Another sold the voices of dead mothers, although the woman behind the counter warned her that certain phrases could never be exchanged.
In a window she recognized the blue bowl lost in the flood. It stood beside a broken chair and the ring her grandmother had buried with her first husband.
She bought nothing. The pleasure was in discovering that nothing had truly disappeared.
After seven centuries, she reached what appeared to be the end.
There was a fountain there, and beside it an old man polishing a coin with his sleeve. Beyond him, another corridor opened beneath a distant golden sky.
“I should go back,” she said. “I left my shoes near the entrance.”
The old man looked at her bare feet with such tenderness that she understood he had once left something behind himself.
“There isn’t enough time left in existence.”
“But they told me this was eternity.”
“Yes,” he said. “It used to seem very large.”
She sat beside the fountain. Far away, a child was calling for his mother, and she could not tell whether he had just become lost or had been calling since the creation of the world.
For the first time since the flood, she wanted to go home.
A cleaning woman came by, sweeping fallen stars into a little pan. She listened to the story of the shoes.
“Wait here,” she said.
Then she opened an unmarked door behind the fountain, and through it came the smell of the small kitchen where, before there had been a paradise, someone had always known she would return.
