publiusXIV

London.  A place of many dreams and fantasies.

Jamie had long waited for this moment.  After many years, she was in the place where so many of her fantasies had been centered about.  She drifted away from her party and found herself wandering for hours along the streets of London.  At first they were busy—a bustling metropolis full of people in a mad rush.  All types lingered:

There were the uniformed “Bobbies” occasionally stopping a pedestrian—or being stopped by an obvious tourist.  The well-to-do who seemed to cling to the antiquated existence of the now forgotten empire covered in fine dress with waistcoat and adorned with fine gold chains disappearing into pockets hiding mysterious tidings.  What modern trinkets dangled on the ends?  There were the rebellious youth struggling to make their place but all too often mimicking the mainstream media’s attempts to appeal.  And of course, the tourists.  Those that wander with such uncertainty, but they have no familiarity with the realm.  Everything is new to them, though it is older.

Jamie carried on, lost in the kingdom.  As she lost herself, a realization came to forethought that she was nowhere near the bustling metropolis heart.  She had wandered onto a side street some time ago and strayed far from anything she could recall with clarity.  Spinning slowly for some bearing, there was nothing remarkable to see.  It was a street, like many in London that she had been walking on for the past hour, with many of the same type of people.  Suddenly there it was: a black door surrounded by white stones.  An antique lantern was above the door itself.  It sat uncomfortably close to a little shop: “Speedy’s Sandwich Bar and Café.”  Jamie blinked rapidly; it was a dream.  The tarnished bronze numerals on the door were unmistakable.

221B.

Jamie took a slow approach to the door.  She had to sidestep an aluminum chair to get closer.  She was fixed.  She raised her hand to the knocker, just below the door’s marking.  It hung as a simple but ornate piece—casted with little bumps and ridges to keep it from being utterly boring.  Did she dare sound it?  She paused.  It was a dream.  Boldly she lowered her hand and grasped the door’s handle.  There was no resistance and a slight creak as it opened—barely noticeable to anyone passing by her.  She took note.  No one was even paying her any attention.  She turned to the dim hallway immediately behind the door.  It opened up to a staircase.  Jamie was certain she heard the faint sound of someone playing a violin.  She took a step and crossed the threshold.

It had to be a dream.