Taroticum

“Do not step on the black tiles, only the white!”

Waya dances away across the checkered floor. Along the walls of the hall a hundred eyes are riveted on them as they carefully follow her across the white tiles to the stairs. They have only descended a few steps when the lights go out – they must feel their way forward. Voices whisper out of the darkness:

“Left hand. Follow the wall with your left hand. Left foot first. You have lost your glasses and will never find them again. Look with your left eye. Left eye.”

With the right eye shut, the darkness gives way to a washed-out, grayish light. They come to the end of a long corridor. The walls and floor are of rough concrete. Waya waits at the foot of the staircase.

“We can walk no further. This is where the path ends. Go to the wall and wait until it talks. It provides memories.”

Before they can ask what she means, Waya dances back up the stairs and disappears. The corridor bends this way and that several times, before it ends in smooth, grayish wall. No doors lead anywhere. They wait…