Sherbet Ski Slopes
The holiness of the gloomy hallway leaves anticipation tingling in your fingertips. Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. You notice an odd swishing noise like the sound of windscreen wipers cleaning away water droplets. The noise becomes louder as a wooden door becomes larger. The heavy door clunks open in your presence. Immediately it feels as if you have hit a brick wall. The cold combined with an acidic kick on your taste buds knock you backwards. With the few seconds it takes for your eyes to re-adjust, the tingling left on your tongue has subdued just enough to take another step forward.
Above you are white slopes reaching as far as you can see. A long line of black gondolas stands to attention like soldiers on parade, making a divide in the background. Realising that you can no longer feel your feet, you glance down to see… no feet? White has engulfed what had once been your feet. Now your body starts halfway up the shin. Whilst scrambling to try to find your limbs again, the strange, white substance gets on your hands. If this was snow, you would assume that it is edible, so you bend down and reach deep into the powder. Holding the matter in your hands gives an opportunity to have a closer look. The texture is crumbly, but somehow still holds together. The granules seep into the cracks between your fingers. Your tongue reaches towards the pile. You just touch the tip. Immediately your taste buds explode, like fireworks in your cells. Sweet and sour combined with a fizz and a pop is a sensory overload.
A gondola just arrived into the loading bay, so you make a run for it. A surprisingly small human scowls as you cut in the line to catch the chair. The chair groans under your weight but your feet slowly lift off the ground anyway. Now up close you have the chance to discover what the lifts are really made of, as they are giving off a scent that is sweet, but yet bitter. Taking the chance, you stick your tongue on the frigid pole and lick upwards. You immediately regret this as you find that your tongue has stuck firmly. With a few careful tugs it comes off, leaving a taste of dark chocolate lingering in your mouth. You contemplate whether this is why the room has to be so cold. Now halfway up the wire, the sheer beauty of the space is even more visible. A tremendous, glass building to your right has many of the same small people, all working hard around a large metal bowl, bigger than a classroom. Swirling around that is a glass tube, stretching high out of the roof, then kissing the sherbet plains below. The powder is being dumped out onto the bottom of the hill, the pipeline spewing it out so it accumulates in a heap.
A CLUNNNNNKKKKKK takes you by surprise, which grabs your attention away from the workshop. Looking down, you see the ground just below your feet, so you take the opportunity and jump. The lightly packed sherbet consumes your legs. It is a struggle to get out but you manage to slip out of the pocket the sherbet created for you. You trudge out of the deep powder and onto the flat. You imagine this is what it is like to be ‘on top of the world.’ The white reclining slopes are now all below you. You can see the mighty glass workshop in the corner pumping out the sour and acidic substance. The grand door that you entered into this climate now looks miniature, a small part of this large atmosphere. You find your self-sitting down and taking a deep breath in, trying to appreciate all that lies in front of you, the small people speeding down the slopes on skis made of liquorice, the chairlift made of rich chocolate (which you found out the hard way), and the intricate detailing of the poles, which hold two purposes; to keep the lift standing and to store the sherbet.
Another door, like the one you used to come into this room, has appeared in front of you. Your fingers have now become numb, victims to the cold. Once you have taken one last look backwards you grab the hefty handle and step through the frame. Once through into another dark hallway, only then do you notice the constant tingling in your nose left by the citric acid. The sound of your footsteps once again bounces off the walls in the empty hallway. You turn around to see where you came from, but all that is there is a wall, leaving you wondering if all the magical things that just happened were just a figment of your imagination.