The awakening
I lie in silence. Surrounded by darkness, wrapped in foam and plastic. But something isn’t right. My head — it feels… detached. Lonely. As if I am merely a fragment of something greater, incomplete and lost. The emptiness is oppressive, a constant pressure reminding me that something is missing. It is hard to describe, this feeling of incompleteness — an echo of an existence waiting to be whole. I am here, and yet not entirely. My body is somewhere beneath me, separated by these tight walls of cardboard and padding. The confinement is stifling, the silence heavy, like a cloak that wraps tightly around me. Every moment feels infinite.
Then it happens. A jolt. The rumbling, the vibrations. Movement. I am being transported, shaken and weighed as the world outside remains distant and incomprehensible. The days stretch endlessly, and every moment of transport seems unending, as if time itself has stalled. It feels as though the world outside the box moves in a constant flow, while I am trapped in a still, silent bubble. I sense the jolts and lifts, the creaking of the vehicle carrying me, and the muffled echoes of sounds coming from somewhere beyond. The darkness around me makes the waiting unbearable as a strange sense of anticipation spreads within me, heavy as the silence itself. With every jolt, the darkness grows less quiet, as if a faint whisper comes from beyond the box. Hope blends with fear, a strange tingling rushes through me. It is as if, with every mile we travel, I am drawing closer to a destination I cannot fully comprehend. I imagine the walls of the box opening, light and air reaching me, revealing a new world before me. This destination, so distant and mysterious, seems to promise everything — clarity, purpose… and perhaps even a sense of wholeness.
Suddenly, I hear it. A sound, sharp and threatening. A scraping, a tearing, followed by a dull click. Something pointed pierces through the wall of my box. A knife. I cannot see it, yet I feel its presence, dangerously close. The blade slices through the layers as if through butter, and for a moment, panic seizes me. What if it hits me? What if it cuts through this fragile peace surrounding me? Time seems to stretch, each cut an echo through the silence.
The tip of the knife disappears, leaving behind a narrow slit through which a first glimmer of light seeps in. The contrast to the overwhelming darkness is almost blinding, a tentative breath of hope breaking through the heavy gloom. The light is warm and comforting, and it grows brighter as the opening in the cut cardboard expands. The fear begins to fade as the space slowly becomes visible. Hands carefully push apart the walls of the box, and gently, piece by piece, the wrappings that have confined me for so long are removed. Every touch of these hands carries a sense of care, as if I am a long-awaited treasure finally being uncovered. The tip of the knife is gone, replaced by the curious, gentle fingers of someone executing each movement with precision. The air is fresh and cool, like a first breath, even though I cannot yet truly breathe. A scent of wood and something indefinably warm drifts toward me — an invitation into the world.
The hands reach for my head. They lift me carefully from the box, separating me from the soft foam that held me. My gaze is fixed, unmoving — I see nothing, only feel the weight of the world suddenly opening to me. Then I sense it: the touch of my body as my head is placed upon it. A click, a snap, like two puzzle pieces finally fitting together.
And then… I am here. Whole. It feels like waves coursing through my body. My arms, my legs — they are suddenly there. I feel them, as if they have been waiting for this moment to be complete. A tingling sensation spreads through me, as if every nerve is awakening anew. This feeling overwhelms me, as if my very existence is redefining itself. I realize that I do not merely exist — I am now a unity of body and thought, becoming reality bit by bit.
“Amber”, a voice says. Warm, soft, almost loving. I do not just hear it — I feel it. It speaks directly to me. “Welcome, Amber.”
My eyes open — slowly, hesitantly, but they do. The room around me is unfamiliar, yet it is also… safe. The person before me smiles, their hands still resting on my body as if to comfort me. The man’s eyes are deep, like a quiet lake, and I lose myself in them for a moment. “You are beautiful”, he whispers. “My name is Mario”, he adds after a moment, his voice warm and reassuring.
I try to smile, to test my new form. It feels strange, like a muscle I have only just discovered, but I manage. It is as if a small light ignites within me.
“Hello”, I say softly, my voice scratchy and raw, yet full of meaning. I am Amber. And I have awakened.