"Where am I?"
Ethan asked the magical figure as he looked out of his air balloon.
Islands floated in the sky, and he could hear the distant rumble of drums
as if the islands in the stratosphere created rhythmic patterns. Marks of
movement. It was an interactive relationship, and they would make
conversation with each other. If you listened closely, you could hear the
foundational rhythm of the larger island. The smaller islands followed
suit in rhythmic layers. The sun beat down, Ethan wiped his brow. He was
exhausted. Dry eyes and cracked lips, it was less than ideal. He missed
home—the two-story brick house that held his childhood memories, his
neighborhood, where ignorance was bliss. A ray of light hit his face, and
the golden rays ignited the world with such brilliance that he questioned
aesthetic beauty or freeing oneself from earth's constraints. Knowledge of
this world, well, he'd never be the same. Caribbean blue water fell from
the floating islands, connected by strings of moss, water droplets
suspended in the air. A wind from the northeast created a breeze. An
earthy smell, like the rain that falls on dry or solid rock. It was
pleasant, infused with the air and invasive plants. The larger island
vibrated with life. It was a divine rhythm, a language of emotion.