1.

Yes, it is true, she is standing there in front of the elevator, the mobile phone lying fat and heavy in her hand.

Beep_menu_beep_messages_select_beep_received

select_beep_opening_folder_beep_CONGRATULATIONS!

open_beep_opening_message_Congratulations, YOU have

won! THE REVELATION, way beyond cool! FREE ENTRANCE.

FIRST LIFE. 1st FLOOR TONIGHT. SPECIAL 4 YOU!

The elevator widens with her breathing out and sucks her in, our Augustina who cannot recall which game she actually took part in, where at all she is participating, is she a gamer? Is she a surfer? Does she belong to a gaming community? Did she register there? User name? Yes. Password? No, forgotten. What was her surname again? Augustina Je… Laa…joo…meee… no Suu… I forgot, no, eaten by the gorge of memory, well never mind! Although eating is important as a matter of principle.

Meanwhile the interior of the train warms her with tender orange light, and the illuminated numbers of the passing storeys dwindle. The wall of the elevator is covered with a delicate intransparent webbing, a finely woven pattern, pulsating, branching out and thickening with the upward motion. Somewhat cheesily, it blinks and twinkles in changing shades of colour. Augustina is impressed by the small, fiery explosions at the intersections which spread out, twitching feathery veins. Fabulous!

Ping! Okay, that’s it, 1st FLOOR. 1st floor?

BLACK!

Is it that?

Augustina is standing in a huge hall on a smooth, milky surface, her head lowered she stares at half a walnut kernel on the floor. Now one might ask oneself, is that revelation?

Augustina does not. She bends down to see better, nothing else. And for a long time; observes the valleys and grooves, the whorls and warps of the nut, and when she looks up again she is inside these shapes, surrounded by what she has seen, engulfed by the bulging concavities.

Just like home, she thinks. No, not her current home. No, not her previous home with her ex. No, not even in the next to last or the next to next to last or the next to lost one, nor her childhood home, but the being-at-home one sometimes dreams about.

Suddenly, solemn synthetic music sounds, TV-show-like, and the entire floorspace lights up like an overdimensioned monitor. Tons of information in words, signs, and images flicker through the surface, flittering criss-cross over the plane. A squirrel enters the show, jumps on the stage. It smiles widely with its oversize teeth.

The jumble of sounds swells, voices, noises and resonances entangle to an impenetrabl