Many Worlds Theory

Entry by: Paul McDermott

20th November 2015
Many Worlds Theory

“It's just not fair, Mystic! None of the grown-ups I try to tell will listen, they think 'cos I'm just a kid I'm making things up: they even tell me off, say I'm showing off, or fibbing to get attention! None of them believe you 'n' me can chat all day about ...” Mandy threw her arms above her head frustrated. “About … stuff!” she finished, lamely.
Mystic was sprawled majestically at the end of the bed, performing his morning ritual of smoothing every jet black hair on his body exactly into place. With obvious reluctance he paused and locked his emerald green eyes on hers. A purr far too loud for his delicate frame filled the miniature world of the seven-year-old's bedroom and Mandy felt every spring in the bedframe vibrate.
“That's their loss, their problem, dearest one. You shouldn't be angry they don't see and hear everything around them, but perhaps feel sad for them: their world must be a grey, colourless, dull world to live in!”
Anyone walking in on them (perhaps concerned that a tiger or another large cat had somehow entered the bedroom) wouldn't have heard the words as Mandy did, only a gentle, non-threatening purr far too loud to exlain away logically. Mandy coudn't remember a time when she hadn't been able to 'talk' directly with Mystic, without the tiresome need for voice or breath.
Distance between them didn't seem to matter either, though she had to admit it was somehow easier if they were in the same room. If she'd ever thought to check in a mirror, she might have noticed that their 'conversations' quite often included silent facial expressions and small gestures of paw and finger which were almost as important as the thoughts which flowed so easily between their minds.
The soft textures and warm, vivid colours of Mandy's bedroom and its furnishings made it feel like a snug, comfortable, private world. Only a select few had even guessed at its existence, even fewer had been invited to share in its delights: Mandy preferred to clean and tidy it herself and her mother (after a few inspection visits) had agreed to respect Mandy's wishes regarding her own personal fiefdom, her microcosm, her world.
A squall of heavy, driven rain rattled against the bedroom window, making both of them jump with its ferocity. There was little for either of them to see of the monochrome world outside Mandy's microverse. Only the thickness of the glass (measured in niggardly millimetres) separated the comfortable, cuddly chaos of her personal domain from the deafening, doom-laden darkness outside. She shivered: with perfect timing a quiver rippled from Mystic's nose to the tip of his tail. Mandy's vision blurred for a second: she sensed that she was sharing an enhanced view of the world outside her room through Mystic's eyes, sensitive to infra- and ultra-shades of perception far outside the range of the restricted range of rainbow colours visible to the human eye. This happened frequently. Mandy had never questioned it or thought it worthy of mentioning to anyone. Nobody had ever told her it was not normal, that it was unique, ridiculous, impossible. For her, it was something that quite simply 'was', part of her everyday.
A small dark dot appeared at the very edge of her expanded field of nightvision, growing rapidly as it approached the window. Impact was inevitable: Mandy flinched, anticipating the collision. What was approaching? Would the window shatter, allowing the wild world outside to force its way in, destroy the calm comfort of her ordered, familiar færy land?
The object struck the window with a dull thud, not hard enough to break or even star the glass. On the sill, Mandy saw the wreckage of a small bird, and her hands flew to her mouth in shock and sorrow.
“Poor thing! It had no chance in this weather … Mystic, look! I'm sure it moved its wing: perhaps we can save it!”
Mandy had the window open in a flash, scooping the fragile scrap of feathers from the sill and slamming the window in one fluid movement.
A leg twitched, and the faintest of chirps followed. Instinctively, Mandy snatched a silk scarf and wrapped it around the tiny robin's frame, hugging it to her breast, unsure what to do next.
A knock on her door interrupted her frantic thoughts, an intrusion from the alternative macrocosm of her everyday family life, the only world most people are aware of.
“Mandy? Is everything alright? I heard your window slam: is anything damaged, broken?”
Even as a concerned parent, Mandy's mother still had the courtesy to knock and await her daughter's permission to enter.
Mandy looked from the door to the window and back again, then gazed at Mystic for guidance. Her home and the outside world were evenly balanced either side of the world she had carefully created in her room; one behind a fragile transparent pane of glass, the other hidden beyond a more substantial door. Three completely different worlds, threatening to collide. The choice was impossible: the background sounds of the storm and her mother's repeated, more urgent questioning faded as the room about her darkened She settled on the bed, cradling the injured bird. The last thing she was aware of before losing consciousness was Mystic's patient gaze, and the feeling of security he exuded, calming her as she dropped into oblivion.