Continuum

Continuum A Fairy Tale...

written and illustrated by Alyssa Moyer

Written and illustrated by Alyssa Moyer Submission to Blank Space’s Fairy Tale Architecture Competition

Continuum She stands alone in the middle of a mountainous

A few second into the tunnel, it is completely dark.

landscape.

Are my eyes open… or closed?

The structure in front of her, cutting into the

She relentlessly walks forward, enduring the darkness.

ground,

It is getting harder to walk.

Dwarfs her already small frame.

How long have I been walking?

Fascinating.

She is moving slower but continues.

She stands motionless, silent at the opening.

She sees the hazy glow again.

Inside, there is a far-off glow hypnotizing to

That is when she knows.

the ever-curious figure – she.

She can feel it. Its presence.

What’s in here?

She takes a step, only one and stops.

She analyzes it.

She lifts her arm to touch it.

She flinches from the icy surface.

The concrete is exceptionally smooth despite its worn, rusted appearance.

The occasional sunlight is now gone.

I am going to find out.

She stands motionless, still silent.

She grips the straps of her backpack and enters

She approaches the end of the void.

She lunges forward.

I made it.

Eager to find something,

She stares out into nothing.

Anything to help understand where she is.

Emptiness.

Nothing.

Only fog.

Grey ground and white fog.

She stands alone at the edge, paused and confused.

I have got to find a way out.

Nothing? Emptiness.

The end of the tunnel.

She takes a step, only one and stops.

A new world…

She attempts to turn around to see what is behind her.

No. She can feel its presence.

Just keep moving forward.

She takes a step,

There is nothing here.

How? She sits, pulls her backpack onto her lap.

The map… it is now empty.

A blank, folded piece of paper - Useless.

She grabs a pen.

Silently, drawing, tracing her steps.

Here… then here… now here.

Only one and plunges into the eerie abyss.

This does not make sense.

She is free-falling… calmly.

The timing is wrong.

Descending deeper and deeper.

She glances at her watch.

She lands softly on her back,

I know I have been here longer than that.

As if something gently placed her on the ground.

Time has slowed, almost to a stop.

She lies there for a minute, staring at the fog.

She continues to draw.

She stands up and brushes the grey dust off her black clothing.

It is still here.

She hears faint noises in the distance.

Where she goes, it follows.

It is still here.

She goes up, it goes up.

She stops drawing.

It is always close behind.

The noises stop.

She knows it.

What is that?

She wants to turn around.

There’s a vertical mass clouded in the distance.

No.

That is my drawing…

She continues drawing.

A new world.

Building.

She draws a continuous line,

A new world.

Zigzagging at ninety degrees.

My world.

Stairs. I will go back up.

A better world.

Everything she draws, becomes built.

She continues drawing.

I need to move.

Making.

She rises above the ground.

This is fun.

It does too.

She has forgotten this began as an escape route.

Just keep moving forward.

This is her comfort zone.

She vigorously draws line after line.

My ‘happy place’.

Structure to support movement.

Alone in her own world.

Connecting points for growth.

Free to create.

I made it.

But.

Nothing is erased.

It is still here.

The original can be perfected but always remains.

What?

She is now levels above the ground.

Who?

I can’t see the ground anymore.

She continues drawing.

Only fog.

Just keep moving forward.

She leaps from platform to platform.

I have got to get out of here.

Stops to draw.

That was the plan.

Climbs the stairs.

Point A to B.

Stops to draw.

To get out – quickly.

Ascends upwards again.

Escape it.

Drawing.

Instead, she has created a new world.

Running.

My world…

Jumping.

A better world.

And It still follows.

My ‘happy place.’

She stops.

It is still here,

I am exhausted.

But does no harm.

She glances at her watch.

She continues to draw.

Only ten minutes.

Nothing is erased.

Impossible.

The original can be perfected but always remains.

Something is not right.

Each line has purpose.

It feels like hours.

She can see a change in atmosphere.

This should have taken hours.

The space is getting brighter.

She looks around, but never behind.

It is still daylight outside.

She is beginning to feel uneasy.

How?

It is still here.

She has created a labyrinth.

A chaotic mess.

She became so invested, she never stopped to look

She moves up her staircase

at the big picture.

Ground she did not create.

It follows close behind.

She plants her foot on the ground.

Outside ground.

Her other foot follows, Now parallel with the other.

She looks outside.

The sun is bright.

She stands motionless, Silent with her back facing the opening to her world.

I need to see it before I leave.

No longer able to resist the urge to turn around.

She breathes in heavy, closes her eyes.

She spins around, uprooting the grass beneath her feet.

Opens her eyes.

Fascinating.

Everything she built, visible.

Everything she created.

She analyzes it and smiles.

She turns back around.

Just keep moving forward.

It is‌me.

It is she.

PROCESS

ALYSSA MOYER 2018