I open my eyes. Morning sunlight is streaming into the carriage, empty
apart from me. There is a faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed in with freshly cut
oranges. Looking out of the window I can see Keleti Station in the distance. It's rapidly getting bigger. In a few minutes I’ll be arriving in Budapest.
I had a strange dream sometime in the early hours. Imagine this large sphere
made of glass or plastic spinning around in outer space; it’s all sort of
glittery and sparkly like one of those Christmas toys you shake to prompt a
fake snowstorm. Inside the sphere I can see my family: there’s my wife and I
sitting on a sofa and at our feet our little daughter and son are playing on the
floor together. We are completely absorbed in watching our children play. It’s
as if we’re stuck or captured in a single moment. I watch them – us – with intense
fascination. But, despite my best efforts, the sphere gradually spins away into
the darkness and out of sight towards an unknown destination. Somewhere in
time.
