White. White walls, white dresses, lots of light, lots of clarity. Feeling of silence People standing, looking at a place that I do not see. Is it some kind of ceremony? I don't think so, at least not the kind I've attended. Am I someone special in the ritual? It doesn't seem like it, at least I'm not near the center, the place of the offering, where things happen. What I do here? Is it a dream? I look at my hands and see the sheen of sweat on them. They look still, real. I don't think I'm breathing hard. Should? I do not want to alert those who are close, nothing is wrong with me. Why do I say this? I don't know, there is nothing to say either, nothing happens. Although in the environment there is a feeling that something should be happening, that something is happening.

I think there should be music, I'm pretty sure. Like I hear the song in my ears, almost like a rumor. I see a CD player, I think it does not work, or if it works it is not playing a disc, it is like tuning the radio, but with a bad signal. I must be recomposing in my head the theme that I should hear from the rumor of the radio, but it is just a humming that I manage to redo. and that feeling makes me wonder again if this is a dream. But if it's a dream something should happen, and nothing happens, it's like Harry Potter's death scene at King's Cross station before Voldemort's homunculus appears under the seat. But I am not sitting, I am standing. I look at my shoes and I don't see anything unusual. I look under the seats that are within sight, there is nothing under them, and they are not close enough for the ominous to hide there. And there is also no sense of the ominous lurking. Nothing happens.

No, it should not be a ceremony, it is more like a red tape. But I also do not see papers, forms to fill out. For a moment I think there is a book on a table, which could only be a bibliography, a title is not read on the spine and what is inside could be anything.

Thinking of a train station tells me that what we hope here is to go somewhere else. But we are always going to another place, towards death, towards the future, so that feeling of waiting for a trip does not indicate anything to me either. Because nothing happens.

But we are standing still. And there are like two groups of rows, as if there were two sides. But they are all dressed alike, there are no distinctions between the parties, as if there were no parties, as if the groups were a matter of chance, in order of arrival or something like that.

Everything fades. As if it wanted to stop being real, as if there was another reality that is not happening here. But nothing happens. It is a wait only.

I think I'm hungry, in dreams I'm not hungry, this is happening, nothing is really happening. There is nowhere to eat, there is no food nearby. Just the crackle of the radio that I understand as music.

No one is speaking? This waiting implies silence, stillness. That it is something more than nothing. But I like to name it as nothing.

And suddenly they walk in.