the room is cold. the walls of the room are pale, and the paint is chipping in various places. there are wires to hang paintings that no longer exist, and rectangles of off-colored paint as evidence of their existence. the only furniture in the room is the bed that i am sitting on. on the floor are old newspapers and corpses of starved cockroaches.
tall trees -- lots of tall trees, perhaps pine. at the edge of the forest, they are sparse, but as i look deeper into it, i can see that the forestation becomes dense, the pine trees now accompanied by smaller trees -- oak, spruce, maple. despite the thick vegetation, the sunlight manages to break through the branches and light the forest floor.
the path is not as much of a path as it is a narrow clearing that winds its way through the forest. the intricacies of its turns are clearly visible, but the ground that accompanies it appears untrodden.
an oasis. the path has led me to a small pool of water, apparently part of a river. surrounded by almost-tropical vegetation, the pool is refilled by a breathtaking waterfall, and exits quietly back into the trees. the water is green-blue, not clear enough to see through, but not muddy either -- simply clean and refreshing.
a tall, curved glass -- the kind you might find a daquiri in. it is empty with the exception of some remaining red liquid at the bottom of the glass. it appears to be new -- no scratches or scuffs on the glass, only a small chip on the lip of it.
the key is very old. the head of it looks like a clover with three leaves, and the part that fits in the lock only has only one rectangle protruding where modern keys have a jagged edge. it is dark brown in color -- perhaps from the weather, perhaps from age, perhaps it has always been that color. given the antiquity of the key, it seems natural that it open something similar in age. an old trunk, maybe? or perhaps the door to an old mansion?