Colored bubbles emanated up from the camera, as I stared at it, unconvinced. This couldn't be reality as I knew it.
Perhaps someone had spiked the drink at the festival bar. But it just didn't feel likely.
I withdrew my gaze from the camera, where it shared a velvet cushion with other cameras, waiting to be used for the event. Did any other cameras give off this kind of coloured light show?
No, they didn't. This was the only one. So there must be something going on with it. I glanced around, uneasy now with my new surroundings, and looking for a logical explanation.
Turns out there didn't need to be one. It was just a picture of a camera, as I soon discovered when I put out my hand to pick it up.
I had been fooled by a picture into believing that it was reality. How often in my life so far had I gone on an imaginative tangent in response to something that was just a photograph?
Was I subject to addiction to taking pictorial/verbal flights of fancy? What country of the imagination would I eventually actually inhabit?
Writing by Regina Stemberger