Uni

I’m in a bus with a bunch of people, gazing through the windows into a landscape all brownish and glum, where ruins are scattered across the waving hills. We’re on a safari. We’re waiting for the main attraction to show up; a unicorn.

A fuzzy blue light appears among the ruins. Streaks of cold blue light point directly upwards from beneath the ground. And suddenly it’s there, a glowing, blue unicorn. At first it just stands there, motionless, except for the glowing light that plays across it’s skin. Then suddenly it explodes into motion, swooping back and forth over the hills at incredible speed. Lines and arcs of light is all that we can see now, and it’s impossible to focus on the unicorn itself due to the speed at which it moves.

Suddenly it’s all over, and we are no longer inside the bus. There’s a stage in front of us and we seem to be at a theatre. Actors are playing a reconstruction of the discovery of the unicorn. With camera angles. It has the look and feel of a movie, but it still is a play. We’re hovering above a staircase leading up to an attic, and a couple of Indiana Jones-esque characters, a man and a woman, are slowly and carefully walking up the steps.

Once upstairs, we now experience what the actors see through their eyes, while at the same time we follow their moves on the second floor of the stage. It’s a very, very awsome experience.

The woman walks over to a shelf, where she finds a glass jar. The jar is filled with beads, peanuts, rice and raisins, and also water or oil. In the middle of it there’s a faint, blue glow. When the woman touches the jar, the glow intensifies and she yells out. We all yell out, we’re thrilled. The man cheers and they sit down on the floor to open up the jar.

A tiny, tiny unicorn sticks it head out from between the beads and peanuts. It rises up, slowly, gracefully. It’s a beautiful sight. We cet close-ups, too. It is a baby unicorn. The creature takes a quick look around and then flies off towards the shelf where the jar was found. Dozens of identical jars are stacked on the shelves. As the unicorn pass in front of them, they all start to glow with the same hazy, magical blue.

The lids suddenly pop off. Small, glowing blue cats, dogs, birds, rats, squirrels and rabbits spring out from the jars. I think to myself that these are definitely the best special effects I’ve ever seen outside of the cinema. «Unicats!», I yell, but then I realize what a stupid misconception the name implies and I wake up.