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She knew they has chosen her from the beginning.

The beginning was a normal appearing, typical pink morning. She had left the housewith a wish for luck and a warm hug and then the coldness rushed into her lungs. Thefamilar weight of her backpack equaled that familar nothing feeling that came when her

excitement and dread of equal intensity convinced her that she was on her own onceagain.

The illusion shrouded space behind her followed her. Ignoring it, she hummed as thetrip fell into place. Take ticket, matches, correct switches, enough time to buy a musicmagazine and French phrase book, sit on train five minutes before it pulled away fromthe station. Perfect.

She tried not to think of the separtation she was feeling from the world about her as ifthere was some sort of power in the words " good-bye" . Some subtle power thatenclosed her in a delecate bubble that allowed her to float through space and time,

entirely alone. If she had paid a little more attention, she would have noticed glanceslingering on her longer than usual or the half smile between conductors as she handedthem her ticket. But at this point the rianbow edges of her bubble were very much intact.

Before she expected, the belgian steel blue steeples appeared against the rosy sky.Mechanically she got up, put on her backpack s if it were an everyday occurance thatshe should have Belgium lying in wait in the unpainted canvas of her day ahead.

They had bee watching her as she slept onto the ferry, the sunlight playing in her hair.Everything appeared as it should be inside her bubble. The Americans that surroundedher in tan, leather and gold saying " How marvelous! " and went to their cars. Normal,

everyday tourists.

A new feeling bubbled up in her stomach and she pushed it down with a French phrase," A one way ticket to Brugg, please! " that richocetted in her head as she changedpounds into francs. The man pointed to the Brugge train.

Releif flooded her body as she sat down on the red leather seat, but ended shortly asshe watched the Arab man enter the car and sit down on the seat across from her. Hefixed his gaze on her. The reflection in the glass that framed the cold darkness told herthat it never turned unless she did.

The train rumbled into the small town of Brugges. It stopped and she stepped out into tt.Now a strange thing happened when her bubble either expanded or burst, she wasnever quite sure. The world seemed to adapt to her presence. It was as if it prepareditself for her. It was like there was a place just for her and an invisible opening closesbehind her as the train disappeared into the fridid night air.

The town seemed to carry on as if she was not there, like a river would accept thepressure of a leaf but carry one just the same. In fact, the growing concern within her

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was indistinquishable from the growing excitement. She asked about a hostel in thenext bakery. A few moments later, a woman popped up from behind a counter as thehotel buzzer sounded in the hotel just up the street. Going out to the cafe around tehcorner, each person there had the same response, all awaiting her in watchfulreadiness. She could not shake away this new awareness. The empty, dimmly lit

cobblestone streets, the staring curtained windows, the indigo shadows... all preparing.Preparing for what?,she wondered. Each person she met seemed to have her pathalready mapped, each corner turned seemed to sigh softly, " Aaaaah. proceedingaccording to plan!"

She headed back to the station, close to tears, with no bed found within her pricerange."Who was it that said travelling was glorious?" she silently scoffed to herself. Aneven more disturbing question arose, " Why was she here?"

The bus (that the french women pointed out) to the youth hostel ( that she promisedherself she would only go to as a last resort) arrived. She boarded in the sort of

mindless motion that one assumes after disappointment takes over. If she had been onsome secret mission it would have been an intelligent, slick move.

Girl casually speaks to two french girls, who point towards the bus, girl boards it,exchanges a few words to the driver and jumps off. Top secret information passed on inthe darkness.

But it was the wrong bus and as far as she knew she had not vital information, norpassed on anything of inpartance. It was simply the wrong bus. The right bus driverspoke perfect english. " Youth Hostel?" and conducted a welcome conversation. Thedorr opened onto a cold darkness and she peered into it trying to get her bearings to

leave the warm light.

When her feet touched the pavement, in perfect timing, from the shadows a dutch,capped man pointed towards the hostel. In front of her the sign said " EuropeanJungendherberge" sure enough. The dark laneway dissolved into the thick blackness.The road was hard to decipher in the heavy night. It seemed to accept her like a spoonin thick molasses. Soon it enfolded her and she began to see black and silver shapesappear. This dream was becoming very strange indeed. The path was a dull grey in tehmoonless night, not a welcoming light to be seen. Feeling a little overwelmed shereturned to the thinner street air.

The capped dutchman was there again, or still. " Ferme" she said. He had not emotionon his face as he led her to the small shop on the corner, a string of garble humg in theair. The shop keeped scribbled on a piece of paper and handed her a map. The strnagerled her to a car, and a woman appeared in much the same silent manner as the man." Too Late" mutterings to the woman as they anxiously looked down the road to the

approaching bus. Sudden uregncy in their shouts, they rushed across the road to flag itdown. The bus flashed its light twice and stopped for her. The couple sighed.

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Looking up to the bus driver she was shocked to find that it was the same one. She didnot have time to wonder how he had changed his direction sho fast or for that matterwhy.

" Closed?" he asked. " I have another place for you. " It was the same place as the one

on the paper. The next time the door opened a babble of counds filled the bus when thedoor opened and silenced as it closed again. The woman outside smiled knowingly ather. The bus wove through the narrow streets and she realized that she was the onlyone on the bus. As if reading her mind, the driver joked about the fact. He stopped thebus at the end of the route and asked he it she wanted a " fag" . By this time allorientation about where she was was drained. NOt one more thing cold surprise her ashe brought out a small case. She watched silently as he put the tobacco in the rollingpaper, rooling it expertly. He handed it to her and there was nothing left for her to do butaccept it graciously like a precious gift.

The nixt time the door opened, she entered the blackness once again at the door of the

designated place. Quite dizzy, yet graceful, heavy but oooh so light she asked fluently infrench for a room as her sense experiences danced around her like a film spliced inrandom places and put back together again. All heads turns. Her request for 'Unechambre" was answered and not only one room with 8 sets of bunkbeds, but an entirefloor. Each bunk had grey small blanket folded over the footend. Her footstepssounded like heartbeats in the cold silence as she trudged to the #12 bed far in a darkcorner. She felt too vunerable in that corner and moved to another.

The paranoia that had been building up in her, surfaced. Whoever was planning thisknew her too well, knew each step, had each move planed carefully. She fell asleep tothe replay of the days evetns playing, the bright red door watched carefully, her clothes

and lights on, her thoughts in utter chaos. They were watching, and there was nothingshe could do but accept.