Word: Segue

 

segue

[ sey-gwey, seg-wey ]

 

verb (used without object), se·gued, se·gue·ing.

1. to continue at once with the next musical section or composition (often used as a musical direction).

2. to perform in the manner of the preceding section (used as a musical direction).

3. to make a transition from one thing to another smoothly and without interruption: The conversation segued from travel anecdotes to food.

noun

1. an uninterrupted transition made between one musical section or composition and another.

2. any smooth, uninterrupted transition from one thing to another.

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Jack and Sally opened their eyes at almost the same time. They looked around, finding themselves in a far different place than they had been. They had been in the local park, enjoying one of the dwindling nice days left in the year. Then the blinding flash of light, and now…

“Where are we?” Sally asked, looking around.

They were in a hallway. A cold, barren place without window, door, of decoration. Behind them was a blank concrete wall. In front of them, the hall expended farther than they could see.

“No idea.” Jack said. The two were silent for a moment. “Do you hear that?”

There was music playing. It was faint, and calling it music was a stretch. It was just a generic drumbeat with the slightest hint of rhythm to it.

“Huh, yeah, I do. Where’s it coming from? I don’t see any speakers or anything.”

“No idea. But I don’t think we can stay here. Wherever here is.”

Sally nodded her agreement. The two set off at a slow speed. Neither was aware of it, but they were stepping in time to the beat. This beat carried them through the hall. As they went, Sally’s face scrunched up.

“Hey, is it just me, or is this place changing?”

“It’s not just you.” Jack confirmed.

As they walk, the hallway made a smooth, gradual shift from blank concrete hall to a slightly nicer one. The floors became covered with bad faux wood, and the lights were not quite as harsh. Even the faint music became slightly nicer, having some actual variety in the beat.

They kept going. And the changes kept happening. They were smooth, like a gradient of color applied to interior decoration. And it was not always linear. Sometimes the hall became slightly nicer, others much worse. In one place they may as well have been in a five-star hotel, and as they went, it changed into a office building, and then into a run down thing that barely qualified as a structure. It was like someone had strung several buildings together into one seamless, continuous hallway.

And the music. The music always matched the hall. Nicer halls had beautiful classical music in the background. The worst halls had sounds that were almost painful to listen to. Most of them sounded more like generic elevator music though. And the transition was so smooth that it was sometimes hard to tell it was changing at all.

“Jack? This place is freaking me out.” Sally said.

“Yeah. Me too. It wouldn’t be so bad if there were a door or a window or something.”

“Or an end. That would be great. I don’t even know how long we’ve been walking.”

“Same. There has to be a way out eventually though, right?”

“Right, of course. There’s no such thing as an infinite anything.”

“Yeah. No such thing. Let’s keep going, I guess.”

The two kept walking down the slowly shifting hallway. Neither of them quite believed their hopeful words. But they kept walking anyway. After all, what choice did they have?

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Maybe it's all a dream? This seems like the kind of thing that would be in a dream, doesn't it?