Imagine.

The world is underwater. Bubbles, alive and clear, dance from each mouth and up towards the sky like little jellyfish.

Glass and silver – every building and construction, an abstract piece of colourless, shiny art. The city is a messily-woven blanket dotted with diamonds and shimmering decorations of every curvature and edge.

Glass people, hollow and lost, raising their glass cups in a toast for their bear existence. The sound of silence, tickled by whispers that no one could ever tell were real or just another illusion conjured by their limited imaginations.

The sky is always blue, alive and rippling unlike the world it sheltered. Clouds could be seen in a blurry haze, wobbling like the bubbles every few seconds.

No one looked up for long, so no one knew that it was a whole other world out there. To them, clouds were an illusion; just like joy and celebration and purpose and necessity. It was all the result of humanity's dead dreams, the fragments of their beliefs and imaginations gone – there was nothing more to hope for.

A glass land full of glass beings and glass buildings, a thick and still and quiet block of slow-moving blueness keeping those people frozen in time, lost in its infinity... We still have not found that place.

Lying soundless and supposedly as just a figment of my imagination, is a hidden city and its life crawls on while ours whiz past us.