The Terrible Mistake

This morning, I made the terrible mistake of reading my messages.

Apparently, at some point, in some place, during some incident I only half remember, I entered a raffle.

I have no memory of doing this.

This is usually a warning sign.

The prize, according to the message, is a three-day pass to The Park, including accommodation, spa access, priority ride entry, and breakfast.

For those who have not heard of it, The Park is an alternate Earth where the entire planet is a theme park. Not a large theme park. Not a continent converted into entertainment districts. The whole planet. Continents of rides, oceans with staged adventures, mountains that are partly natural and partly roller coaster, cities built around shows, parades, hotels, restaurants, gift shops, and probably at least one haunted castle that is legally considered a municipality.

Naturally, I should ignore this.

Naturally, I am already here.

The transfer gate opened behind a souvenir kiosk in Rovinj, which I found offensive mostly because I had just ordered coffee. Thankfully, The Park understands priorities. The first thing they gave me after scanning my pass was another coffee, and I must admit, it was excellent. Strong, smooth, served in a cup that briefly showed me three possible futures depending on how much sugar I added.

To get here, I dialed the Brama location code behind a souvenir kiosk in Rovinj, because apparently even interdimensional travel now has to pass through places selling magnets and sun hats.

The sequence was not exactly elegant.

First, a rubber duck. Bright yellow, slightly worn, and cheerful enough to squeak when squeezed.

Then a toy spaceship, metallic blue and sleek, with tiny thrusters at the back.

After that, a miniature globe, palm-sized, slightly faded, spinning smoothly on its tiny axis.

Then a deck of playing cards, well-used, edges frayed, one card missing.

Finally, a pocket watch with a broken chain. Antique brass, frozen hands, and intricate engravings on the cover.

The gate opened with the usual quiet arrogance, and The Park welcomed me as if I had simply arrived at reception with a normal booking and not by touching a broken watch behind a rack of “I Love Rovinj” keychains.

Thankfully, The Park understands priorities. The first thing they gave me after scanning my pass was coffee, and I must admit, it was excellent. Strong, smooth, and served in a cup that seemed slightly bigger on the inside. The surface of the coffee rippled with tiny scenes from possible afternoons: one where I rested by the spa, one where I got chased by parade mascots, and one where I apparently tried to negotiate with a roller coaster.

I added sugar.

The cup showed me a fourth possibility and then politely refused to explain it.

The food is bizarre, but not bad. Breakfast included a croissant shaped like a small dragon, eggs that changed seasoning every few bites, and something called “gravity toast,” which hovered slightly above the plate until I buttered it too aggressively.

I have been here less than two hours.

A man in a bright green uniform has already asked me if I want to join the Noon Parade of Mild Peril.

I said no.

He smiled like that meant yes later.

I may post again this evening, if The Park behaves itself.

More likely, I will disappear into three days of rides, spa water, strange meals, and questionable decisions, then explain everything on the way back.

For now, I am going to finish my coffee and try very hard not to win anything else.