It's a sharp and twisted place, full of things you recognise, that was my kettle, that my favourite book from A level literature. But they are out of context, the kettle wedged behind a broken cistern, the book spread out among planks and rubble, drifting away, page by page across the neighbours lawn.
Right way up again you try and make sense of your surroundings and just how this happened. Yesterday the world was ordered, organised, everyone in the right places, relationships bumping along as they have for decades. You had a sense of the future, because you knew the past. You imagined life as a straight highway, that was where you were. You are here now. That direction is where you're headed. It's clear, you think, straightforward, obvious. There may be the odd unexpected diversion, maybe while they're filling in pot holes, but this is it. It's your road. You chose it. Sometimes, when you were younger, you wished it was different, that there were more trees, or rest stops. But for some time now you've been resigned to this way of travelling, it's not perfect, but it's known.
Standing on the debris strewn yard you begin to become aware that you are hurting, the bumps and knocks, the bruises, the cuts and scratches all waking up in a cacophony of searing sensations. This is not the awakening you were hoping for, if something dramatic happened you imagined it good, a promotion, a fabulous work opportunity abroad, success for your children.
At points you can barely stand. You have to stop your aimless wandering in the ruins, stick your head in your hands and howl. How could this happen? Why now? None of it makes any sense, you wail. It's so unfair.
Sometimes this will last for days, sometimes months.
Back in the day, when I used to watch Tony Hart on TV and Animal Magic, with Johnny Morris, I used to be fascinated by film played backwards (well I might still be, but they don't do it so much now, what with everything being so fancy and digital). One day you wake up and you realise that this particular event can't be played back, unwound until it's all back the "right" way again.
That hits you, just below your stomach, like a punch. It leaves an ache. But it also shakes you awake. There is no "way back". There is, now, no safe passage to Alderaan. That future is gone.
In your newly awakened state you begin to notice that the world is already different again, in between the rubbish weeds are growing. You have a good look at the junk of your life, you work out what you can keep, what is worth holding onto, what might be salvaged.
Creeping out from your tarpaulin-roofed shelter one morning you gather together your life, pick up your dusty coat. There is nothing here for you anymore. You are going to go and become a Jedi like your father. Or, more likely, set off from this place, because here there is only mess and pain and regrets. You start walking, away from the junked up neighbourhoods, already almost abandoned. You head out into the open spaces beyond the edge of town. You feel unsteady, this journey is different, because you aren't sure there's a destination, and that sense of future is gone, you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, breathing steadily, looking off to the horizon, blurry and blue.
This is how it begins.
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