Featherman stepped across the threshold. His life was over. It is nonexistent. The mind follows the streams to the lakes to the rivers to the oceans. It expands somewhere new and unseen. The fuzzy memories begin to fade as the senses are moved. Featherman can feel the new sun against his skin, and the fresh air of his new world. This formation of his reality looks very similar to Beacon, New York in early Fall. There were streets here. Not a store or home to be seen. Featherman began to feel faint. His mind flashed white. He opened his eyes to a red sky and ash. Fire and magma falling from tall concrete blockades. The sound of sirens and gunfire filled the air. Featherman held a pistol. He couldn’t recognize the model. He was wearing military regalia. He could barely recognize his own hands. Another man charged at him gun in hand. Featherman raised the pistol and shot the man between the eyes. He didn’t flinch. A large piercing eye arose from the horizon. A bright blue pyramid fell from the sky before him. More soldiers emerged and began to fire on Featherman. The sirens got louder. The world got hotter. His breathing became more difficult. He flashed again. He was a wave. Moving erratically. Unconsciously? Was he in space? Was he real? What is this? He felt within but without and unmotivated. He popped from one place to another. He moved in rhythm. The sound of a shutter. A red light. Featherman was five. He rode his tricycle down the driveway and back. A neighbors lawnmower can be heard from many houses down. A dove cooed. The pavement stung his bare feet. Featherman was hungry. He dropped the bike and ran towards the door. The door was black stone. No knobs or locks. He banged and banged. Then came the rain. The child continued to bang. The rain fell harder. He began to cry. Thunder and lightning. He banged on the door. He yelled. He banged some more. Then it opened. He fell through. Featherman was gone for some time. Not sure how long. It gets weird. Hard to really perceive or explain in anyway. He eventually returned to something familiar. Not the same but familiar enough. It eventually happened again. All different. It just happened later. He went on until he was 318 there. He’s somewhere in the slip now. Beholding. Being watched. Finding his way again. Falling out. That old story. Like the one your in now.