Lost in either total thought or the complete lack of it, she stares out at the chaos.
A soft feeling blooms in her.
The feeling, like all of them, is hard to capture and harder to convey. A slippery thing wrapped between slivers of thought.
What seems like air is brimmed with strips of flashing color; thin threadlike things dangling and dancing, swatting and slashing, all erratic and beyond the pattern-recognition faculties that the reader might possess. Trees, all tall, stand silently in the chaos, separating Dream from Logic even as they connect them.
The girl smiles like a lunatic at this grotesque sight.
Flat slashes of tinted glass stutter in and out of visibility, perhaps even existence, Or reality.Or both.
Then you have the sounds.
The sounds out there are not the same as those from before.
Far from those faraway rumbles, here now the tone is sharp violence with a soft core, like the breaking of bones atop tables of flesh.
The girl claps erratically, lets out little shrieks of delight. The noise grows more distorted, pulling in different directions, scattering volume across windless gusts.
At some point, drops of liquid tap her toe.
Swallowed by optionality, she begins to dissolve.
At first, it is subtle; as if a slick stone had become some form of liquid that slowly poured itself onto our unwitting heroine. Things break off into myriad, many and too much. Options bursting into being, options expanding and extracting. So many options! All sizes and shapes, from the smallest perhaps to the largest possibility. Sisters, brothers, family all- friendly, each simply seeking the warmth of decision or the firmness of choice.
But then something happens.
This something is odd and unsettling, and sneaky as well. We fail to put our finger on it until it is far too late. The options have begun to bicker. At first there’s words, words, words which collapse into vain stares and glares before erupting into physical violence. The choices and options fight for first place, for the possibility of becoming, for a chance at being. The scene blossoms into a bloodbath. So many die. Now time stops. It wants to watch the carnage. Now something is pulling.
Pulling us.
Her?