The stargate's busted, the wardrobe to Narnia's been removed. There is no way through, no way out. No floor thinning to open and slide through down into the shifting realm of sands and shadows. There is nothing else. Just me here on my side, facing north, streetlight slatting through the blind, sheet tucked over my shoulder against the ceiling fan chill. Just this breath-laced darkness. Just this seamless hush. And me. Suspended, helium-brained. Tomorrow will be hell to pay.
Telling: Streams & Logs