It began with a dot.

Black and unassuming, it was nothing that I hadn’t seen a million times. But, like a movie camera spinning toward a close up, it changed quickly; the dot grew bigger until it was a whole canvas.

For the longest time, I stared at this canvas. Eventually, details began to show themselves as they crawled out of the shadows. A splash of color, here, a dash of civilization there, and I was soon looking at . . . something. A painting? A cut and paste collage, like what kids make in arts and craft time? I had no clue what was before me now, but it was a cutesy sort of dirt brown circle with iconic buildings jutting up cartoonishly from the ground.

Was this the world?! I thought to myself incredulously.

No, it couldn’t be— the world I came from was a planet. A whole ass planet! With oceans and vast valleys and mountain ranges and countries armed with nuclear bombs. Not— this!

I wanted to investigate this unnerving abomination, but I could not move. Thinking of moving— willing my body to move, it did nothing.

Will . . . will yourself into matter. Do it, now! A voice whispered.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

I did not recognize the voice. It was in my mind but it was not . . . who was my friend? The name of my friend. I had done something with this friend— a friend who spoke into my mind, and whom with I could have entire conversations without ever moving my lips. What was his name?

Before me was this world of aesthetic: it was like a high-definition printer’s idea of what adorable construction paper art looked like; crisp, clean, colorful, but just off enough to tip the onlooker into belief: this creation was not done by children but something more sophisticated and cunning. Adorable? Maybe. But that was the least of it. But whyever the world looked as it did, I blocked it out (closed my eyes, perhaps?) and tried to concentrate on remembering my friend’s name.

What was it? Who was he?

He was unconventional. That much I remembered. Unlike the rest. But in what way? Why was he off?

Was he scrawny and fringe? No. Ugly? No, in fact . . . wasn’t he handsome? Well, maybe not handsome in the conventional way, but he was attractive in the well-put-together sort of way.

Wait. No, wait . . .

Was he big and brawny? A thug. A monstrous rebel?

WAIT! A rebel? Monster? Was he not even human?

And like a thunderbolt from heaven, I remembered— Felix!

Felix was a supernatural creature. He was part cat, part butterfly. He could telepathically communicate with me. One evening, he burst into my apartment and took me on a journey.

The Waystones; the donut men; the zombies and the ghosts; and the organization, whatever they were called and which I was a member of? Wait, more is coming back to me: I made a pact with Felix. But. That was it.

I had no more memories oozing up and out of me. My realization orgasm had ended with the remeberance of my name— Marcus.

My name was Marcus Aura.

And I opened my eyes.