One wakes up in her huge house. The music coming out of the hole on the floor is My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult’s ‘Dimentia 66 (The Ballad of Lucy Western)’, from the 1993 digipack CD release by Interscope Records, ’13 Above the Night’.

I want you to come with me / I want you to come with me / Come with me, come with me

One lays in bed, face up, legs splayed, arms resting at either side, staring unblinking at the impenetrable fog directly above. Every square inch of One’s skin is in direct contact with either, a) fog, or b) the quilt of the nicely done bed beneath her. It is hazy inside the house. One’s house consists of a bedroom, the bureau, and a kitchen. A corridor connects the bedroom and the kitchen. There is a porch outside the wall parallel to the corridor. The bureau is located between the bedroom and the kitchen. Fog and cool, humid air fill the entire house, thanks to One’s huge open windows.

The song Dirty Little Secrets has just begun.

One slowly sits up. One cannot see the door of the bureau directly in front, beyond the end of the bed, maybe 6 paces away. One gazes to the right at thick fog, where the portion of the bureau wall at the right of the door would be, which meets the exterior wall of the house that is to the right. One stares at thick grey fog. Then, sits on the edge of the bed for a period of time.

So you want to do something that's a little bit not too Afro-centric-erotic-space-groove-jazz-funk-acid-punk?

One stands and walks on the creaky, aged, grey wooden floor, two paces and a half to the open window. One looks outside. It is light grey and foggy. One looks out to the heavy fog outside the house. The fog’s color is light grey. The light grey fog extends from everywhere to the invisible faraway mountains in the distance? They would look purple from One’s house. Or, maybe, black. One turns, just the head, to the left and sees the light greyness of the fog extending to the purple or black mountains in the distance. Then turns it again, this time slowly back, and follows the impenetrable grey fog all the way to the right, to the impenetrable grey fog directly in contact with each eye. One looks up at grey fog. The fog’s color is light grey. The outside world is light grey, with an inexistent waistband. One extends an arm, the right one, out the window and holds out a finger – index – and, almost immediately, it’s no longer there. After some time, her whole hand and arm are not there anymore. One retracts the disappeared extended finger and brings the disappeared extended arm back in and as she does they each slowly reappear and she turns to walk. One walks over to the bureau.

The song which was playing has started to play again from the beginning. So you want to do something that's a little bit not too Afro-centric-erotic-space-groove-jazz-funk-acid-punk?

One stops at the bureau’s hardly-visible door, stares at it a moment. Hands down. Expressionless. One walks past the hole on the floor to the corridor leading to the kitchen. One walks across the corridor to the kitchen. In the kitchen, then walks to the window beside the front door. And looks through it and past the porch outside to the vast expanse of light grey fog outside the house, which extends to the faraway mountains in the distance? The faraway mountains are snow-capped? One turns, just the head, to the left, and sees heavy, light grey fog though the length of the empty porch. Then, turns it again, this time to the right, to the heavy, light grey fog to the right. The sky above the mountains is blue? Black? The outside world is light grey, with an inexistent waistband.

The music keeps playing, the fog keeps hanging outside, the damp foggy night keeps the whole house in a light grey haze, and the warm and humid air fills the house, stagnant.

Visions sweep away the tears and knots that bound our paper souls

Then, go back to the bureau. One walks back through the corridor and past the hole on the floor to the bureau. One goes into the bureau to brush some teeth. One then washes some face. Then stands on the shower and urinates, grabs the chrome lever shower handle and pulls. Artificial rain! Then sits on the bidet and evacuates. One stands up and regards her making. Caninish. But pachydermically scaled. Clay! Yellow specks, roughly an eighth of an inch in size, sporadically dot the material along its curled length. Gold? One presses down on the material. Picks some up. Holds it. Squeezes a rather thick section. Harder section. Material excretes out furiously from between five contracted fingers. One opens the hand. One looks at the palm. Clay! One brings the hand to the face and applies material to it. Picks up some more. Grab. Apply. Repeat. One then washes some face. One then stands in front of the full-body mirror. One stares back at the light grey fog for another period of time. Hands down. Expressionless. One opens the otherwise empty medicine cabinet and takes out One’s toonified multicolor plastic comb and pretends to comb some hair. One puts the comb down. One turns the chrome cold water sink handle counterclockwise. Cold water comes out.

One turns around and walks out of the bureau.

The music coming from the hole on the floor is still playing. The Velvet Edge is starting again.

You're wasting your time trying to help those who cannot be saved / Have you completely forgotten your true mission? / You are under a spell which has made you forget everything

One walks to the bed. One then turns and walks past the hole on the floor to the corridor and across the corridor to the kitchen. One walks to the front door and stands in front of it. Hands down. Expressionless. The outside world is light grey, with an inexistent waistband. One stands in front of the front door looking straight at it, as the music keeps playing, the fog keeps hanging outside, the damp foggy night keeps the whole house in a light grey haze, and the warm and humid air fills the house, stagnant.

You're wasting your time trying to help those who cannot be saved / Have you completely forgotten your true mission? / You are under a spell which has made you forget everything

One then walks toward the door and opens it. She steps through it to the porch and across its width to the steps leading down to the ground. Then, descends the eight steps down to the ground. The grass is cool and moist under her feet. All she can see is the same light grey haze in front of her as she’s done since she woke up and she walks deeper into it, and with each long step the music that had intensely permeated every empty space around her previously is now progressively thinner and thinner. She keeps walking forward, steady pace, arms at her side. Looking straight ahead, at impenetrable grey fog, at light grey impenetrable fog. She walks for a period of time and keeps walking as the heavy fog starts to gradually recede. The heavy fog slowly starts allowing the world to reveal itself before her. A shadowless landscape of diffuse light starts to materialize. A large, dark olive-green toad crosses her path a few feet ahead of her. She walks for another period of time and keeps walking as the ground turns black and hard for the length of a few steps. Colder. Then cool, moist grass again. The fog is now light and the shadowless landscape of diffuse light is clearer. She sees a strange, shiny creature with a red shell you can see inside of. It is still. Its eyes are incredibly round, and lightly touch the ground. Another one, this time longer and black, appears a distance behind it. One keeps walking. More of these shelled creatures appear to her left side, as do sticks jutting out from the ground, with round, glowing yellow orbs beneath them. She starts to see trees start to appear to her right as she walks. Further to her right, she sees what look like houses, but made for very small inhabitants, lined up one after the other. More of those colorful strange creatures with the round eyes on the ground come one after the other along the small houses as she walks. Straight ahead, there are no mountains in the distance. The sky is starting to become an intense electric blue where the mountains would be. She keeps walking. The grass is still cool and moist at her feet. More and more of the small houses keep appearing with every step, as so do the static colorful odd shell creatures with the eyes that lightly touch the dark ground. Straight ahead, now huge tall grey rectangular walls in the distance. They look like giant closets, in the distance. They remind her of the snow-capped mountains. But these are also similar, in an unfathomable way, to a house. Around her, all kinds of sticks jutting out of the ground, strings between them in all directions, markings on the ground and on sticks and on some houses and on some of the giant walls, flat faces on walls, huge flat faces on walls and more markings, more colorful shells with the two eyes on the dark ground, more tall grey cabinets and houses for small inhabitants and some trees and but glowing orbs hanging from sticks and all colors and shapes and textures that are just suddenly there, appearing everywhere, with every step.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The world is kaleidoscopic and heterogeneous, with a disintegrated waistband.

She keeps walking, looking straight ahead. In the distance, one of the giant closets stands taller than all the rest. It is black. Beyond it, in the distance, rests an interminable bronze sea.

She becomes aware of the two little apes that have appeared in front of her. They must have taken some quilts, taken them from some tiny bed, since most of their bodies are oddly covered by them. The first one is closer to her, running toward her. The second is close behind. But the second one seems more cautious. She stops mid-stride. Left leg forward, right leg behind, hands down.

Expressionless.

The first little ape is now in front of her, arms extended, palms open, and walks toward her. The little ape gets closer and touches her leg with both palms of his hands. It then clamps around her leg with both arms and legs. It grinds its face, gums and teeth on it. It tries to climb up further, but slips and falls down to the ground instead. It gets up immediately and takes two steps to One’s other leg, and starts to take off the quilt that covers his hips and thighs and also then clamps both arms and legs around One’s leg, and rubs its nose and chin and lips and gums and teeth and tongue on it. It shoots a clear, foamy liquid from its mouth onto One’s leg, repeatedly. And rubs its entire face on it again: nose, forehead, cheekbones, lips, tongue, chin, cheeks, temples.

One stands in front of the electric blue sky in the distance, the black tower defiantly against it, the interminable bronze sea beyond it, the tall grey buildings framed by it. She sees all kinds of sticks jutting out of the ground, dark strings between them in all directions, white and yellow and multicolor markings on the ground and on sticks and on some houses and on some of the giant walls, flat faces on walls; huge flat faces on walls and more markings, more colorful shells with the two eyes resting lightly on the dark ground; more tall grey cabinets and houses for small inhabitants and some trees and but glowing orbs hanging from sticks and all colors and shapes and textures that are just suddenly there, everywhere around, anywhere around, omnipresent.

The world is kaleidoscopic and heterogeneous, with a disintegrated waistband.

The little ape is now static and has not moved in a while, its quilts at its ankles, clamped onto One’s right leg. The second little ape is yelling at the first one. The second little ape looks up at her, then tries prying the first little ape off her leg. It eventually succeeds. They both fall to the ground in front of her. The second little ape is holding the first little ape and shaking it and yelling at it. But mostly looking up at her.

One stands before them, hands down, expressionless; the world is kaleidoscopic and heterogeneous, with a disintegrated waistband.

One turns around. And walks back.

Around her, all kinds of sticks jutting out of the ground, dark strings between them in all directions, white and yellow and multicolor markings on the ground and on sticks and on some houses and on some of the giant walls, flat faces on walls, huge flat faces on walls and more markings, more colorful shells with the two eyes resting lightly on the dark ground, more tall grey cabinets and houses for small inhabitants and some trees and but glowing orbs hanging from sticks and all colors and shapes and textures that are just suddenly there, appearing everywhere, with every step. The grass is still cool and moist at her feet. She keeps walking. A light fog starts to materialize, attempting to blur the world’s heterogeneity ever again. Less and less of the shiny, colorful, shelled creatures with the two eyes resting lightly on the dark ground and of the small houses and huge ape faces on flat surfaces are visible. The fog is now much thicker. Have you completely forgotten your true mission? You are under a spell which has made you forget everything. A large olive-green toad sits on the grass to her right, facing away from her. The music just now starts to become again a part of the world. It gets louder and louder with each step. It is almost impossible to see now through the heavy grey fog. One keeps walking. Have you completely forgotten your true mission? Nothing is visible but the grey fog now, as the music is all-encompassing now, conquering every available space. One’s left foot rises to climb the first of the eight steps up to her porch. She climbs the rest of the steps without ever slowing her pace. She comes up to her open front door discernible in the fog and with deepening fog beyond it, and walks back into her house, to the all-encompassing music that fills every available space and the visually impenetrable fog inside the house and everywhere around. One turns around, and closes the door.

One then turns to go back to the bedroom. One walks across the corridor to the bed. One sits on the bed, brings both feet up. Slides over to the center of the bed in the impenetrable fog. Settles back, with legs splayed in front, head on the bed, and arms to the sides. And closes her eyes.

The music keeps playing, the fog keeps hanging outside, the damp foggy night keeps the whole house in a light grey haze, and the warm and humid air fills the house, stagnant.

You're wasting your time trying to help those who cannot be saved / Have you completely forgotten your true mission? / You are under a spell which has made you forget everything