Footprints on water-laden earth. He sees a duck. He’s dreaming.

Test subject in a Read-bed. R.E.M ember, burning brightly amidst the water plants. Duckweed. Algae.

There are minnows swimming. Stickleback floating. Trout washes of colour under the mirror surface.

Sometimes the edges which seemed contained at other times bled into each other.

Sleep as an engine. A day rolling through a narrative into a night. Possibility traps built on roofs above thinking heads to catch probability waves storming through the sky.

There is the sound of a duck. There is a duck whistle. There is a gunshot.

Hollister remembered signing up for the testing a long time ago, but the corridor he journeyed down was like taffy being pulled. Pulled by who? Time distortion on a manufactured event horizon where placed agents were acting like portable singularities, moved around to create stress in the fabric of reality.

The dream or the dreamer? Dream Ore: The Dreamer. A book, a drug. Some food for thought. Hollister was having an Alice In Wonderland day, or life, or something. Then he woke up.

A wake lapping against the boat. Is he dreaming?

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