You sit, stewing in dull agony for what could be hours. Or has it only just begun? You’re already having trouble keeping track of time, and that isn’t even counting the mounting difficulty in keeping your awareness of the world from slipping away. If anybody comes to help you, you need to be able to shout to tell them where you are… or something. But your mouth doesn’t move, and neither does the rest of you. You are sprawled, broken on the ground, and all you can do is wait. Maybe it’d be fine to just let your pain slip away - just for a second…

  You feel struggling arms dragging you by your arms across a rough stone path…

  You hear yelling, and a siren, and the shaking of your body as you are carried into a room with too many lights…

  You feel prodding, and sharp pokes, and the muffled voices of blurry figures with metal tools…

  You feel a presence you cannot explain or perceive observing you from beyond the veil of reality.

  Wait. That isn’t right.

  You’re so close to losing yourself completely; you can practically feel oblivion pulling you into its welcoming embrace. But that presence. That all-seeing observer. It isn’t doing anything. It just sits there, feeling everything you do, through you. And you know it better than anything you’ve known before. Because it feels like you.

Wake up and turn to Page 4