no trespassing

It begins with a story. A story affecting a concern for the truth. What happened has happened. What has happened is happening.

The story begins here. If you look around you, you will notice that indeed, we've been here all along. In this peculiar room. However, if you're having trouble seeing just what I mean by peculiar, perhaps I will describe it to you.

Black. Dark. Void. Unstable, irregular, fantastic, unforeseeable, world ungoverned by any reason or rule. Here there are no walls, no roof, in fact there is no room. But if you were to you open your eyes a little wider than they are right now, you might be able to make out a gate with a simple padlock any child could break, a sign ‘Private no trespassing’ that no one can go through. Beyond a path hidden by bushes crowned with a tall white-framed door with three steps, the second of which is fractured. The room beyond is painted yellow and white and the floor is patched linoleum with flecks of purple and blue. A fancy yet frail looking table is in the center with a polished wood top, bare except for the lopsided pile of library books, a thin rose colored teapot, and freshly cut flowers. If you would tilt you head ever so slightly, and if you were to take a careful look along the edges of our frame you'd notice someone you are not at all familiar with.