"It is merely crossing, merely crossing.
The distance is quite imaginary."
Mr. Wilkins Micawber
Raz Coolidge had been gazing at the light-fixture on the ceiling over his bed for what seemed an eternity when he suddenly kicked off the sheet that had been covering him. He jerked himself upright and let his muscular legs fall over the edge of the bed, leaving his feet to dangle just above the dark and dirty floor of his shabby, rented room. The tingle in his toes was diminishing now, and the numbness of his body was quickly dissipating. How like death it was, he thought, to clear one's slate.
He turned his head towards the window and saw the bright rays of sunlight spinning a galaxy of dustmite-laden particles his way; billions of tiny stars passing through the blinds and criss-crossing the room. If there was, though, the slightest breeze setting them all in motion, Raz surely didn't feel it.
He went to the window and peered between grime-encrusted slats. Not a soul was in the street this early on a Sunday morning. The ruddy faces of the brick houses across the street were being washed in dun-colored shadows and the storefronts were staring back at him, their darkened windows showing nothing, reflecting nothing. The barbershop's pole with its gaudy stripes stood motionless; the fireplug up the block looked as dry as a steel cactus.
Raz glanced over his shoulder and saw himself laid out on the bed, still looking as though he was deep in his forest of dreams. More likely, he thought, he was busily contemplating his return. He remained staring at the light-fixture above, as though he was wondering if that might be the way back.
It's going to be another perfect day, or at least as perfect as a sparkling-new day can possibly be, he imagined. He then turned and walked abruptly from the window to the door, and as he left the room to meet this perfect, sparkling-new day--the world dropped suddenly out from under him.
His brain squinted and sent him rapidly spiraling and tumbling; he went freefalling into a darkening cavern. Thinning shafts of light from above spewed between his splayed, shrinking fingers while slippery walls slid speedily past him during what seemed to be a timeless descent. Far above, sirens wailed and voices shouted--until--at once-- he grasped nothingness.
The world had suddenly, and thoroughly, shook itself still.