It's Actually a Joke

A voice came crashing into his mind as sudden as a gunshot, but gentle as moonlight. His own voice, he was certain, but he could not say where his thoughts were coming from if he was indeed thinking at all.

"Look at the wall," he said, "and through."

He stared intently, but did not understand what he meant, and felt he was failing at his own instructions. The lights in his bedroom caused two shadows to be cast on either side of him, staring back at the starer from the walls they were draped across. Confused and sitting at the head of his bed, he spoke again without thinking

"Close my eyes. Put my hands against the wall."

Again, he obeyed himself, gently reaching out his hands.

"I know what the world looks like outside this room. I have seen it. I can see it without leaving my room. Just look."

With a sharp gasp, he felt the wall ripple and slide in different directions. In a few moments, he could guide it could in any direction he wanted without having to move his hands.

Weightlessness ensued.

While he was not off balance, he had no idea which direction was which. It was bliss.

The wall felt weaker. Malleable, like wet paper.

He felt his hands begin to fall through. His forearms. Elbows.

Not able to wait any longer, he was ready to leap through, feeling as though he would take flight. He pushed hard.

A strong wall. Sore arms.

"I'll try again tomorrow."

He laughed. There is understanding in laughter.