In another world a whiteout is what they call it when unbelievable phantasms spray, blanketing the sky completely. They appeared to have sprayed all throughout the night. Waking up I could see the outline of the sun trying to beat through the putrid chemical haze that our handlers have gassed over the cornfield.
It's 12pm and I am already tired and stressed for reasons known. By whom? Is this reality? It mustn't be.... for now I am flying. This is impossible; psuedo science. I shrug, dumping nothingness onto the smug stalks below. Take it then--lunch--eat with your gaping smile, Matthew.
I wake up, for real this time, in another world where these problems don't exist. It is not dark, but cloudy.... The sun is trying to beat through.