REM, Approx. 3:15 am

“That’s unwarranted.”
he said, “Your behavior
completely illogical. You
cannot do that, nor
can you even think
of such a thing,
for you, my dearly inconsequential
object, are a toadstool.
And I do mean that
in an entirely literal manner.”

Immediately following this short monologue, the toadstool vanished in a rather cacophonic swirling,
and I, a squirrel (quite disconcerted by my diminutive stature) was left quite alone
with the voice of said monologue. The voice was indeed held captive inside a singularly large
body (homo sapiens) upon which a magenta top hat was perched in startling repose. (The hat being
the most prominent feature of the rather imposing figure. It was a rather impressive hat.)

“What say you,”
he asked, “of this exceptionally
singular situation?”

And I, being a squirrel and somewhat less verbally resistant
than a staid and stodgy toadstool, disappeared immediately. The man, for that was (and in all probability still is) what he was had that effect on the more retiring individuals he encountered. I vanished (in a rather cacophonic swirling) and found myself a little while later
sitting upon a small toadstool with a strikingly radiant magenta hat
resting between my ears.

“I do believe,”
murmured the toadstool to the hat,
“I had a conniption, a small spasm
in my lamellae
and a faint quivering
in my mycelial threads.
That was vaguely disconcerting
and my composure was rattled.
I am much the worse for
wear, and in short, I am
quite finished.”

My seat wilted in a highly dramatic fashion (and I extend profuse apologies if modern toadstools
do not wilt and therefore you know not of what I speak, but this stool did wilt,
indeed, he positively swooned). The magenta hat and I slid (a bit awkwardly) off the expired fungus
and to the ground. I say ‘ground’ as if it were a tangible surface, but admittedly, it was not deserving
of the label. The substance was a type of grey mist, floaty wisps of unrestrained, nymph-like particles.
Forgive me if I wax rhapsodic, for the sight was unforgettably beautiful. In all of its beauty (and ‘beauty’
for lack of a better term, it was strangely blank)
for all of that, there existed a certain grotesqueness, for as I marveled at this mist, the reality registered, and as I realized the terrible and dire circumstance, the swirling parted to usher the magenta hat
and me, a small squirrel, into its cacophonous depths.