This is the part where the mind reels. It spins out of control and every image is another path. You cannot rely on the scene playing out or becoming anything of substance.
The halls are slimming, forcing human traffic bodies into small, unmarked and completely plain door ways that tell nothing of their contents. Non-potable water spills from underneath the door frames, filling the hall with a shallow river throughout and a smell that you wretch to recognize.
There’s a long dock out two miles from shore. The dock is made of clumpy concrete, and the algae has clung to it for so long, making it dangerous to walk upon. The blocks have shifted beneath the waters in the sand, so they are off-kilter and uneven. Walking to the edge of the sea is difficult upon this path. On your way, you see a shipping vessel unloading several elephants into the sea. They are being beaten as they are tossed overboard.
You are sitting on your bed with crossed legs. Someone has freshly tucked the sheets and covers. You stare at the bird pattern on the wallpaper of your room until they begin to fly away.
He sit on the bed next to you, with his back turned to an adjacent wall. You cannot see his face from where you are, and so you carefully inspect the shortest hairs on his neck and the backs of his ears. You open your mouth to say his name but an emptiness emits from your agape cavity. You lift a hand to touch his shoulder, but you are motionless and held in place by an unknown specter.
You turn away from him, knowing that ignoring the problem is best course of action in this short scene. The birds continue to fly away as you lose focus, and they’re white bodies return to the wall as your eyes concentrate harder. The water in your vision complicates the images.