I open the door of the car to the dull drone of a lawnmower and the sweet scent of freshly cut grass, the result of the noisemaker's ceaseless circular slashing. Grabbing a bag of shopping from the seat beside me, I get out and walk up the path to the front door, keys in one hand, shopping in the other. I go to unlock the door, only to find that it lies ajar. Cautiously I nudge it open, prepared for the worst, but far from equipped to deal with the scene that greets me.
I almost drop the shopping as my eyes fall upon the turbulent green sea of tendrils covering the roof. Phosphoresent pixies flew overheard; the light they cast upon the walls paints a psychedelic prophecy of what awaits me in the rest of the house. A pixie flies too close to the ceiling, and one of the terrible tendrils lashes out to catch it. It cries and screams for salvation; its tears are diamonds, falling to the floor and turning to dust before my eyes. I stand flabbergasted as the writhing tendrils further entwine the helpless pixie, eventually pulling it from my view. I suddenly become aware of the fact that the other pixies have disappeared and the room is dark. Shaken, I venture ever onwards in the direction of the kitchen.
As I proceed to pace along the passageway, a pygmy processional passes me by. Resplendent in cellophane loincloths and Rastafarian dreadlocks, they jump and stamp and chant in strange tongues. I don't understand them, but the music sounds like a funeral dirge; I suspect they are mourning the loss of the pixie.
The colours shift and I become disoriented as blue and orange leopards start swimming along the walls. A school of chameleonic piranhas stealthily pursue the leopards, blending seamlessly into the background whenever a leopard turns to look at them. I stand frozen as the killer fish move as one to take down a leopard. I can suddenly move again as the fiery blood of the leopard rains down in the passage like laving falling from an erupting volcano. I close my eyes and clutch the shopping to my chest as I dash forwards, hoping to escape the warm wet horror surrounding me.
I come to a sudden stop when my left foot plants itself down upon the kitchen floor. I hear a soft crash, followed immediately by loud screaming. I glance downwards to discover that no longer is my floor merely a floor. My horrified eyes pan across a miniature cityscape, I hear tiny sirens as hundreds of tiny emergency vehicles mobilise in response to the chaos and destruction my foot has unwittingly visited upon the microcosm beneath me. I close my eyes and take another step forward, hoping that it's all my in my imagination, but alas my foot touches the floor only to be greeted by my screams. I grit my teeth and continue walking to the bench as a tear rolls down my cheek. I hate myself for doing this, but I can't afford to waste any time. My ice-cream is melting.