“Where are you going?” asked a little girl a short ways behind him.
The man looked both ways. “Who are you?”
The little girl shrugged. “I was just surveyin’.”
The man shook his head. “You should stop. Go find your parents, little girl.”
“I don’t have any,” she responded, with a chuckle.
The man scratched his chin. “You screwin’ with me, kid?”
The little girl laughed again. “No. Don’t you like the waves?”
The man turned to look. “Yes, I do. Do you?”
“I love them!” she boomed, enthusiastically. “That’s why I live here.”
“You live here?”
“Yes. I live here.”
The man shook his head, then walked away.
About fifty paces further, he was well afar from the sand of the beach and walking along a grassy terrain filled with palm trees. There he found a little boy.
“Hey there mister!” Said the little boy, jumping as he did.
The man scratched his long mane of blond hair. “Now who are you supposed to be?”
The little boy only laughed. “You are funny.”
“Where’s your parents, kid?”
The little boy giggled again. “I don’t have any.”
“And I don’t suppose you live here too, do ya?”
The little boy nodded excitedly. “I do, I do!”
The man scoffed, then left, walking with his head down.
Pretty soon, the man was walking through a desert. Tumbleweeds drifted, sand blew through the air, and when he turned around, the man saw that everything behind him was gone. He stood there on his own, until suddenly noticing a very old lady, wearing all black, and sitting in a rocking chair.
“Excuse mamn, I think I’m lost. You got any idea how to get outta here?”
The old lady smiled a sickly smile, the type that squiggled all the way up to her eyes. “Young man, you’re not lost. This is where you live.”
– Thomas M. Watt