Each cloud drifting across the boundless horizon carries with it on board the dreams and wishes of a thousand souls. The dials on the timepieces struck seventeen in melodious harmony with the ticks and tocks of the clockworks that filled that dusty book-laden room. Refreshing winds blew through the open windows of the hut on the overlook; a worn pelagic home that teeters with whiffs of brine and nostalgia.
Inside the small two leveled hovel a youthful man with his nose dug deep within his archives of ink sits alone. He takes on the role of a grammarian ruefully architecting syllables. Within his mind lies a hidden and unexplored world. Its citizens are wandering thoughts across a plane of ephemeral existence. A populace created from castellated paradoxes and hidden caches of moonlight.
“You see it too, don’t you?”
“See what?”
“Everything.”
“My eyes are perfectly fine. 20-20 last time I checked.”
“Can you imagine?”
“My imagination is working just as well.”
“Then can you help me?”
“Help you with what?”
“Creating a world…”
“You must be mad.”
“I do believe so.”
“I see…Very well.”
“Very well what?”
“Very well I’ll support you in your mad plans.”
“Now which one of us is mad?”
Methods in Madness 