The door exploded without warning, and a chunk of it leapt across the room and obliterated my guitar. In heaven, certain angels recorded this sound, as they had been waiting nearly forever for that specific event to finally unfold, but down here on Earth, the shocking pulse of the explosive and the shattered instrument filled the room with tiny physical anomalies. It was as if the flow metric of time downshifted suddenly, geometrically. I saw flashes and small objects in mid-air ballet, jaggedly ripped remnants of door and plaster, plastic, materials sublime and unexpected. Then, all at once, the chaos began to shift. There was a blurring sensation, I couldn’t see clearly for a moment, but when my vision resolved, the debris was transforming before me. A chunk of wood transformed into a ferret hunting a mouse through the atmosphere of the room. The shattered guitar was a war scene, in perfect miniature, unfolding at lethargic velocities. All throughout the air were birds and guns, children, spinning wings filled with eyes, and voices attached to motes of light that changed and warbled with an anciently alien intelligence. Then, there was a sudden shock, and blackness overtook me. When I awoke, the room was completely empty, the door was intact, and this note lay before me in my own hand. I have no recollection of these events. In fact, I cannot even remember who I was. I have only the clothes I am wearing, the pencil I wrote this with, and the terrifying certainty that somewhere, somehow, someone else is now … occupying the life from which I have been inexplicably and absolutely ejected.