The undoing

Examining the wall is a solid pretense. It resists even my glare in unyielding. I press my fingers against the cold cement and force them until I shake. It fights back like a bowl of jello, quivers, and then pops. Sinking in momentously, careful not to slow and die like carrots in some strange abstract luncheon dish, the world of absolutes passes behind me. I leave it behind. I can pass through walls. I can warp through substance. Life has no more hold on me. What I cannot do has no bearing, nothing but immaterial filters in my vision. I can accomplish anything, be anyone, go anywhere. Nothing can stop me.

By half past noon, however, I found my temprament stooping with my fatigue. In a few hours my first hunger pains began. For a fleeting moment I found food, and for a fleeting moment I was no better than a mouse--uninvited dinner guest. In the morning I discovered a desert is still a desert and my incorporeal is as real for my chums as it is for me. And then I knew it had to stop. That when you isolate yourself from reality you forget that it isn't your inabilities that will stand in your way. It isn't your lack of skill. It is your lack of existence.