You are standing at the edge of infinity, and all you see is blackness. The guide steps ahead, a point of something in the middle of the oppressive nothing. The nothing is alive; you can sense it and you are afraid.

Follow.

The guide does not speak, has never spoken. The words form in your mind without seeming to traverse the space between you. You take a cautious step forward, and your mouth drops open. You emit a gasp which doesn't make a sound.

You see? You comprehend?

"Yes"

You can't be sure if you actually spoke, you didn't hear a sound, but the guide seems to understand. You're standing at the edge of a vast landscape, soft green grass beneath your feet, blue sky above your head. There is a whisper of insects and the occasional call of a bird, but otherwise silence. It's beautiful.

You are now within her mind. Normally, of course, it would be louder, but she is sleeping. We thought it best to give you a gentle introduction.

"Who is she?"

A girl. You do not know her.

The questions are flooding your mind. Why are they showing you this? Why you? Why does your guide say "we"?

You will understand everything eventually. If we have judged you correctly.

"You read my mind?!"

You dislike this?

"I'd prefer it if you didn't!"

As you wish. Explore. Remember.

You set out across the grass. It rolls away into the distance, but has the neatness of a park. Here and there you see a group of trees, a patch of flowers. The ground is smooth and soft beneath your feet. You can sense the tranquillity of the mind and an inexplicable feeling of envy washes over you.

It is a rare sight.

"What?"

A mind like this. Even in sleep most are . . . uncomfortable.

"Uncomfortable?"

We are sorry. We have diverted you from the subject. Study the land.

"I don't understand. These things, the trees and flowers, they're symbols of her thoughts and feelings, yes?"

Correct.

You point to a large tree, standing alone in the centre of the landscape. It's an oak, you think.

"So what does that mean?"

Can you not guess?

"A tree, an oak. I suppose . . . trees often mean growth . . . oaks are strong, long-lasting. They fade a little in winter, but tend to recover. Could this symbolise her spirit?"

Your language is imprecise, but you are starting to see.

"And the poppies? Beautiful, fragile, very short life . . .?"

Youth.

"But the poppy lives for far less time than the oak, whilst people remain youthful for a considerable portion of their lives."

We see. This is a new idea for us. We are surprised that you think it.

"But-"

You are distracting yourself. Look at the ground.

"Grass."

So . . .

"Resilient, but destroyed by fire and unable to re-grow without water. Wild. Many varying species. I do not understand this!"

That the base of a person's mind is resilient but fragile you would surely agree?

"Yes."

And that instinct often drives the mind? And that instinct is wild, a weed which has both helped and hindered your people's progress?

"Yes."

We must leave.

You feel a tugging sensation, and all your insides seem to jolt awkwardly. The colours swim and merge into one. Then you're standing on the edge again, and stepping forward. You freeze, gaping in horror. Instinctively you jerk backwards. You trip, and fall onto wood, which shakes. You scramble to your feet and stare around fearfully.
You're standing on a bridge, your guide a little way ahead of you. Beneath the bridge flows a watery torrent, a murky, perpetually moving turmoil. In the distance is an isolated scrap of land, scrubby and barren, but oh so beautiful when compared to the river and this rotten, dead bridge. Above your head the sky is violent and dark.

"It's so cold!"

Explore.

You take a tentative step, and the bridge shakes. A wave of sickening terror washes over you. Below, the river seems to rush faster.

"Whose mind is this? What happened to them?"

All will become clear.

Your guide seems to be moving away along the bridge, and you begin to panic.

"Wait! Don't leave me here!"

The bridge shudders. Below you the river is attacking its banks.

"What is this mind doing? What's happening to it?"

The guide looks at you. Several metres divide you now, but you can see its expression quite clearly. Spray hits you from the fermenting river.

The wrong question. The question is-

But you don't want to hear. You can't face the guide anymore; you can't stand the tone of the voice in your head, because you already know what the question is. You turn away with your hands over your ears and you

SCREAM

and you

SCREAM

and you

SCREAM

And around you the world contorts, and the bridge flies free of the land, and the river boils and consumes its banks, and the land twists and shatters, and the sky burns and becomes heavy and falls.

You feel a tugging, and your insides jolt awkwardly, though you're almost beyond sensation. Then the darkness, but not alive and warm, rather, cold and dead. The guide stands before you, expressionless as ever. You flinch away and curl up; you place your head in your hands.

"My mind! That was my mind, wasn't it? Why? Why is it like that? What happened to me? Why?"

The guide smiles and turns away. You can see the light seeping in, the guide is becoming translucent, the world is returning.

"Wait! You can't leave me! Tell me what happened; tell me how to change it!"

But the guide is gone, and the world has returned.