Fiction: The Treachery of Images
<p>This was nothing new. He got stuck a lot when he was dreaming. Though he started off this time being able to pass through any object he wanted horizontally, it now seemed as though he couldn’t keep moving forward. Or backwards either. He was stuck. Only his head stuck out of the wall now, and it remained caught there, in a curious sideways tilt. He stopped struggling and looked straight ahead. He was suddenly looking outdoors. Or had this wall always been an exterior wall? There was nothing outside except for an eerie silence, an endless expanse of flat sand, and the same sky that was in all his dreams, a delicate shade of robin’s egg blue that grew darker and darker as he looked up until it was indistinguishable from black overhead. Then, he heard a voice whisper his name. It seemed to be coming from behind him, but he couldn’t turn around, so he continued to stare out into the desert. The voice became louder with each utterance of his name until it was like a screaming in his ear.</p>
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