cocteclow
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Summary
He imagines that he has a stick. It's a strong piece of wood, free from any cracks or rot. Gripping it in his hand he pokes at his brain, between the hills and crevices, watching it with a scientific curiosity as it indents from the pressure over and over, until he finally feels a response from above.
Imagination does not get him that far, not yet. He does not have an answer for why he sees things the way he does. Before, he didn't dare hope that that would change, accepting of his circumstances of a drawn out and monotonous death, however, something new exists in his reality. A spark of possibility, which he will wholeheartedly embrace.