Flynn was sitting on the warm, woolen rug, staring up at the mosaic that decorated the triangular shapes reaching together above him. They were  glowing against the clear background of the triangles like constellations decorating the night sky. He had no knowledge of their meaning or what they were expressing, yet felt a sense of familiarity with each one.

The figures on each wall were acting out some long forgotten play. A man with horns on his head standing over another whose face seemed wracked with anguish, he held his hand up fearfully, as though trying to deny the existence of the beast but at the same time yielding to its might in surrender. A woman with a basin of water stood high above and fluid seemed to pour from it like starlight, down to a refreshing scene where a boy and a girl danced around the small well where it flowed out of sight. A farmer with a cart pulled by oxen carried urns down a barely visible dirt road, men lurked with their faces covered by hoods in the shadows of trees, ready to approach him. A city appeared with churches and massive buildings rising toward the sun which at this point seemed to be resting just on the horizon in the soft embrace of the mountains far away. It's golden light illuminated this forgotten place. High above, proud birds perched, poised, like ancient gods or guardians, watching over the world below. Flynn could hear the bustling of a town and the rattling of a carriage. A world of sounds from any image he focused on, and the winds connected them all without realizing the profound grace of their action.

Hundreds of lives and hundreds of stories covered the monolithic triangles around Flynn, and beyond them through their transparent shape he could see a tessellation, more triangles like these, as far into the vast empty space as his eyes could see. In all directions, and high above.

This was existence, and he was a part of it. He ran his hands through the thick fabric of the rug and held onto it, seeking comfort in its softness. "Home" he said, hoping it would stay this way, just this time. There was a heavy hand at his shoulder then, and a pulling. He held onto the wool with all the strength his small hands had, but they gave in, and he let go, and then he was falling. As the haven fell from sight and the images began to recede into the darkness of space, he remembered one and tried to focus on it, a favorite, of a young girl who sat and stared out over one of the countless valleys. A soul in a world of countless souls, so immersed in the richness he so desired to be a part of, yet she seemed so alone. And in that aloneness it was as though she too could see him. Though that might have just been his imagination. Regardless, that too was torn away as he fell.

He sensed around him an aching and a roaring, as though a hundred beasts stood around him growling and hungry and he fell into this space, falling for some time, wrestling for survival, fighting tooth and nail against their violence. Bloody violence created more bloody violence as he fell.

Eventually, even the beasts and their hatred were far above, staring down like virulent dark masters in cloaks of fiery red chaos, and as he fell he was far from relieved to see their towering forms ascend into the darkness above, tamed by the violence that not even they could withstand.

He felt his descent slow, and all was black. The purest black surrounded by a soft hue of blue. He felt calm and balanced, and slowly came to a stop, resting in a place of ether, buoyant. A dim white light shone from above as though saying "Do you remember?", after aeons he couldn't anymore though. He didn't want to. Emptiness was all he really knew.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------