Isobel took a brand new gasp. She didn’t know spit about atmospheric bombardments and was only beginning to grasp the idea that she was just an idea, but this new life felt refreshing. Andrew was still passed out, but she had to wonder what happened at the end of his word count. Did he wake up? Did he disappear? In his lucid dreaming state, did he enjoy the new breath of sequels.

Did he enjoy them like he enjoyed the calm obsternation of the pacyderms and their terestrial empire?

Did he even really know he wrote about this war in the stratosphere, or was that just an artifact of his position in the story?

Isobel’s new awareness was beginning to worry her. This wasn’t a bend the spoon kind of awareness like in some films she had seen.

Or that someone wrote that she had seen.

This was an ‘Oh, OK’ kind of awareness. The kind of awareness that gets you to pause for a moment and wonder if pouring that bowl of cereal is really worth it, or if you’ll just end up having eaten it anyway.