Annwyl Euren had the longest day of her life. The secretary, blessed creature, was awarded no respect, no prestige, and precious little lunch time. But, back in her sixth-floor apartment, she could answer the phone, or let it ring, as she wished. Today, she unplugged it, and it made her feel free.
She had a snack, put together with toast and the remaining peanut butter, but she needed something more. Maybe something to pick her up, or to remove the nagging ache in her shoulders… but she was for treating the cause rather than the symptoms. Annwyl wanted perspective.
She went into her bedroom, where the most inportant appliance in her home waited: the Conceptual Drive.
Annwyl lied down in the sensory-deprivation chamber. Body-temperature water slowly poured around her, up to her ears. She depressed a small switch on the top of the machine, and prepared to become an idea.

The grass ruffled lazily in the breeze. Annwyl felt the photons of her being, and knew what it was to be ephemeral.