The sun would soon be down and at least then he could get some rest. He walked back to his bed, and the walk seemed to take much longer than it had before. Perhaps time moved differently here? In any case, the moon now hung in the sky, and he lay back in his bed and covered himself with his blankey.

“Blankey?” he thought. “What am I, a child?”

The answer to his question was soon to become evident however, because as he looked at his hands they began to change to the size of a six year old’s. He held them in front of his face and they shrank and expanded, over and over. He realized soon that the same was happening to his entire body. His thinking seemed to fluctuate also, maturity and immaturity bleeding into one another. Strange as this was, Paul had stopped questioning the goings-ons in this no-place, and accepted this metamorphosis with a a blankness of mind. He put his blankey over his head and tried his best to sleep, but sleep would not come. Strange glowing orbs drifted by, lighting up his surroundings. For a time he stared at the moon, feeling a sort of spiritual magnetism towards it.

“Hello moon” he said groggily.

“Hello son” said the moon.

Paul frowned and was quiet for a time. Finally, he said “Sun? What do you mean?”

“No” the moon said. “Son. S-O-N.”

“Christ” muttered Paul. “I just want to sleep”.

“There is no sleep, my boy. In this place sleep is not possible, for reality has already become half dream. The two opposites unite into one. Dialectics, my dear.”

Paul stared at the desert that surrounded him, breathed a deep sigh, and hid his head underneath his pillow.