Lonely as he was, Harvey didn't begrudge fictitious entities lives more luxury than his current existence. Day in and day out, meanings waxed and waned, leaving they're divine soap-scum in a gigantic lavender ring around the bathtub. At times he nearly understood. These times, however, were always short-lived and the blue gray melancholy of subjunctive worlds would again wash down like the chilling rain.

After all, how optimistic can one be, when one is all there is? There was nobody else in Harvey's world, and if there were, they certainly weren't real, merely plastic, ethereal entities of his own creation. "Blah," thought Harvey. One and one are one. Suppose there was a school that taught people arithmetic. Suppose also that the addition they taught was mere mythology and the students relented by incessant counting failed to realize the question was the only incorrect solution. It didn't matter to Harvey anyway. He returned to counting the raindrops as they pit-patted on the tin roof and the waterlogged earth about his flat.

"Will this rain never cease?" asked Harvey.

In polite response, Harvey lifted his ass a tiny bit and slid from the far right cushion to the far left.

"It's tough to say, I'd give it some more time," Harvey replied

Again, he slid to the right cushion of his torn and faded green couch. There was a slight crunching sound as he moved from under its cushion. Slightly exasperated, Harvey scolded himself.

"What the hell would make you suppose that this monotone symphony will ever stop? I've lived here for more years than I care to remember and not once has anybody paid a visit, nor even walked by for that matter. And not once have I seen a crack in those eternal clouds!"

One final time Harvey relocated, just to calm himself.

"Please, Please. I'm every bit as frustrated as I am so don't work myself up... I'm finished with this conversation."

And that was that, no more talk of rain or others was heard aloud. But if one chose to rest his ear against the creaky wooden floorboards he might have heard the dull thud of anxious memories still treading over the same questions.

It always rains in the Lexus module. Not one day has passed since the beginning of time that it has not. Harvey doubted that it would ever stop.

Life here was not wholly unpleasant though. The floor gave a hollow moan that always lead him to guess what mysteries lay below those worn parallels - if one could call the boards parallel. Everything seems crooked, bulging, twisted or otherwise deformed here, one learns to ignore such perceptions. Even now, Harvey paced anxiously along the hollow, skewed floor waiting to see some delusion emerge to keep him preoccupied. As usual, nobody showed up and he was left to his mental ranting that always deepened the erosions in the floorboards.

At the far end of his living room, his favorite painting was hung with care above the fireplace. He had no clear idea what it depicted but loved the colorful images just the same - most of the time. He lost himself in it for a moment, contemplating the headless figures - very much like his own - lying inert and bloody all over the dry, sunlit grass. The only intact figure among them sat to the right with tears in his eyes, mourning for the others no doubt. There was something odd about his head though. It sat, huge and white, heavily on his neck, totally disproportionate to his body, and a perfect sphere. A line of stitches curved its way around his head, neatly holding together two segments of leather, until it met itself again, forming an eternal seam. Harvey wished he could talk to the boy, if only for a minute. Maybe the stitches held back some severe wound, ah but what a curious way to mend such a cut. And why wasn't it bleeding? He turned quickly, and headed back toward the opposite end of the room, suddenly dissatisfied with its lack of realism.

The living room was rather plain and uninteresting. It consisted of a boring rectangular area that housed a green couch, a soft chair (of equally poor condition), and a vacuum healer all surrounded by faded floral wallpaper that was also torn in several locations.

"Oh what am I doing here?" he sighed aloud as he slumped to the floor.

"Why! Why! Why! And where did I come from? Where am I going, and why is my head pounding?"

Yes, Harvey was waning now. The feeling of detachment and confusion was driving him down closer and closer to the ground and further and further away from this psychotic reality. For a moment, he almost fought against the unnamable lust and sang an absurd song as he sank deeper beneath the frothy waves.

When all of the bubbles colliding
Crash into the lavender sea
Then bath the now stiffening castle
Only there will you find me.
Cast into the sunset of summers and trees
And of dry and multicolored leaves,
And the fairies and frogs all know whom
The god of fish is nothing new.
Don't worry don't worry
'Bout that aging tale, I forgot it anyway.
I'm going down so call the worms
To aid in my decay.

Harvey wept.

The tears came in violent draughts that tried to mimic the rain outdoors. He cried not only because of his sadness but also from shame. These tears, he knew, were not a product of 'sadness', the ball-headed boy's eyes had taught him that at least. No, not sadness, there is no real sadness merely self-pity. The sorrow twisted itself into a stringy singularity of a damp blue hue throbbing with the shame of self-pity, never decreasing, only ever increasing, increasing, and increasing...

"Eternity, Recycle this mirth!" Harvey pleaded.

Using all the energy in his thin body, he managed to hoist himself as far as his arms and knees and arch his head backward. Looking upward from this infantile position he choked the tears from his throat to offer his cry again.

"Help me... please."

Perhaps the sobs shrouded an answer; Harvey didn't think so. After all, he was alone. Forsaken by nobody, he lowered his head and rested it on his forearm. Harvey turned and began to crawl.

The room was now bulging and seemed so much larger than it had only moments earlier. Harvey crawled desperately for the couch longing every moment to be out to this accused black hole. A river of salt and water beaded and rolled downward toward the pits at either side of the bulging floor. It gathered where the floor met the wall. The house screamed. The floor moaned as it stretched with Harvey's torrents of virtual pain and anguish. The whole of the Lexus module writhed almost like it would re-collapse in on itself.

Harvey reached out, he failed and found nothing. He nearly toppled sideways as he wiped the flood from his eyes. He reached again, only this time his hand slid skillfully under the left cushion and came to rest on the divine metallic object of his desire.

The cure emerged from under the cushion, a blade, with a sharp cutting edge. Harvey fell flat, rolled onto his back and raised his left arm towards the ceiling. He took the blade tightly by his right hand- the stronger - and pierced the vacuum wrapped plastic at the biceps, dragging and curving its canyon around the small nozzles almost to his wrist. The wound was very deep indeed. Two smaller - but not shallower - wounds were created, intersecting the larger. The gush of blood replaced the tears as his arms fell to the floor. A god's blade pierced the singularity of sorrow and reality spilled from its spherical confines and continued to diffuse until once again, the floor was flat and the walls strait.