There is a robin's egg on the ground which I cannot save. I turn and they fill the space on the ground, surrounding me. But they are all dead. I know they have been cold for hours, or otherwise the life was shaken from them. My heart weeps for them, vomiting blood into a sunken area of ground to create a pond. I place the eggs carefully within, letting them bob gently. It resembles a carnival game involving water and ping-pong balls. They move together, slowly, creating a vortex. A partition comes to the edge, and I am invited in. My lack of blood makes me light, and I walk on top of them as I am guided towards a swirling tunnel in the center, made of eggs. I walk on one stair that appears and reappears in front of my feet, moving me forward and down. I hit snow. It is blue. I squeeze a clump in my hand. It is warm. I eat it, and I am turned into liquid. I seep into the snow, leaping in and out of it to move. I hit a piece of ice. It is a frozen lake, made of a mirror. I look at myself. I am blood.  I cover the mirror. I see a different landscape in its reflection. I sit up, and I am somewhere else. I am made of separate parts of marble. There is no sky. The ground is made of large crystals, and I sit in a purple puddle. I see foothills. I run to them. They look soft. They caress my retinas. I jump on the top of one, and it sends me upward. I fall into the no-sky. I grow wings. I stabilize myself. I find a nearby planet with nothing on it, except a gold staff. I take the staff, and it unpins the planet, sending it spinning. I find the world. I save the world with my staff and my wings and my marble body. The world dies. I cannot save it. There are worlds around me in ruin. I killed them all. My heart vomits blood.

This is not a story.