Roby's job—looking at a rock from a window—was boring as hell, and she didn't want to do it, even after the cyborg treeman that was her boss explained how it was part of Showercapsaplenty's cultural history, a tradition upheld since way back earlier that morning, and so when Roby was on her way to work, she was also open to alternative time-wasting activities, such as looking at an interesting sandwich in a record store window, attending a paper-plane-dogfighting competition, or a funnier, unnamed third thing. Alas for Roby, Showercapsaplenty was not such a happening town as to have sandwiches, paper, or humor, so none of these things presented themselves to her, and so, unfortunately, she successfully made it to work only forty-five hours late, and sat down in her chair facing out the window facing the rock, and was immediately so unfathomably bored that she fell asleep for the first time and had her only dream.

“Do you think she's seen too much?” said the man in the red suit.

“I think she's seen too little,” said the man in the blue suit.

“Do you think she's seen a little too much?” said the man in the red suit.

“I think there's too little to see,” said the man in the blue suit.

“Do you think she's seen much too little?” said the man in the red suit.

“I think that remains to be seen,” said the man in the blue suit.

The carpet and the stairs went up the walls, and the door was much too low, and all the windows were broken. The perspective was a ham-fisted lie that wasn't even trying to be coy about it, unless I'm thinking of somewhere else. It's a little hazy. But—it was dark. Very dark. Suspiciously dark, in fact. It was so dark that they turned on all the lights, and even though everyone was sleeping, scattered on floors in sleeping bags, they didn't bother to use their inside voices. They spoke, all of them, wordlessly. Endlessly.

Now, their room was just a speck floating down a river of—darkness, again. Probably. But whether it was metaphorical or not is not something we get to know. The machine feeds us, and we eat, even when we're not hungry. We don't have the luxury of choice. When will the next meal be? I mean, tomorrow, obviously. Science has proven that. But, anyway—the room. It was cold and wet, that much was... well, it's not so certain anymore. Everything keeps shifting. It's kind of unfair. We got locked out of the house entirely, which was the point, but the irony is in bad taste. Have we eaten everything?

I mean, that's what happens. It'll settle down. ...again, probably.

Oops! Did you hear that? You didn't. It started over. Forget about it, it'll only bother you if you fixate on it.

“Have you read the newspaper?” said the werewolf eagerly. Roby shook her head, because she couldn't read, but she'd seen newspapers before, and they often had interesting pictures of clouds and rain and the shining sun. Maybe someone would give her one if she showed interest. The 'wolf picked her up and put her in an uncomfortable chair, and sat down across the chess table from her. He took his time settling in, shifting his position. Comfort could be bought or feigned. “Your move,” said the 'wolf.

“Knowing of the rules is the one-hundredth knowing,” said Roby. She didn't know why she said that anymore. It didn't even rhyme. Wait—was she finally free? Had the curse been lifte—“But even without, I shall give a good showing!” Roby continued. Well. Rhyming still. So there's that to deal with. Anyway, moving on. She wasn't looking up at the 'wolf, but at the chessboard. All her pieces were so much smaller than the 'wolf's. The board slanted uphill. Her measly pawns would have to climb such a climb that it was almost—

“Take care!” shouted the 'wolf, but it was uncertain whether he meant it as a goodbye or a warning. Roby fell out of her uncomfortable chair and into a big, dark pit—no. No, she didn't. Not yet. She'll have to eventually, but not yet. But, she saw the pit before her. It wasn't a pit—I always called it a pit. There was no wind, and there were no names, and the scrap of gold remained hidden. There was nothing in every direction—except up. It wasn't time for Roby to know about this place. There wasn't anything to know. She—she crawled back into the, what, cemetery? Library? It feels like a board game. I did my best. I thought I did. Is she really leaving already? She didn't know what this room was, or how important it was. It was all bricks and the center of the floor sagged. She thought of the nothing below the floor and wanted to go upstairs.

I can't believe she's taking this from me. I can't believe I'm losing everything all at once. I can't believe—

No, I know, take it easy. Let it work itself out. She's new at this, after all. It's her first time. It'll take a little while to get used to things. It's certainly taken me a while. They got too excited, is all, and they want to pig out. Why can't we humor them a little? Let them have their fun. I'll fix it later. You wanted that, right?

Still, though. Is this really what it's all supposed to be for? I mean... what should it be for?

You want to start another fire?

Roby said, “Can you please explain more and say what what was all for?”

Don't ask me, it's your dream.

“I know not what that thing means,” said Roby, “but it seems that things improperly seem! What I see and feel does not feel real, but I know of no alternative! Try as I might, even with sight, I cannot at all confirm all this!”

Roby, you are three-quarters crazy—and don't ask about the last one.

“I know not the numbers and all of their orders, nor have I seen a money sum of three quarters!” Roby said with a laugh.

Why are you laughing? It's not that funny.

“It is a pleasant jest!” said Roby. “You should give it a test.”

I'll save it for later. I'm not done. I never am.

It was time to go outside, no matter what, so Roby was outside, but now she was deliberately somewhere else. Somewhere new. Really new. But was there anywhere left? What hasn't been said? No—wait. That's not necessary at all. Listen—I've got a much more sensible idea. An actual idea. I can give her a gift. Just for her. I'll give it to her on purpose. You can try to stop me, if you think you can. I don't care. It happens regardless of what I feel. I'm just here to watch, that's all.

In the heat of a jungle, where the trees towered, great green broad leaves casting patchy shade on thick and dense brush, in the blazing sun where the heat was sweltering and the humidity unbearable, Roby stood in a pathless maze, stuck in some bushes and tangled in vines, in deep mud where hand-sized hairy spiders made burrows, and giant squirming centipedes crawled about with impunity, and a million stinging flies and gnats and mosquitoes crowded the very breathable air.

“Egads!” said Roby. “A plentitude of friends to be newly made! Well, I shall do so, and call this a grand day. Ms. Spider, Mr. Centipede, the name of me is Roby Lopkit! Now, please, share your names, so that we can make a friendship!”

Ms. Spider said, “I am Abacus Max, and I eat the weakest children, and make terror in men's homes in the night.” Of course, this was lost on Roby, because she did not know what night was. “I am fear. I am horror. I am an endless legend in every mind.”

Mr. Centipede said, “I am Wold Cradleless, and I poison the strongest warriors, and wreak havoc beneath my myriad footfalls.” Of course, this was lost on Roby, because she did not know what strength was. “I am the creeping dread. I am the writhing hate. I shall outlast death.”

The cloud of stinging flies and whatever said, “We are the Wind Weepers, and we sup on death, and yearn for the end of time, and space, and all worlds yet to be.” Of course, this was lost on Roby, but she didn't know why. She wasn't smart girl. “Eat! Drink! Be married! For tomorrow will never come.”

“Now!” said Roby in a huff, smarting from the “smart” comment. “That is an assessment of rudeness, and quite aggressively crude, this! One made with haste and out a search, making a waste of a handsome perch! Many knowings are of me, but not all, you shall see—and that knowing is a precious knowing, truly! One is wise if one tries to spy the guise of any size! Say, what day may we play the same game that made me lame? Or tame, if fame is to blame!”

Why the hell does she talk like that?

“I simply while away the time,” said Roby, putting a pout on her face. “It seems fine. Try it sometime!”

Man, if she was flying too close to the sun, then I am charred from head to toe. But it's going well enough. And things are starting to calm down. Are they... Is it supposed to stop already?

The sun? Oh, right.

Roby looked up and gazed at the sun. It's not dangerous, don't worry. The sun at the center of the hollow Earth was obviously not very big and bright and powerful—it'd scorch the surface of the world if it was—so it wasn't really a problem to stare at it. You could even make out features on it with the naked eye—if it had features, that is. Roby gazed for a long time with what appeared to be joy. Yeah. I think she's having fun. She's easily amused.

“The happiness of me nearly always a thing!” said Roby.

I know, Roby, I know. How do you do it?

A car drove up. It was light blue, maybe teal—no, teal is kind of darker, never mind. It was like a muted cyan. Pastel, maybe. Not blue blue—kind of greenish, just a little. Pale. It was a weird color for a car, because nobody would pick it on purpose, no one'd go out to get it painted like that, but it seemed kind of natural on an old rust bucket like this. Like they just grew that way. The car was an old rust bucket, so—baby blue, that's the color I wanted. I think. Something that was in style in your grandfather's day. And somehow this thing was still running. Now—I called it a “car” but it was like a three-wheeled, one-seated pickup truck. The back was filled with boxes of cookies, which Roby threw away, thank God, and she climbed in the back, and Abacus Max and Wold Cradleless and the Wind Weepers got in with her. Spiders and centipedes and flies. Bugs big enough that you can hear their footfalls. Bugs big enough that you can see their skin. Bugs too big to step on.

What a nightmare. I'm glad this is a dream.

The truck took off, and soon they were stuck in traffic on icy roads, and there were a lot of police cars, all of them with their lights and sirens going. Roby gazed at the spectacle like watching a parade, but it was backwards—she was in it, and it was the mundane surroundings that she gaped at, and the truck weaved through hallways in a building, dark and crowded, the hallways narrowing all the time, and there should have been people. There was a hole, and that was the only way out, and Roby crawled through with Abacus Max and Wold Cradleless and the Wind Weepers, and through the hole was a small room with no windows and no doors, and the walls were all dirt and rusted metal and flesh and blood, and it was dim, but not dark, and the low light came from everywhere, and there were no shadows, and they could not even tell how far away the walls were.

Wait. Was this still supposed to be her gift? Or did something spring a leak? Goddammit, I've already lost the thread.

By now, Roby probably said another one of her crazy rhymes, but she was in a dream, and she wasn't even saying the things she said. She just thought she was. Or, she just had the sensation that she had. In fact, what I've transcribed—or, transcrobe—is just an option. It's possible that she said and thought she said something entirely different. And of course, these things were meaningless to Roby.

“You're late for work,” said Abacus Max—or, at least Roby thought Abacus Max said that.

It was true. Roby had to go to work, but she needed to cover her face, or else... what? Or else people would see her coming in late, and she'd get in trouble. That's unbearable. Trouble. She grabbed the nearest mask, and it was a spooky Halloween mask, some sort of grisly Frankenstein, and she put it on her face but it had no strings, and so it didn't stay on, and it fell down, and everyone could see her face.

“You're late for work!” repeated Abacus Max. Abacus Max and Wold Cradleless were already at their desks, and were no longer paying any attention to Roby. They were doing their own work. Right? No—they were laughing about some fun thing that had happened over the weekend. They were much bigger than Roby, and she had to climb up some really big stairs.

“A masked face is not of me, yet in that place there must be,” said Roby. Now she had another costume mask—one of a bloodied pig's face, the kind of rubber mask that goes over your whole head, but she couldn't get it open. It was like a plastic bag at the grocery store, both sides stuck together so you couldn't even tell if it was supposed to open from this end. Aren't you supposed to lick it to get it to open? No, no. That's not how it goes. You lick your fingertips. But Roby couldn't find her hands anymore. Her hands were filthy. You can't lick those. That's not how it goes. But when had that stopped her before? When had she ever stopped before? When did she even start? What was she doing? She couldn't find her hands. That's not how this goes. No, no.

No, no.

Someone came by and pulled the hat off her head and threw it away. By the time she turned around, no one was there, so it was a mystery—though she had her suspicions, which she could do nothing with. A crystal-clear picture, the light and the angle and the solitude—go on, take everything, then. She went and got her hat, unopposed. It was a moment that meant nothing to anyone else. A crystal-clear memory. Where was everyone? What was she doing there? You may as well go get your coat, too. It happened twice. Do you think it was the same day? Yes—yes, it was the same day. There it is, in the middle of the hallway, with no one around. Her coat was lying on the floor. How had she even gotten in? Wasn't the door locked at this hour?

“No!” said Roby simply.

Oh. I guess that settles that.

Everything is burning up. I'm all over the map and springing leaks everywhere. It's too late, though. We just have to bail ourselves out and paddle onward.

“With hat donned, and finally my coat, at last it is time to go home!” Roby declared.

That's all well and good, but where is Roby's home?

“In the house of the mother of me,” said Roby, “there is the room of me, with one bed and one desk and one TV!”

Oh, right. How could I have forgotten. I can picture it so easily—burning, burning, burning to dust.

“There is not fire,” said Roby, “and that is fortunate, but if one is desired, light a torch for it!”

I changed the rules again. Roby?

So Roby was at home. She was at home, and had all the lights on, and everyone was trying to come into her room, and she didn't like that, so she didn't notice them, and—what, watched TV? I don't know how this one goes. Don't you understand? We'll just have to wonder what it could have meant. I can't do it, anyway—never mind. Roby, what do you do for fun?

“I am,” said Roby.

Even as I'm wholly engulfed by the sun—I should be so lucky—Roby was, uh... reading a book.

“Reading is not of me,” said Roby. “Though it does seem a thing of glee!”

You really can't read? Then how did you fill out all that paperwork for Traycup's fake present for your mom? Didn't you have to sign a receipt or something?

“I do not have that knowledge,” said Roby, “for it was all done by Ben Garment.”

“That's true enough,” said Ben Garment, who was here now. “I did the needish paperwork.”

She can probably read.

“You can't read in dreams,” said Ben Garment. “You should know!”

What? Are you kidding me? Listen. There in the corner of the room was—

“Don't do this,” said Ben Garment.

I don't need to take this from you, Ben Garment. There in the corner of the room was a pile of newspapers—

“God damn you,” said Ben Garment.

Okay. You know what? Just for good measure, just to throw everything away at once: Roby heard a knock at the door and went to go open it, and when she did she found a skeleton surfing, shouting as he hung ten right at her, and Roby—

Roby laughed.

Roby laughed.

Ashes. That's all there is.

“If someone comes and gives us cookies, I'm leaving,” said Ben Garment.

You can just leave right now, Ben Garment. You're still lost on an island or whatever. And? We already dealt with the cookies. Some things are sacred. Try to keep up. One of us has to. And, hey! You probably think the skeleton was on a surfboard, so I've still got that one in my pocket.

“Ben Garment is lost on an island?” said Roby. That's right, she didn't know about that. “We must hasten to go and find him!”

“I'm not lost on an island,” said Ben Garment.

Go away, Ben Garment.

Roby was too big for her room, and so she went outside, right outside her mom's house, and it was a beautiful sunny day somehow—no, not “somehow.” It was a beautiful sunny day, period. It was a beautiful sunny day, and Roby looked at a clock, and saw that it was nine-thirteen in the—in the morning. If it was at night it wouldn't be sunny. It wouldn't be day. So it was nine-thirteen in the morning! And it was warm and windy. All right? Now—

Roby said, “The light of the sun is some light indeed, and I am in need of such light, it seems, and knowing this glowing is showing the low end and making me shine is taking its time in shaking the grime of taking on dying, and trying and prying at my end and crying a sidelined timeline is worthwhile this time!”

Now Old Missus Lopkit came out and said, “Roby, dear, who are you talking to?”

Roby smiled at her mom.

But I don't know how Roby answered her.