It had all started with a sock. One bright mid-afternoon, a warm breeze tenderly caressing the curtains, while dust motes leisurely swam in the golden light. The room, a perfect mirror of your inner landscape. Everything, in the right place. Until you noticed that something wasn’t: your peripheral vision had caught a tiny dark figure gingerly making its way under your bed, carrying one of the two socks that had been hanging on the radiator. You shook awake from your reverie — impossible! But no matter how carefully or how many times you looked, no trace of it, even under the bed. Had this really happened? Slowly, and then suddenly, your certainties crumbled: could you trust yourself with your own version of reality? This tiny clumsy creature had brought width and breadth to what had so far been a flat and linear conception of truth: you were at the edge of an unfathomable chasm. As you reeled away from it, you realised there was no coming back. Your head was spinning and you lost your footing. A thick hairy hand had emerged from under the bed and was grabbing your leg as it pulled you in. There was no shouting, no agony, no choice… you simply had to let go.