Braided wheat. Shallow wind blowing from the northeast. Foetid smells of rotting grain. Pale sun shone through pallid clouds that rolled on past the horizon. An uncomfortable heat that sat over everything.

It was early July. Kansas.

Steps crackling on the broken wheat like thunder in the far distance. A sweater accomplishing its task with hyper-efficiency. Unpronounceable terror hanging in the air as heavy as the rain threatening, that would never come.

Footsteps ran hollow. Unnaturally echoing in a space that should hold no echo. A room with no ceiling, yet felt like an old drop ceiling in a musky shallow basement.

I drew a deep breath of the air. Uncomfortable, like taking a deep sip of salt water. Something was not right. I heard my own footsteps, like a predator creeping up on its prey in the dead of night.

I drew near an opening in the field.

My mind was racing, and dulled. Every thought felt like a hammer on my skull. The land reflected my pain, as if my mind was a totem for the world. The pangs of thought, echoed out across the land as if the earth and my mind were simultaneously ripping open like a new-born infant screaming in to the world.

I stumbled and fell into the clearing. I looked up to the sky, and saw nothing but the endless clouds blanketing the plains. I screamed, a wordless scream of pure horror. The world faded, my vision drew dark. I slept a dreamless slumber.