These Many Vibrant Rashes of Sanity
P.H. Madore

Accuracy became a large part of the mother in a nearby home's game of twitchy yo yo tossing. Other realities were formed by virtue of it. A cloud and crowd of newborns stood in sublime agreement at the spectacular spectacle of the melodious, hypnotically demonic flight of the yo yo. Life on earth remained strange and generally faded to blank expressions on dark walls and empty window frames filled by stained glass of otherworldly origin. Nothing seemed correct and these many vibrant rashes of sanity in a land of the dead deader and subtly dying.
Somewhere in a village, there was a fire, a flight, and a wreck.