Few matters would ever become as mysterious as this. Rock was in some sort of loop that united a large rock—the one near a trailhead by the Covered Bridge in Burns Park—with the nightstand of his back bedroom. He was caught in someone's imagination or dream and there seemed no escape.
There was a matter of religion stirred into these infinitely coiled thoughts. It seemed for a moment that Rock was to believe he was a savior of some sort. To accomplish the goal set before him, whatever it was, he would need to remove an invisible cord that bound him to the rock. He wasn't sure, but he suspected that the survival of man might hinge on his effort.
He was momentarily crippled by a tremendous cramp in his right calve, and his faith wavered, but only until he opened a maroon package of blackberry Gu.
It was dark out. Rock looked at his watch to see it was close to daybreak on Wednesday morning.
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