It was raining. James Crowley, 19, looked up and regretted it as soon as the droplet of water whacked him in the eye. This one stung, which was odd, because water rarely actally did that. He ignored it, which is the normal human reaction to anything that makes no sense. The back sole of his shoe flapped on the pavement as he walked amuogst the nondescript streets.
As he passed, he caught his reflections eye in a puddle. He was smallish, but not exactly small and had a large head covered in mousey brown hair, like rebellious moss. His eyes glinted gold on blue from the rusty street lamp which had been there since the beginning of the universe (probably) and sat exactly on the corner between Knoll Road and East Park Cresent . It was porthiseaned so that if you stood behind it in a certain way, you couldn't see the road ahead. Which was exactly what was happening now, but it was rarely a problem. In a bored kind of mood, he swang around the corner and............
Every flicked, what had once been a road was a flickering, hell-like picture. Purple spikes hammered through the road, the air covered in dust, choking him. Ready to puke, James reached out for something, anything to lean on, but the groutsque purple spikes flinched from his touch. He fell to the ground, or would have if it hadn't fallen away from him. He dropped, spiraled through the air and then landed hard on a wooden floor, his body screaming at the pressure. To make things worse, he proceeded to throw up.
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