A dark mirage of colors to show what Henry is seeing.
After
4 a.m.
The blood-soaked man stumbled out of the house, dazed. Police officers rushed him, yelling and knocking him onto his stomach.
His entire world dissolved into bubbles. Bright, eccentric bubbles, filling every square space of existence, leaving no space unturned. There was a merry-go-round in his head, spinning him joyfully around a multicolored display of art.
Art.
Yes.
He had made art.
There was a world of darkness that snuffed him out. He was falling
falling…
falling…
London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…falling…down…
His fair lady.
