There is no world but here; there is no time but now.

The mist hangs low in the valley of the farm and it never lets up. It is a wall that separates me from the Unknown that surrounds on every side. Now and again, a truck will come from the Unknown with chickens or animal feed; it will deliver its cargo, take something of ours, and then delve back into Nothing in which it belongs.

I play in the fields with grass which is never trimmed. It is as long as the hair that grows from my head, which reaches down my back. I trample and skip through the meadow all day. Sometimes I wander to the edge of Nothing where the fog reaches out with wispy arms. They beckon me in silently, but deep in my head there is a foreboding humming. I wandered into the grey darkness once, only to panic and find myself disoriented. I called out for help and my mother and father came running and saved me. I wasn’t scared away though, I continued to venture to the Edge, where there was nothing but mystery beyond.

It’s quiet in our small world, where no one bothers us except for the alien trucks, and even those don’t come every day. Day, in my world, is when I can look up and it is light. There are clouds that look a lot like the mist that sometimes block the light out. I wonder sometimes if there are nothings up there as well. They move away though, and the sun shines down.

Night, on the other hand, is when it is dark out. Although the Moon sheds a different, more glass-like light down. The mist is harder to find in the dark, but I would sometimes lie out in the fields anyway. I would gaze up at the Moon who seems to have a face of stun and surprise. She has two grey holes for eyes and one big grey hole for the mouth. She also has tiny grey holes all over her round, bright face. She also has hair almost as long as mine, but not quite. We can’t see it though, because it’s invisible, and she puts tiny little flowers in it that sparkle and shine. The moon’s name is Sheila.

If you can keep a secret, I’ll tell you something: I sometimes talk to the moon and tell it things that mother and father won’t ever know. I tell her all the birthday wishes I’ve ever made, I tell her that sometimes I wish I had someone other than her to talk to, and one time I asked her a question.

She never answered, so I never asked her anything else.

I love my little farm and I hate to think that getting in this truck will make a difference. Father says I’m going to visit my aunt, but I scream and shout with all my strength because I know that if I leave this world I’ll get lost in Nothing, and I’ll never come back.