The following is intended for bizarre audiences only.

Welcome to the Midnight Library.

Mr. Darling, last night I saw you reading in my dream, but I couldn't tell which book you had because your paw covered the spine.

Do you recall what it was?

I certainly do, madam. It was a fairy book or the proper method of enticing the unceilie court to a masked ball.

Oh, how divine. Do you recall their instructions?

I could do better than recall, madam. I wrote them down just before the entire book turned to leaves in my hands.

Darling, are we in a dream now?

Do you know, madam? I'm never completely sure.

Walking the aisle at your local supermarket, you push your empty, resting shopping cart along in a cloudy state of mind.

The muffled music playing overhead is familiar. It's an old song that stirs an uncomfortable memory and sour emotion from long ago in your past.

A pang of disappointment momentarily tightens your stomach as you walk.

You frown and pull your crinkled shopping list from your pocket.

All of the items are in your handwriting, but you struggle to make sense of them.

The list reads, blurk shine, floss keep, gold out.

Real-like words that have now meaning to you.

Slowing to read the cereal boxes as your cart rolls to a stop.

The names and characters on all of them are as confusing as your note.

Joke kiss, ground impulse. A box-marked buck mojis has a silly looking spoon creature on it, being fed by a smaller spoon creature.

A night you stare at the boxes, biting at a hand nail.

A dull pain behind your right eye interrupts your concentration.

And, winsing, you fold your list, abandon your empty cart, and leave the unhelpful store.

...