Dude smacked himself into a glass and completely transparent yet unfathomably solid piece of window or invisible brickwall or something. Depends on what kind of technology this kid was near or had access to, but, I suppose, in the future, the barrier would have been evidently more obvious for having foreheads smacked into, but, as it was, ‘you must assume that human beings have foreheads at this time’, as it was dreamlands for lullabies for this distant, far-off imaginary person such as that I am illustrating, who knocked himself out when he smacked his head against… whatever it was.
Whatever it was, whacked him upside his box for eyeballs he calls a head so hard that he asked, “Holy crap. What happened?”
Well, that’s that, I guess. Down he go, after that. Boom, he knocked hisself th’ hell out. It was tweety birds and vanishing firecrackers for our lad.
Goodbye! Goodbye, he says, to the blue monster called the havoc wreaking sky and the clouds on it, or just around the corner of it, out of vision, waiting to appear, maybe they will, who knows, maybe the sky itself would answer our question on this.
“Hey! Itself!” this one guy yells. “Can we ask you a question?”
“Sure,” replies the blue and white and dark clouded sky, dark clouds kind of in the back listening to some tunes or being more jazzy than the morning crew which is the ideomatic puffy brothers we all know and love, sky all blue and deep and meaningful like containing the rest of the answers to existence behind a bouncing and scattered fire of blue.
“Will the clouds appear?” we ask, because that was the question we were planning on asking, should the sky and the puffy mist vapor clouds that always screamed at it in defeaning silence and roaring thunderstorms, not be too busy with the whole thing to respond to us.
“They already did,” the sky replies.
“Fantastic,” we think, and on we march.