text: [Themes: Fantasy, poetry]
  
  > Describe the surroundings
  High in the air, she could see it all: the island, the river with its bank, the path leading up to the gates, and the city beyond. It was beautiful.
  
  The only way out was back down to the shrine.
  
  Painted lanterns undulated just barely within view.
  
  > Down
  This, at least, was familiar; there were shrines like this all over the mainland, dedicated to the Protector worshiped in ancient theology. This one was set apart by its distinctive watchtower rising upward into the cold sky. She could also go south, southeast, southwest, or up into the tower.
  
  Franz was gone.
  
  > Go southwest
  A circular stone platform with carved geometric designs surrounded an ancient stone well. It was in places like these that the old Theists offered prayers, and the first Monists held their whirlings all those centuries ago. Great rocks surrounded the western half of the circle. The spirit tunnel led west through them. The eastern half of the circle was open, allowing passage to the east, northeast, and southeast.
  
  Sophie's father stood there, seething, menacing, holding a knife to Franz.
  
  Franz, captive, shivered, a slight blue glow dancing about his teary eyes, and a pale, wavering, blue cocoon of light shielding him against the attacks of Sophie's father.
  
  Her father turned as she approached. "Stay out of my way, Sophie," he commanded. "It is at last time to end this aberration."
  
  > look at Franz
  He was thoroughly wet and entirely dazed.
  
  > look at the father
  He had changed much since Sophie had last seen him. All the love and care had gone from him.
  
  The blue glow about Franz faded as Sophie's father drew the knife toward his throat.
  
  Again the train slowed, and Johann saw a vast field of corn approaching ahead, the golden tuft of hair on every ear rippling in a slow breeze. He turned to the fisherman at his side, and was about to ask, "Can you see that? Isn't it splendid?"
  
  But as suddenly as he had appeared, the fisherman had departed. Although he had seen too many things out of the ordinary to wonder where the man had gone, Johann wished very much that he had said more to his fellow passenger while he had the chance.
  
  "People come and go so quickly on this train," he remarked to his sister. "At least I know you won't disappear on me."
  
  She nodded silently, shifting in her seat.
  
  II. Avery's Diary
  
  I am Avery Jones, and I am a schoolteacher.
  
  15 December 1921.
  Am working on a new story I'm calling "Johann's Ticket." Have sketched out the basic arc already, and am trying to round it out into something to send off to the city publishers again, though I suspect I'll just end up having a small run printed at my own expense, as I did with "One More Painted Lantern" and the poetry.
  
  Noticed today that it's been over a month since I started teaching. Think I may have developed a knack for it. Seems the trick is to pay textbooks only the very little attention they're due, and to keep the children excited. Mme S. didn't seem much too pleased with this method at first, but I seem to have won the children's admiration, and the respect of my superiors has gradually followed.
  
  Had a real shock today when Benjamin Harker became ill during rehearsal for the play. When I had sent for his parents, I started cleaning up, at which point I confirmed my suspicions that the Harker family has it bad enough that they're eating mostly kelp. This prompted me to at last discuss the possibility of an agronomics curriculum with Mme S. She didn't seem too adverse to the idea. Also convinced Mr. Harker to let me have a look at his soil.
  
  Everyone seems to be catching the autumn sickness. Lately my coughing has been deeper and more difficult, and Lucy's begun coughing as well. Am doing my best to encourage hygiene among my pupils, but convincing any of them to show any concern for his own health is a struggle.
  
  You,
  Great Explorer,
  
  > About yourself
  You,
  Great Explorer,
  
  [That word is either insignificant or not part of the poem.]
  
  > say onward
  (to Avery Jones)
  
  You,
  Great Explorer,
  
  [That word is either insignificant or not part of the poem.]
  
  > Explorer
  You,
  Great Explorer,
  running off into the forest
  
  > Running
  You,
  Great Explorer,
  running off into the forest
  to seek the light you saw inside,
  wear your damn raincoat!
  
  I am Avery Jones, and I am weak.
  
  21 September 1933.
  Am coughing up more blood than usual. Chills have set in harder. Some delirium this morning. All in all, is much like Lucy's last day. Had an unexpected visitor; Mr. Harker got word I'd returned to my parents' house and came to describe the condition of his crop, looking for advice. Convinced him to stay for some time, though Father seemed eager to shoo him away. Was discreet about my difficulties, and I don't think Mr. Harker caught on, but since he left things have deteriorated further. This is likely the end. Will attempt a traditional sort of rhyme, but this had better not end up on my tombstone, as I'm no Longfellow.
  
  > Alone
  
  > Sea
  our rising hopes, our growing fears;
  to claim these both she waits.
  
  I am Avery Jones, and I am in despair.
  
  27 November 1922.
  Went out for a walk today. Couldn't do anything else. I had walked all the way down to the creek before I even realized how far I'd gone.
  
  Back when it all started, when she coughed up blood for the first time, I'd gone there looking for a maple branch. "I want one full of sap," she'd said, "and with icicles hanging down." I'd thought it selfish and frivolous of her to ask, when it seemed so necessary that I remain. It occurred to me only today that it was the most selfless thing she could have done -- to give me leave when I most needed it.
  
  This evening I thought, for a moment, that I had seen a bird. I thought, for a moment, that I was saved. But it was not a flurry of wings. It was only the dead falling of snow from the limb of an oak. It took some time to disinter my face from the wet folds of my handkerchief.
  
  When I had finished a prayer for the repose of Lucy's soul, I observed the noise of the water's currents below. The wind ran its fingers through my hair. It was calling me home. The water was pulling me in. It was calling me to jump.
  
  > Self
  
  > Cling
  with bonds imitating love
  
  > Love
  with bonds imitating love
  to objects of my own construction
  is a pale blue light
  cast by the flickering lamp
  fed on an alternating current.
  
  I didn't jump. Instead I found a low-hanging branch nearby, craned my neck heavenward, and sung the most bitter chorus of "How Great Thou Art" the world has ever heard.
  
  Johann strained his eyes, staring deep into the round void outside. "I don't see a thing," he said.
  
  His sister pointed excitedly out the window "There's a small, pale blue light out there, right there in the middle!" He stared as hard as he could, and still he saw nothing, but then a small dim something appeared, just where she had been pointing.
  
  "I see it!" he shouted, but his sister was no longer there, and turning back to that dim form in dread he saw that it was his sister, half a mile from the train or more, waving goodbye as she receded into the dark.
  
  III. Jamaica Center Bound
  
  You are Dr. Howard Mann, and you are on the E train.
  "This is a Jamaica Center bound E local train. The next stop is Jamaica -- Van Wyck."
  
  "Stand clear of the closing doors, please."
  
  The dates and names of the diary run over and over in your mind, though you have tired of reading.
  
  A man sleeps opposite you, twitching fitfully.
  
  The clock reads 5:13 pm.
  
  > check what you're carrying
  You are carrying:
  Avery's diary
  
  A shake and a rumble.
  
  > examine diary
  You can read no more of the photocopied manuscript of Avery's diary, though it occupies a vast territory in your conscious mind. He was your favorite poet growing up and the subject of your doctoral thesis. On your more grandiose days you imagine yourself to be his modern reincarnation. This is not one of your more grandiose days.
  
  "This is Jamaica -- Van Wyck. Transfer is available to the F train"
  
  The doors open.
  
  > Leave
  Aborting your plans, you step off the train early and board the next Manhattan-bound E train. Tonight you'll eat too much ice cream and watch a romantic comedy at home in Rego Park.
  
  That night, you dream you run into one of the characters in Avery Jones's children's novel One More Painted Lantern, a girl named Sophie. She is sad, soaked to the bone, and alone, and all you can say to her is:
  
  > say hello
  (to the sleeping man)
  Sophie could say nothing; she had always been unable to speak, and the language of the speechless had been forgotten long ago.