I am convinced that we have somehow leapt into an alternate reality. This foreign place is, in appearance, the island. Every surface is sticky, as on the island. Even the familiar island smell lingers here–stale, tinged with raspberry jelly and the faint aura of urine (Messy’s doing; he has yet to master his toilet habits). Despite appearances, however, something is not right. It is too quiet–eerily so. All three of the tiny natives have fallen into sleep at the same time, and because of this, I know we are not where we belong. There is too much freedom. Too much peace. This is not my world.
I will do everything in my power to find a way home for us… Perhaps next week.
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