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There is a wrongness to some places. A wrongness that has no more to do with evil than a painting hanging crookedly from a nail, but one which disturbs far more than its own direct surroundings. This was a place of wrongness. Even flaunting the many different subtleties of the hues, the world here was flat and ultimately plain green as though he wore 3D goggles with his red eye shut.
The more he remained here, the worse the irritation grew until he felt his entire bodiless being itching like mad.
It would be a good time to stop, to scratch or roll over the grass until he'd relieved at the very least the worst of it. Just until he could focus his thoughts once more.
Ahead of him, a wall popped up from out of nowhere, and the other passed through its gates. Though he made several attempts to lie down, he followed it. This was disturbing, he thought, and very much wrong.
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