He was amazed by how colored-in the image was in his memory: the leaves that stuck to the soles o’ his feet, the way the metal fence rattled in the wind, the feel o’ the soft wood o’ the door on his wing as he went inside to eat his grandfather’s raisin oatmeal–he always had the raisin flavor; looking back, he had no idea what happened to the other flavors–& watch The Twilight Zone with him.
He tried to focus as much as he could on this image with the dead hope that he could jump back into the lost world & leave the compact dungeon in which he found himself–a’least till they finally had him hung.
He wondered if grampa would’ve been proud or ashamed o’ him for what he did for Wasabi Woods…