A blistering wind buffeted my parchment duster as I stood on the icy bridge of Lost and Found, watching rail cars rip by. I had just disembarked from a dangerous train, it’s locomotives powered by dragon hearts thumping onomatopoeia! onomatopoeia! onomatopoeia!

I came to this world as a Wanderer in search of my Self, landing with all that was left of Me. The black soot rained down and there appeared my horizon, a brilliant shot against a western sky.

I waited for long, lost in the tricks of time. On the last day before the day before last, I felt a voice address me, “Quickly Robert quickly, I will arrive.” I stepped to the center of a loan dirt road, a strip of fragrant soil belted across a vast wasteland of sulfur, nickel and lead.

Soon, framed by a sinking moon, an outline of a piece of myself, a shadow of me, one I had lost long ago. My shadow stretched towards, until it rose up and stood before me. Like a long lost friend, my old soul delivered an apologetic greeting:

“Please excuse my beauty.”