This was no mere nightmare. I recognized the way of seeing – that crystal-clear, three-dimensional, too-detailed view of things. I knew, too, the very spot. I blocked caller ID on my phone and called 911. Didn’t give my name. How could I explain what I’d seen, how I’d seen it? I told them I didn’t want to get involved; just please, go check on the woman. I began to draw, but drawing was no good. The police would never understand; they would waste time searching for the artist, demanding explanations that I could not begin to give them.
I saw something that looked like a golf ball. It wobbled around the desk lamp, as if studying the light. Just then, an apple bobbed by my hand—without thinking, I reached out, grabbed it, and started to take a bite.
“Stop! You can’t eat Venus.”