Chapter 47

           ThomashadnoconceptoftimeashewentthroughtheChanging.

           ItstartedmuchlikehisfirstmemoryoftheBoxdarkandcold.Butthistimehehadnosensationofanythingtouchinghisfeetorbody.Hefloatedinemptiness,staredintoavoidofblack.Hesawnothing,heardnothing,smellednothing.Itwasasifsomeonehadstolenhisfivesenses,leavinghiminavacuum.

           Timestretchedon.Andon.Fearturnedintocuriosity,whichturnedintoboredom.

           Finally,afteraninterminablewait,thingsbegantochange.

           Adistantwindpickedup,unfeltbutheard.Thenaswirlingmistofwhitenessappearedfarinthedistanceaspinningtornadoofsmokethatformedintoalongfunnel,stretchingoutuntilhecouldseeneitherthetopnorthebottomofthewhitewhirlwind.Hefeltthegalesthen,suckingintothecyclonesothatitblewpasthimfrombehind,rippingathisclothesandhairliketheywereshreddedflagscaughtinastorm.

           Thetowerofthickmistbegantomovetowardhimorhewasmovingtowardit,hecouldn’ttellincreasingitsspeedatanalarmingrate.Wheresecondsbeforehe’dbeenabletoseethedistinctformofthefunnel,henowcouldseeonlyaflatexpanseofwhite.

           Andthenitconsumedhim;hefelthismindtakenbythemist,feltmemoriesfloodintohisthoughts.

           Everythingelseturnedintopain.

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