but I can sometimes conjure up the sensation of having the FOV slider turned up past 90. Just the feeling of everything stretching out but still being the same scale relative to things near it. The walls of the room feeling so distant from my point of view, smaller than the space I occupy as some larger observer in some fourth dimension. My hands feeling so very tiny, holding tiny things.

𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯

I don't have a lead-in aside from the context that there were dangerous men on the loose. Why they were deemed such was never clarified. Anywho I wound up in an empty, musty warehouse with them.

I thought I was shaping up for a nightmare, but they were all asleep. I recalled the trio's name then: The Butter Men. Every one of them wore some mark of butter. One man slept upright in a stool, shirtless in jeans, butter slathered on his hairy chest. And like, another dude was near him but invisible. My mind only gave the implication of his presence.

Guy number three was ginger and bearded, wore white boxers with holes and occupied a dirty, bare mattress on the ground. He laid on his side. He extended toward me a stick of butter with a bite taken out, paper and all. I did not want to come between this man and his butter.

A leftist