Fisher was having one of those dreams where all he could do was sit in a particular spot and look around.
A man with a red cross on his chess beckoned him down off his perch to play chest, insisting he take white.
“Black goes first,” he said after Fisher is seated, promptly sliding a pawn to King 4. Fisher found he was frozen again, unable to protest the rules change. The pieces moved before him against his will. It was over in 13: black triumphs once more. “Boris Spaskey!” he cussed, then imagined a black crow perched on the tombstone of a freshly dug grave. He didn’t dig it. He didn’t!
Objects spread beneath the waters in all sorts of mad ways.
A captain and his trip.
Dorothy at the beginning of both the yellow and red bricked roads. Spinning.
Another dreamer floated nearby, a mermaid.
She was having a slightly different dream where Fisher sat at a red desk and watched several stationary red spots in front of him.
When he moved, they moved (slightly).
It was time to talk to the red brain-heart.