“Oh *I* see, Mr. Robot,” she said, standing directly behind him and looking over his bent head. “You drew yourself, see, but you forgot to paint what is in front of yourself. You were too… self centric.”
“Who are you?” the brown mechanoid issued, not liking criticism of his art, however valid it was. “What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”
She realized she didn’t know the answer to any of these.
—–
She was on a raft in the whirlpool now, art come to life. Around and around and around at a dizzying pace she went. She decided to phone a friend.
“Hello. Liz? Can you hear me over the *roar*? I’m in trouble! Come get me at 232, um, 222… dang I can’t remember where I live!” The whirlpool swallows her. She wakes up.
—–
Another dream about the upper levels,” Shelley relayed to Liz later on. “Where I’m grown.”
“I see.” Liz recently felt she needed to put a stop to all that.
Sunklands 