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Jack stood upon a hilltop of colourless grass, surrounded by lifeless trees, decaying plants and adried lake, all engulfed by the pale grey and cloudless sky. He was the only sign of life. Althoughtrying to remain still, Jack found himself spinning slowly, as if the ground beneath him wasmoving. Somehow, this didn't unsettle him. He was too distracted by the emptiness that seemedto close in on him as the trees steadily moved past exposing more arid land.Now moving of his own free will, he gradually turned his head, trying to take in this mass of "nothingness". As if he was outside his own body, he experienced himself mouthing the words"God... is this all there is?". Jack didn't actually speak, he just felt himself expel the sentence fromhis mind which sent the words spiralling into the pale lonesome world that surrounded him.On turning back to his original position, he was surprised to find an easel with a blank canvasright in front of him. This certainly wasn't here before; where did it come from? It was at the exactmoment this question popped into Jack's mind that he noticed something in his hand... apaintbrush. There was a feeling that he had been holding it the the whole time, although he never paid it any notice until now. It looked just as he imagined an ordinary paintbrush to look. A lightbrown wooden handle with dried white paint stuck to it and a muddy-looking silver ferrule holdingtogether the stiff dark bristles made this paintbrush look somewhat aged. Somehow, he didn't feellike he was holding something old, but rather something with experience. The difference between"old" and "experienced" seemed important to the background of this brush at the time. Stillholding it loosely, still perplexed by its very existence.After several minutes of blankly staring at the paintbrush, Jack took it in his right hand and placedthe head on the palm of his left hand so he could feel the texture of the bristles. The expectationhe had of feeling the hairs of the brush gently breeze past his skin made the actual reality of it allseem that much worse. Instead of this, the sharp stiffened bristles easily sliced into his skinwithout resistance, forcing an immediate jerk of his hand which resulted in a small gash in hispalm about an inch long. Swearing to himself, Jack threw the brush to the ground and made a fistwith his freshly cut hand, allowing the sting to brace through him so he could get used to the painas soon as possible. One loud sigh later, Jack opened his hand to assess the damage. Nowound. His palm looked fine. No broken skin, no gash, no blood at all.He quickly stepped over to the paintbrush, picking it up to examine the bristles, and just like heexpected, the berry-red blood was there, clinging to its fine hairs, not a drop dripping despite thelittle flick he gave it, encouraging the blood to move. With one more look at his perfectly intactpalm, Jack's attention swiftly moved back to the easel, which he now felt had significant purpose.An irresistible power shivered through his body as he stood no more than two feet from the easel.Stepping forward with an air of determination, he began to lightly stroke the canvas with thepaintbrush. As before, the hilltop felt like it was spinning again, slowly rotating the dry lifelesslandscape that surrounded him.Just as he earlier felt his thoughts leave his body and empty out into the vast expanse aroundhim, Jack was now feeling new thoughts and images fly towards him, his hand perfectly still,holding the paintbrush as gently as he would a duckling, allowing the tip of the blood-stainedbristles to carefully caress the canvas. Just a dot. Despite not being able to make out exactdetails of these thoughts and images that were now flooding in, blossoming new emotionsthroughout his body and the land, Jack could sense a vivid and very wonderful source of power now surrounding the whole landscape. Physically, nothing had yet changed, but somehow,everything was different.Pictures entered his mind and filtered through his brain, relieving themselves of their stories andexiting again in a magnificent glow that did not startle, but instead gave a sense of warmth andsecurity. These pictures arose and seemingly began to breath, touching Jack with a light air thatsent shivers through his spine in a way he would never forget and probably never experienceagain. From his spine, to his head, then back down through his arms and onto the canvas, a

tingle sparked through him and an energy left the paintbrush as it began to bleed colour from it'stip.From the one inky dripping dot that he painted spread spirals, zig-zags and webs of colour,creating a mass of life on the canvas that at first was all Jack could focus on. Then he realised inthe world around him, the same thing was happening, as the dark, plain dreary atmospherebegan to liven up, producing spurts of colour and imagination that left him with an eery sense of optimism.Seeping from these colours came shadows. Shadows that formed alien-like creatures thatreminded him of a low-budget sci-fi movie. They slowly drew closer, multiplying but alsodeveloping into clearer shapes. As if looking at several freshly snapped polaroid pictures, Jackwatched these dark shadows grow features and liven up with bright colours and bold eyes.People. People hurrying past, leaving a slight blur behind them as they rushed through thelandscape. There was a familiar look on their faces. He knew these people, yet couldn't quitedecide on where he knew them from.Jack had an off-putting sensation cut through him as he watched these colourful people. Thecolours once again arose and began to breed new people and images. A great oak tree nowstood before him on top of a hill as he watched a scene unfold where young children sang anddanced around it, seemingly overjoyed by its existence. Jack was now aware of the relevance of the stories that gathered in his mind while his head filled with images and emotion. Withouthearing any actual words, he found himself being told of a "knowledge tree", once found bychildren in an unknown land. They continued to dance in front of him, growing with every step,turning into teenagers, then adults. Within seconds they seemed to age at least 20 years, growingtaller and less agile, now slowly pacing around the tree.It wasn't long until Jack put the pieces of the story together. The children were not dancing, buthopping and jumping as high as they could, trying to reach the fruit of this "knowledge tree" theysang about. He watched them grow and get closer to the lowest hanging piece of fruit, never taking their eyes off it. Eventually, the tallest person fondled the fruit for a moment until hemanaged to snap it from its branch, resulting in everyone stopping around him, staring at his prizein anticipation. It took him almost two minutes to eat the fruit, two minutes that didn't meananything to those around him because time stood still until he swallowed the last bite.From a distance Jack watched as this new hero stood before his people, proudly talking to them,head held high, full of hope and promise. He gestured to them to step back and give him somespace, unbuckled his belt, took it off and whipped it up onto a branch. On his third attempt he hit asnag on the branch and pulled his belt with all his might, shaking four more pieces of fruit fromthe tree. They were quickly eaten by four new people, who all ran off into the distanceimmediately while everyone else looked bemused. As soon as the four faded out of the picture,they came back into light, carrying ladders, baskets and wearing the biggest grins imaginable.Jack was watching these people learn for the very first time.Jack remained still, knowing the life in front of him was the only motion he needed. Thelandscape changed from green, to a golden yellow, to a rich orange until it ended up brown andslightly dreary. This came in cycles, which occurred more quickly and sped through the colours asthe people too began to move at a frightening pace. He watched the fruit blossom and getharvested over and over again, the people below each time looking more and more sophisticatedas they gathered and ate the fruit.Taking Jack by surprise, the landscape spun 180 degrees, leaving him looking towards a wholenew gathering of people. They seemed as youthful as the people he originally met, but just sittingthere, keeping to themselves and not noticing him, the tree or the people by the tree. When heturned himself around to once again look at the sophisticated characters, he could tell they toohad spotted the new arrivals. It was obvious that they looked worried as they scurried about until

the tallest of them all, their leader, appeared. Jack watched him gesture to his people. Again, nowords, but he could still understand what was going on. They wanted to defend their tree fromintruders.Time began to quicken once more as an entirely new scene began to unfold. Branch after branch,they hacked into the tree, using the wood to make picket fences, surrounding themselves, makingsure nobody from the outside could get to their beloved tree. They chopped and they sweated,with a fierce look of pride in their eyes. They were doing this for their people... truly something tobe proud of.Jack looked up, seeing clouds for the first time, then noticed how the fences were expanding,getting closer to the new people, who were no longer sitting still, but living their own lives in whatlooked like a peaceful village. These people looked worried as the fences drew nearer, nowentering their farms and gardens. The clouds above started to melt and flatten out, they nowlooked like newspapers. The headlines talked about fighting for freedom and removing thedanger of invasion.It was clear there was only going to be one winner here, as the sophisticated race continued tomake use of the wood provided by their tree, now turning it into bows, arrows and other weapons.The picket fence burst open as what looked like thousands of people charged into this littlevillage, completely obliterating it. Jack could see no real violence, but seeing the colours of onerace engulf the other made the point very well. One side was slaughtered.The newspapers in the sky changed their stories, now talking of success and progression. A"New World" was anticipated, free from intruders, war and barbarian enemies. He watched thesoldiers march home in uniform, very much alive but with pale faces that looked deathly. Theyarrived home to where the tree once stood. In place of the tree stood a huge factory. The soldierscontinued their march while gradually removing their uniforms, some revealing office attirebeneath their layers, others in work clothes.Jack now found himself inside this vast factory which seemed to be broken up into three sections.Before examining his surroundings, he took a closer look at the people around him. They were alot less colourful and surreal. They now looked 100% lifelike. He peeked through a dirty windowand found himself looking in the first room. Desks and chairs were lined up in front of achalkboard. One person stood at the top of the room, gesturing while hundreds of others sitting atthe desks took notes and scribbled.A sharp alarm beeped in one loud burst and startled Jack. He took a step back from the windowand looked on with utter astonishment as he watched the people leave the first room and head for the next. He ran ahead of them and took a look inside second room. More desks. He recognisedthe clothing everyone was wearing as the office attire some of the soldiers unveiled as theyentered the factory building. They too were leaving and heading towards a different room. Jackquickly became transfixed on the people leaving the first room as they started to fade-out slightly,like ghosts, then fade back into focus now in the office clothing the soldiers wore. They hadreplaced the previous workers.Looking back, Jack found the classroom to once again look full, so carried on forward to the thirdroom. What Jack saw just didn't make any clear sense to him. The office workers queued up insingle file, stepping onto a conveyor belt. The belt lead to a machine that was operated by thesoldiers now in workman clothes. The sight that seemed to betray Jacks sense of reality morethan anything else was how the office workers froze still on the conveyor belt and fell over into abig pile of lifeless workers. He was certain they now looked wooden. One office worker at a time,the workmen tossed them into the machine.Moments ago when everything seemed all so very surreal and artsy, this wouldn't have effectedJack all that much. But these were now real people he was looking at. Being processed from one