All he could remember was that it existed. It was a scrap of something, a fragment. Little more than a paragraph or two. Written by a famous man, perhaps in German, and concerning a dream. In the dream, the dreamer was writing something, but none of the words were legible, appearing more like glyphs, or cuneiform. At one point, this dreamer spilled the inkpot, and there immediately leaked into the room a sound of disembodied, hooting laughter.
"Fiction"
"Fiction"
"Fiction"
All he could remember was that it existed. It was a scrap of something, a fragment. Little more than a paragraph or two. Written by a famous man, perhaps in German, and concerning a dream. In the dream, the dreamer was writing something, but none of the words were legible, appearing more like glyphs, or cuneiform. At one point, this dreamer spilled the inkpot, and there immediately leaked into the room a sound of disembodied, hooting laughter.