Contained within is an alternative. An overlay and augmentation to the house. Yes! That's all it is. His vector-men. Intangible tangibles here in my house. Welcome to my house. Yet, on the events, comes the Vacuum. What a clean house. A few things tossed here and there but otherwise clean. Is it? At least I think it is. Wheels on flat roads, it moves well. So, let us speak.
Occasion rolls nice. But the Vacuum. Tumultuous enough fills his house that the air of his lungs are emptied and eyes obscured and frozen in motion and straight lines on his face and seeing and listening and watching and furthering dimming and finally. Ah. I see. It all makes sense.
Vacuum is a dampening. Noisy thing. Sounds fill the room. An emptying of something in here, what, I can see, and thus, at the peak of your existing existlessness and complete incompleteness it brings about a time stop.
Time must have a Stop.
Thank you. Now what is it, I send their feet to cross the frame or my own? Who leaves here? Perhaps like this. Vacuum contagion under my roof, then he goes, yes, crushed his vectors and crumbled them to dust and without answer to the questions or the checking and the affirmations and take in the house again. Bitter, but it's different this time.
Chose to be just. Least in my thought. Rapid and terminal. Scowled, but take it in. What happened? Nothing. And you know what? Revel. Enjoy it. Felt good. Such in the rolling of this rock flips to the side and it is a new thing. It's the house as it were before anything. Indeed, nothing happened. Though you see the ashes within the box and the scent of tar, it is in my hands, and I may dispose. No longer walked in, but observed keen from the next day eye something forgettable. Dumb. Not of value. Perhaps to you, but this time, I think it'll make sense. Enjoying the empty house. Yes. And when I greet you later, let's just say I'll gleefully speak through the crack. Yes. Calm, relaxed, through the drip feed.
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