the wish for an umbrella- was the foremost thought in wilburys heavily sleep-muddled mind as he stumbled along wet and dreary sidewalks, feet sloshing in the puddles spilling over from the overflowing gutters.
fitfully, he tried to tug his feeble knit cap over most of his face, blocking off a near-unobstructed by anything other than rain-but rather redundant view of a startling storm-grey sky while utterly failing to block any more than thirty precent of the incoming rain.
the raggedy old umbrella had given his lax hands a rebellious slip just under half-an-hour ago. whisking away in the same thieving gust of current that had playfully slid the sagging cap practically over to the back of his rain-slicked skull. a position which-although was very much approved by the back of his head did absolutely no justice to his front, which caused the aforementioned front to quickly lose all remaining visibility and with sudden decisiveness go flying left-year-forward in direct collision with the nearest wall-accounting for the state of sleep-muddledness.
if that even was a word.
all the while willburry continued to stumble on forward, hands clenched fitfully now above his brow as he shielded himself from the most immediate downpour of rain. somewhere in the back of his thoroughly shaken mind-a little voice piped that 'concussion' was a far more fitting term than 'sleep-muddledness' at the given moment. and more-or-less always. but all that fitful and thoroughly ignored and forgotten subconscious musing-it must be said-was, at least to willburry himself at that moment completely inconsequent, and went unnoticed by the muster himself in the face of the seemingly more pressing demand for an umbrella.
perhaps the sleep-muddledness itself was at fault for making an umbrella seem to the young man more important than the inner workings of the delicate biological machine that in normal circumstances should've been soundly alerting willburry to the the fact of something having gone completely and utterly wrong. but since willbury was-in fact-or essence, at the very least-that very delicate machine, which was now quite decidedly out-of order and less than capable of notifying anyone-not in the least itself-of there being anything wrong whatsoever-except for that persistent and nagging non-existence of an umbrella- he was completely unaware of the severe mental trauma now seeping its deadening roots deep inside his skull.
unaware of the..and then the world went mad.
rian and sky upended upon each other. torrents of sky went rushing up willburys nose while the sky slapped him soundly in the back of his head, and all he could see was earth… earth… earth… whirling and drenched and tumbling and roaring and completely bonkers and swirling like a cloud of angry locusts somewhere far far far above him… and...and... the rest was blackness.