(no subject)
A man falls to the ground in Grant Park as if he'd been thrown back by an explosion. He has been thrown back by an explosion, one that is nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be heard, not in the direction he's looking at with steadily increasing confusion. There, in another dimension, had been a human being. There, in another dimension, had been trees not native to this--park?
He tears his eyes away from that spot in the distance, taking in his decidedly untropical surroundings. Every breath grows heavier, every dash of the eye more panicked. He always believed the rules of the universe meant one couldn't be blown to another place entirely, but at some point in his life he believed one couldn't live forever, that smoke was harmless, and that you couldn't speak to the dead. He'd been proved wrong on all three counts; but this, this situation he's been blown in to...
Richard Alpert pushes himself to his feet, trying to keep his breath steady and normal. It seems to be a futile effort.