[29: action/video]
Beyond a few little experiments (and the obligatory futile search for ways out of Wonderland) Mark hasn't felt the need to exercise the power granted by the event. Mark has remained himself, no imaginary friends or family members have come to visit, and his room has remained his room.
Thus far, anyway.
But the man has a good imagination.
One minute he's looking out the window, daydreaming, and the next the walls of his room have opened up to reveal a section of sports bleachers, looking down on Yankee Stadium, circa, say, 1940 or so, though memory and imagination blend here, making it difficult to identify a time period with any kind of exactness.
It's a Yanks-Dodgers game, before the latter team moved across the country. Like the stadium details, the uniforms, numbers, and faces of the players shift between one moment and the next. Many of them seem blurred and indistinct, but a few favorites stay intact--mostly the older players, the ones from Mark's teen years.
Although the bleachers are empty, what comes through clearest is the chattering of the announcer and the roar and hush of the crowd. He's listened to more games on the radio than he's ever attended in-person.
As the afternoon wears into evening, interested parties will find a bemused Mark sitting in the bleachers. The stadium was an accident, but he can't quite bring himself to will it away.
In addition, Mark's comm channel will occasionally broadcast the progress of the game, sometimes as a black-and-white video, sometimes as a staticky radio transmission. The two teams seem to be perpetually neck in neck--it's Mark's imagination, and close games are always more interesting to him.
Thus far, anyway.
But the man has a good imagination.
One minute he's looking out the window, daydreaming, and the next the walls of his room have opened up to reveal a section of sports bleachers, looking down on Yankee Stadium, circa, say, 1940 or so, though memory and imagination blend here, making it difficult to identify a time period with any kind of exactness.
It's a Yanks-Dodgers game, before the latter team moved across the country. Like the stadium details, the uniforms, numbers, and faces of the players shift between one moment and the next. Many of them seem blurred and indistinct, but a few favorites stay intact--mostly the older players, the ones from Mark's teen years.
Although the bleachers are empty, what comes through clearest is the chattering of the announcer and the roar and hush of the crowd. He's listened to more games on the radio than he's ever attended in-person.
As the afternoon wears into evening, interested parties will find a bemused Mark sitting in the bleachers. The stadium was an accident, but he can't quite bring himself to will it away.
In addition, Mark's comm channel will occasionally broadcast the progress of the game, sometimes as a black-and-white video, sometimes as a staticky radio transmission. The two teams seem to be perpetually neck in neck--it's Mark's imagination, and close games are always more interesting to him.