Too many drugs. In most of his realities, Raymond Eawest hated drugs, and he was full of too many drugs. Or something worse? A demon? In me, a righteous man? Too many realities. Too much time. They've drugged me for too long. Can't think. Can't make these worlds fit together. No. One world. One God. Joe is my son and I'll raise him right. No, he's grown up. It's the future? Ten years? A billion? Am I just a puppet for a mad scientist? My head hurts so much. I can't keep track of this. I don't know which is when. I don't know the order to prevent. How painfully tepid can this ice get? Why is the grass in the park so foamy?
Raymond screamed. Suddenly, everyone died.
A new story began—or was it still the same?
