This one scares me:
I see a silent, grassy plain and on the horizon a jagged mountain range, like teeth biting at the sky. All of it is in a kind of greyscale, drained of colour. Behind me, a black ocean rises, waves frozen, perfectly still even as they crest.
There’s a shape in the distance that might be a cityscape. And in the grass in front of me, there’s a kind of black sand, and a stretch of asphalt, cracked and ancient, with the flecked remnants of a lane line.
I come to gasping, and Rudy barks once, worried.