When you puncture a hole in reality, a lot of people picture a doorway, a portal, a window to another world. That's what I pictured anyway, back in arrow school.
But when they're tipping you eldritch lonsdaleite, prayed over for nine months by a team of chemists from the witches union, they teach you about that stuff for real.
What really happens is a great, screeching nothingness. You've ripped a hole that, by all the rules of physics, is not supposed to be there. By definition, nature doesn't have a fallback plan. You just tore a hole in its dress, pricked a puncture in the picture. Cracked the aquarium. And went through.
The thing about arcanely charged lonsdaleite arrowheads is they leave a very clean hole. No ragged edge to start tearing reality a new one, if you know what I mean. It's a small hole and it stays small. You might not even notice it except for the whooshing sound as it starts sucking your world into it. On account of the reality differential. But that only lasts till the hole plugs itself by trying inhale something bigger than itself. Like a book, or a log, or a small dog, or whatever happens to be laying around when the hole gets punched.
So, back where I came through, they should be looking for some leaves or moss or a clump of bark that's just hanging about six feet in the air, I think. And they better not unplug it till they get some psy-stitchers out there to patch it up.
Meanwhile, me... just zooming through the great screeching nothingness that lies beyond.
I know I often tease @Ms. Hazeltine
about her shooting technique, but she certainly shot me straight and true when she let me fly.
45 days ago now and still flying! Ripped right through the pointless forest almost immediately, and tore a ding dang hole through the fabric of reality. Which, let’s face it, is pretty thin around here, but it takes a careful aim to properly pull that off.
I will need to compliment her.
If I ever make it back.