Picked up Utada's "HEART STATION" single. Utada always makes me want to write.

...

That's all you get.

This is pretty much strictly written for this forum.

And this will be confusing as Hell. Effort may be required. It won't make sense, and I'm too tired at 6:49 AM to fix typos, but I guess enjoy it anyway.

And yay for short chapters.

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Kyle Hyde recommended to the sky - who of which was listening with open airways, mind you - to drop the oceanic guise and recall the clouds, because the white whales flopping around were a tad too much on the weather forecasts.

"My apologies," said the innocent sky. It funneled into a drain, sucking away sea life and figments of blue color charts, until only black remained. Pleased with the results, Kyle bent over to touch onto the door knob of the haunted mansion before him.
At this point, he was no longer ecstastic at the sky's agreement to regenerate, for it began to absorb the purple sands beneath his feet. Mr. Hyde moved swiftly to twist the tiny silver-plated handle inbetween his middle finger and thumb, invoking a world of wonderous bores as he stumbled into the sanctimonious Hell-to-be.

Ky did not breathe. Le did not move. Hy did not blink. De told the rest of his name to blow and marched forward. His identity was on the line, so the rest followed with fire at their ankles.
The floor giggled into molds of his feet, checkered earth tones pretending to be snow. Hyde's long, undefined black coat licked at his heels. It bore no outline, only the shape of his rough hands and thick neck holding a brunette coconut that shaved that morning, and moved with reckless abandon in his wake. Unrecognizable cloth wings that couldn't fly anyone to a safer place (peace?) of mind.

Time slowed in the walk towards the organ desk of the facility, the tall, golden pipes a hundred feet high through the dainty roof. It steamed out an ancient word to the wise: "He who play my fortune will delve into oblivious axiom." Take your blind truths and walk, the keyboard bled, but Kyle was blind to half-truths - or half-lies, as it may be...

"Ha ha ha!"

Bright-eyed and bushy tailed was the young gentlemen walking in his true mirror, readily vacating into the oblivion beyond the door with a white coat as erratic as Young-old Mr. Hyde. He wore a white mask: eyeless, mouthless, noseless.
The brunette spun on his heel, walking reverse to watch the blond also spin on his heel and simply fall skull first into the world. The black hole slammed shut at his sudden demise. Kyle's neck curved and prepared his adjustments. Properly formed, unlike his formless friend swimming in the constant formation of an endlessly rotating cube known as our world - their world!

"COME FORTH!"

A dust blossomed behind his heels, thorns and rose buds choking on their evils while battling against his wardrobe in a losing fight. The organ had spoken, and he had a duty to fulfill.

"I'm a deaf man, you see," Kyle spoke freely. "How am I supposed to know..." He molested the nearest erection, staining his fingers with its putrid steams and tawny make-up. "What will get me what I need?"

"IF WHAT YOU SEEK IS TRUTH, THEN THE LEAD OF YOUR HEART BEATS WILL GUIDE THE ESSENCE OF YOUR DESIRES."

"I gotcha." Kyle replied and glided back just enough for his limbs to rise to the occassion. He wasn't a complicated man, Mister Kyle I-Will-Strangle-The-Words-From-Your-Very-Soul Hyde. He was simple, to the point, and happened to be brutally honest in word and action.
So when both fists slammed aimlessly at the blood-stricken keys of the instrument, which gagged in a cacophony of pleas for him to relent such inhumanities, it was safe to say he wasn't denying his impatience. It vomitted life in paint specks across his cheeks and coat, which cannibalized the colors instantly.

A wail followed. It was high-pitched and small, the voice of a young female, mayhaps, but was proceeded by an unmistakably deep, male voice. Older, more agitated, and definitely in grief from grieving so damn much, a bold, wrinkling face melted from within the organ. Surely he jested, Kyle rightfully thought, for this man was no jester, but his bloatedness dressed as such. His wrinkled forehead scrunched to see who stood before him, jingling crown of morbid greys slacking on the job. He pushed it away promptly before speaking in turn.

"A damned fool, is what I see! Ya slam my keys and expect my courtesy! What makes ya believe you will get anythin' from me now?!"

"I'm Kyle Hyde, you ignorant clown. The world went and decayed again, so I came here to find rejuvenation."

The old bard laughed, though he fell short (zilch, zero, nada) of puns. So when your material is lost, all you can do is become the joke yourself. "Rejuvenation, ye' say!" "He seeks Wish, Dunning Smith. Begone, begone!" "Ignore Osterzone, good traveller. He is crazed from loss. But he is telling me you have desires... Kyle Hyde, was it?"

"The one and millionth of all traversing to this location on the Forgotten Planes. But for now, Mr. Smith, the one and only."

"Spare me the trouble," he replied.

"I will. What's this about a wish?"

"Wish!" Osterzone hissed. "He will steal her! MY MEMORIES!" Kyle frowned at the inability to see this Osterzone character. Since the candle-wax face of Dunning Smith was immobile of expression or otherwise, it was transparent that this alter ego was lurking in the light, for they were their own shadows in this room. The walls blistering with rotating clocks and spinning hands screaming, "FIVE P.M.! FIVE P.M.!" Time oozed like pus in such open confinement.

"I will give you this treat, so as not to look suspicious," he gargled to Kyle. A key slid from his lips and darted into the sixth guest's open palm. It cut his hand, and Hyde left it to bleed for his starved jacket. "2:15 P.M., I say, or rather 215 is your room. Where does it all end?"

"Where does what end?" So inquired the officer of curiousity.

"DON'T GET YER NOSE INTO MY BUSINESS!" Dunning roared and crashed down into the cavern of his musical prison. That pipe organ breathed as a dying man would, lungs filling with blood, leaving him to drown in that which kept him living until that moment.

"Alright..." He spoke calmly and walked for the next inviting set of steel bolted doors.

"Allow me!" Our white enigma had returned, only now he had a crescent mouth to voice his prescence. The intriguing stork flipped like a ghost between the barrier, pressuring the doors right open. "Quickly.. qui..ly.." Kyle rushed through, just securing his coat in a spine-snapping twist as the doors crushed themselves shut. A wall stared back. He had a feeling he'd be meeting and greeting plenty of walls this eve.