The two figures, one male, one female, stood back to admire their handiwork. Chalk on stone described a rough circle of brilliant blue, with patches of green and other colours massing on its surface. At the edges, rude figures not unlike themselves linked hands to form a chain around its circumference. They had rendered a dream, populated in their own image.

"It looks fantastic," she said, taking his hand. "Do you think Dad will make us one?"

"You know he doesn't like being called that."

"But will he?"

"I don't see why not."

"With the people, looking like us, all in different colours, and everything?"

"I think that's the best part."

"And we can go there and play?"

"Well there wouldn't seem to be much point otherwise. There are already lots of them hanging there in the void just looking pretty."

"It's even prettier, though. It looks so lovely. So blue, and bright. I can just imagine all the people, holding hands, talking, making love, like we do. It will be the best thing ever."

"Well, what are we waiting for then?" He pulled her by the arm, but she remained where she was, hesitant. He turned back to her, searching her eyes, imploring with his. "What is it?"

"I'm scared. It all seems so beautiful, so perfect. What if something goes wrong?"

He smiled, and turned to kiss her.

"My dear Eve," he laughed, stroking her long black hair, "what could possibly go wrong?"

—Terry Pearce