War of Fictions

A hunched figure is walking slowly in the distance.
A gust of wind brings a smell that makes your thoughts wander off.
When you look up next, the figure seems closer.
You sense that there could be other figures in this land, but you can’t see them.
The floor is rocking softly beneath your feet.
One of the performers comes closer and looks at your hands.
The room feels warmer. Is it the thick, colored light projected on your skin that makes you feel this way?
The floor is cracking, opening holes in which figures keep falling and then reappearing.
As if fictions were folding and unfolding around you.