A lone picture frame floats above the ruins of a house, held in place as if by a god. The canvas of it has been ripped out by the winds that caused the wreckage, so peering through it, you can see the world. The gold and red frame glisten in the light of the sun, and through it, you see the whole world is made of picture frames. You look through the picture frame and see the world just as it is and was and always will be. You see the world as an endless forest of picture frames. You climb through its spacious hole to get a closer look at the trees beyond. The trees are made of picture frames, and the leaves are little picture frames. You stick your hand through one, and notice that your hand is made of picture frames. Each finger, a stack of twisted picture frames linked by picture frames. You climb through the tip of your left thumb, and the floor is picture frames too. The holes in the ground go from a rainbow of wood and plastic and metal frames into the gray mist of uncountable picture frames in the distance. You hop from one corner to the next, falling down under the ground every so often. Bundles of picture frames fall through the holes in the ground. Some of them are climbing up. Some of them fall over you, and you walk on endless beds of picture frames. You pull one from the walls around you and wear it as a hat. Its orange solid square frame on closer inspection is made of picture frames. You rip it apart, and a shower of picture frames fall at your feet. You walk into a picture frame and walk along its border. As it's falling through the sky, you look into the ornate carvings on its outside. They are moving horned creatures made of picture frames, and as they crawl towards you, you see that their sharp teeth are made of picture frames. You wake up startled. Don't worry, it was only a picture frame.