About Last Night

I am writing this from a chair that I am reasonably sure belongs to Bohdan.

There is a non-zero chance it belongs to something else.

I woke up ten minutes ago with a blanket that I do not recognize, in a room that is almost certainly Bohdan’s house, except the window briefly showed a coastline and then corrected itself back to a forest. I am choosing to ignore that for now.

Let us reconstruct.

Carefully.

I remember deciding, very clearly, that I would not drink gorylka before noon.

I remember saying it out loud.

I remember Bohdan nodding in a way that should have warned me.

Then I remember banosh. A large bowl. Then another bowl that I did not order but was apparently implied. Bryndza with enough character to start a political discussion. Something fried that I accepted without asking questions, which was a mistake, because at some point it became two of them, and then three.

We talked.

About normal things, at first. Weather. Roads. Sheep. How none of his current sheep were from other realities, which felt like progress.

Then, as it always does, the conversation shifted.

He asked about Lviv. I told him about coffee. He asked about my real job. I chose my words very carefully and failed anyway. He laughed in a way that suggested he understood more than I had explained, which was unhelpful.

Then he brought out the gorylka.

“This is new batch,” he said.

I should have left.

Instead, I said, “just one.”

I remember the first glass.

It was excellent.

I remember the second glass.

It was also excellent.

I do not remember agreeing to the third glass, but I am told it existed.

At some point, I decided it would be a good idea to “show him something.”

This is where the story becomes less reliable.

I remember standing up with great confidence, explaining something about perspective, dimensions, and how his farm, while very nice, was “limited in scope.”

Bohdan, to his credit, did not question this.

He simply said, “show me.”

I regret that he trusted me.

The Laminas device was in my coat.

This was the first mistake.

The second mistake was using it.

The third mistake was using it after gorylka.

I remember selecting objects.

I remember none of them making sense.

I distinctly recall “wooden spoon,” “left boot,” “something round,” “that plate,” and I believe at one point I included “that chicken” which I hope was metaphorical.

The device accepted this.

This is concerning.

We did not die.

I want to be very clear about that.

We arrived.

Somewhere.

I remember stepping out onto what I can only describe as a pasture made of perfectly smooth, pale stone, stretching toward a horizon that curved slightly upward, as if the world was gently holding itself together.

The sky was… layered.

Not clouds.

Layers.

And in the distance, something like mountains, except they were floating and rotating very slowly, like they had time to think about it.

Bohdan stood next to me.

He said, very calmly, “this is not Ukraine.”

I said, “no.”

We both nodded.

That part was handled well.

There were animals.

Of course there were.

Except these were… organized.

Not grazing.

Arranged.

As if someone had placed them carefully for display.

One of them looked like a cow, but when it moved, it left a second version of itself half a second behind, like it was reconsidering each step.

Another one resembled a flock of birds, except they were connected, forming a single shifting shape that occasionally decided to be several things at once.

Bohdan watched all of this.

Then he said, “can I bring one back.”

I said, “no.”

He said, “just small one.”

I said, “especially no.”

At some point, I explained something.

I have no idea what.

Bohdan listened very seriously.

He nodded several times.

Then he said, “you are drunk.”

I said, “I am very precise right now.”

He said nothing.

This was wise.

The return is… unclear.

I remember deciding it was time to go back.

I remember the device feeling heavier than usual.

I remember the sky folding in a way that suggested it was mildly annoyed with us.

Then I remember the table.

Back in the house.

As if nothing had happened.

Except Bohdan looked at me and said, “we do not talk about this to neighbors.”

I agreed.

Which brings me to this morning.

I woke up in a chair.

My coat was not where I left it.

My boots were outside.

One of them was cleaner than the other, which suggests I stepped into something that chose to forgive me.

The Laminas device was on the table, next to a plate that I do not remember using.

There is a spoon in my pocket.

It is not mine.

I am not asking.

Bohdan is outside.

I can hear him.

He is talking to the animals.

All of them sound normal.

This is reassuring.

I went to the window.

For a moment, just a moment, the pasture looked slightly… misaligned.

Then it corrected itself.

We are fine.

Probably.

I have made a decision.

No more gorylka.

At least not in combination with dimensional travel.

This feels like a reasonable boundary.

I am packing.

I will head back to Lviv.

I will go directly to the Ibis Lviv Center.

I will sleep.

For as long as necessary.

The Clovis outpost will have to wait.

Reality, for today, can manage without me.

I hope.

— Marco