The tall lanky caucasian raised his open left hand.
    "It isn't just black" then his right, "and white..." he joined them cupped forming an imaginary sphere: "it's all gray you see?"
    "Go ahead Preach," said the black man from hiscot behind bars.
    "Okay, look: you got black and it looks like this," Dan raised his right hand in a fist. "And you got white and it's like this," a raised left fist. "Or something. So what happens? They gonna just fight back and forth?" He banged his fists together a few times for emphasis. "What's gonna happen? Everything gonna be destroyed; why? It's gotta belike this...." He joined his hands in the sphere again and turned it around giving the idea dimension and momentum and then tossed it through the bars.
    "Hey man," the black interjected as he leaned against the cage door with a gleam in his eye. "What would you say if I told you I was a white man in '82?" He put his arms through the bars and curled them grabbing a crossbar. The white grinned and cocked his head. "And a woman before that in '76... what'd ya' say?"
    "I'd say: let me shake your hand."
    "Why'd you say that?"
    "I'd want to make sure you're for real."
    "You mean you'd believe me?"
    "Sure why should you waste your time and breath telling me lies?"
    "Man did you hear that cracker? Hey what're you in here for?"
    "I told them to take me to the Lord of the Flies, so they put me in here."
    "The lord of the flies? Man... who's the lord of the flies?"
    "That's what I'm goin' to find out. It could be you or that man in the cell next to you or me... it could even be me; I don't know."

    "Okay son I'm going to ask you to count backwards from one-hundred and while you're doing that I'm going to ask you a few questions. You can go ahead and start," the doctor instructed.
    "What's your full name?"
    "Phenrig Daniel Ian; 99."
    "Where were you born?"
    "98. Somewhere in America... a small place called Huntingdon in the state of Maine. 97."
    "What's your social security number?"
    "Two-four-five nine-six five-eight-five-four. 95. Excuse me 96 95."
    "Do you mind telling me in your own words what you were doing back there?"
    "Not at all. 94. I was standing on my balcony talking. What's the big deal? 93."
    "Don't you think that's kind of unusual? Why did you do it?" the physician queried ignoring any implicating connotations.
    "92. There was nothing else to do; I was bored. 91."
    "Why didn't you get some rest?"
    "Look doc 90 you all admitted me on G-1 Ground Level. I won't rest until I see the nineth level." Dan thought he saw a glint in the doctor's eye but the physician continued in a bored manner.
    "What do you mean the seventh level?"
    "89. Okay look... Dante had a guided tour of hell. 88 I'm not patient enough to see all the levels. Take me to the top or the bottom if you will level. 87."
    "I wish I could eighty-six this conversation", the doctor thought.
    85. "I'm tired of all this runaround doctor; let's just stop the bullshit. Take me to the nineth level. Take me to the Lord of the Flies. Let's see... where was I? 84."
    "Take prisoner three-six-four-four-nine to cellblock A-1."

    Dan began to vibrate. He appeared to be going into convulsions. His molecular structure was actually beginning to transpose into other dimensions. The doctor rushed into the cell and jabbed a hypodermic into the rapidly disappearing body.

    Dan awoke from a gentle nudge by a nurse.
    "Would you like to eat some breakfast now Mr. Phenrig?" Yes. That would be nice. He seemed far away; he felt stiff in the arm and could still feel the effects of whatever had been forced into his system. He smiled placidly and reached for a pen and paper.
    "It's true" he reminded himself in thought as hewrote a formula. He walked on down the hall and deposited the paper atthe nurses station.
    "Reality really is what you believe in."