I always look for sharp edges and corners, things I could open my head up on, but part of the problem with unreal space is that what you see is not always there. I figure that's not a problem, not really. I don't care if other people see me carefully skirting empty space. I don't worry about looking like an idiot, and the unreal space vision is marked clearly on my identification, which usually keep away the cops and bughouse people, both the real and the unreal ones. The bigger problem is when something keeps me from seeing what *is* really there. It's not much of an issue, because people who don't see what's there tend to die a lot younger than those who see what isn't, but I'm one of the ten percent who have a mild enough bit of it that they survive. Also, my parents were the most paranoid people around. You've never seen childproofing until you've seen what they did to our house until I was twenty-five and had passed all the tests and vocational training and was officially emancipated and moved into a government apartment. I nearly died that first night, walking into a bathtub and slipping and hitting my head. Sheer luck I didn't drown while I was unconscious. I didn't tell my parents that part, but--


Inspiration: Thinking about childproofing.
Story Potential: High.
Notes: I'm not sure where this one would go, but I felt myself getting more drawn in and interested the longer I wrote. Good character, if nothing else.

The trick to it was not dying. Once you got past that, it was easy. It was a hell of a trick, though, and just because he'd managed it--once--didn't mean this time would be any easier. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the bullyboys approaching warily, their eyes on the singularity. On the other hand, they didn't look like they'd be much impressed by any trick he could pull, and he doubted they'd just let him go. So--it was the long dive through godonlyknewwhat. Again. He tucked his wallet away inside his pocket and buttoned it shut, quickly checked to make sure he had no loose bits or bobs, took a deep breath, and jumped in, feeling his testicles retract as soon as they realized what he was doing.

Inspiration: I was--thinking of tricks to doing stuff?
Story Potential: High.
Notes: Though I don't know what's going on here. I just love the first line. And hell of a title, there.