A couple hours of walking through that forest wears on the sanity. Pooh had been walking for days. Endless miles of trees passed his trek, and if the scenery didn't change soon, he feared he may never regain his former self. He had no sooner thought that, when his eyes captured a new piece of landscape. . . or rather the absence of one.

It was a hole. It's blackness and depth mocked Pooh as it reflected the void that now nested where his memory used to be. His first instinct was to pass it by, but his desire to leave this god-forsaken realm had turned him into a puppet. His body froze as involuntary as the blinking of one's eyes. . . as effortless as a heartbeat. Pooh stared in wonder.

"Is it an exit," he pondered, as if the woods itself were enclosed, relying on portals to escape. "Or is it an entrance?"

An entrance? The thought made him shudder. A room within a room was the last thing he wanted because it could mean only one thing: traveling deeper into this twisted maze. . . this haunting piece of surrealism constructed by some vengeful madman.

"This path has taken me nowhere," he argued with himself. "It can't be any worse than what I've been doing."

He didn't allow the thought to settle. Before his mind could tell his feet to move, they had already started. He was inching towards the hole.

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