It wasn’t very big, barely a centimeter at most.

The color was not particularly interesting either, a dull nondescript white. In fact, there was nothing special about it, it was just a simple pill. At least that’s what everybody else thought, but not him, he knew.

He sat there, looking at the tiny white thing resting on the old table, its only company a tumbler of straight bourbon. It was so difficult to believe such an insignificant object held the key to reality itself, if you knew how to use it.

Total and complete control over the very fabric of time and space could be his, all he had to do was put it in his mouth and wash it down with the bourbon. The prospect was seductively beautiful, just like the sleek forms of something big and fast and flexible stalking from the tall grass before jumping for your throat. He felt his Adam’s apple move up and down as his heart raced under the sudden surge of adrenaline.

He felt his hand move before his mind was fully conscious of what he was doing. He picked up the glass, emptied it with a single gulp, and slammed it hard against the table.

A loud tingling sound, like a thousand Christmas ornaments smashing in unison against the ground, filled the room. A small window to everything and everywhere at once burst open in an instant, then crumbled on itself like a paper flower in the rain.

He slowly raised the tumbler and sat in the middle of the silent room, staring at the smear of white dust.