Survivors say that travelers who have drifted Beyond the Shutter almost never make it back, which truthfully, gives me more reason to embark on this particular tale. These survivors, or at least ones who claimed to have returned, could not even explain in scientific terms what had made their return journey possible. One piece of advice they gave, though, was to think of mirrors.
I stand on the Edge of Reality, the border over which finity dares not trespass. The Shutter itself, spanning the width of universes condensed, lay directly ahead, a testament to all unreality. I crossed the border and felt my atoms dissolve into a collective supreme consciousness. Unable to comprehend the unending wisdom of infinity, I dumb down my dimensions so as to portray this experience (or non-experience) as approximately as I am able, in clear English. Now, the majestic florglebabs were the first thing i grokked with my million shkapooshoos. In every conceivable (and inconceivable) vibration pattern, I noticed my dongieboozle dinging with everybody else’s boozles (although it is worthy of note that their boozles were undeniably my own boozles, no shame in accepting that, although shame is a concept so three-dimensional, it has no place in an everything-and-everywhere Beyond the Shutter. In fact, this whole written account has no right to exist and is simply plain wrong, for I still rely on three-dimensional-borne concepts and logic and it remains to be as visually correct as a tesseract appears to any being from the Fraction Dimensions but let us not get too far from the point of this account: The fact that there is no point, and there are no facts, and I submit my whole infinite non-existence into this clapadorfygunt-ness).
Several Big Bangs seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye before I realized I must break away: for what is infinity without the yearning to be finite? The possibility was hidden under all these numbers and I wished to discover it! I dug through endless zeroes and ones and the occasional eight point fifty one seventy six squared cubed times google but I did not find the exit. Frantically, for millennia upon millennia, I scoured through everything that did not exist. But I was thinking the wrong way; I knew I had to think with mirrors.
What is a mirror? It is a thing with which to see yourself. It reflects light evenly and almost completely. It is a metaphor? It symbolizes the advent of self-awareness? It hides a hidden other reality? What is it about mirrors?! I don’t even know!
Enraged, I gathered all the energy I could muster, gathered a universe of numbers that took up the form of a fist, and slammed it into eternity. Unreality shattered, along with all the dongieboozles, the shkapooshoos, and the florglebabs, into infinite shards, and I felt myself being pushed back into three dimensions by beings who likely thought that infinity with me was too much to bear.