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[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

You find yourself in a place.

This place, in fact, is somehow, inexplicably, a reflection of your own mind.

There are a few doors scattered around. They don't belong—they are styled to belong to other places. Stepping through the doors lets you visit the places like this that belong to the people you know.

What do you do?

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[riseupnchargem.livejournal.com]

Jamie's subconscious is excruciatingly orderly, all straight lines and right angles and the occasional gentle curve, in neutral shades of grey. Thoughts and memories appear as uniformly-sized cubes arranged in a grid pattern, each one swirling gently with images in subdued colors and neatly labeled in precise, cramped handwriting: and so on.

Near certain memories, the gridwork and neat lines and memory-cubes vanish suddenly, resuming again some distance away. There's no pattern to these voids, though they seem to cluster up in areas delineating the more recent portions of Jamie's life and then, themselves, abruptly disappear.

Aside from the blank spots, the only thing marring the mindscape are places of intense turbulence, heaving and roiling in agitation. These are contained behind nice, clean-looking barriers, but despite their tidiness there's the suggestion that they were constructed hurriedly, out of fear. Every now and again the walls shudder and bend outward, glowing with the faintest hint of electric blue.