Five for three.

That's a good idea, Jason. Sort of. Maybe.

Five lines/sentences on three images.

"Did it work? Are you functioning?"
"I don't know, I don't feel much different."
"You're not meant to feel anything. Do you feel anything?"
There was no real need to ask, the neuro-visual array was working fine: she was finished.
"Good, that'll save a lot of time and tears later."

It felt. It wasn't a part of the land; it was the land. It was every rock, every root, every pile of moss, everything slashed and hacked, and every stone unturned. It feels your footsteps and your fire; the trees its ears and eyes. And it felt them too, and they felt it, perfectly layered symbiosis pushing through ages, untouched.

"Fuck. Someone already started here. Dave? Dave!"
"What? Oh shit tits. Who was scheduled then?"
"Fuck if I know. I'll bet it was Linda. Trust that bitch to steal my cases."
"Trust. Look, we'll just find another one to get going with, okay?"
"Fuck it, I'm sick of Linda's shit, I'm taking tomorrow off. Tell Simon I'm sick or something. Fuck."

I don't know who Linda, Simon, and Dave are, but it's nice to think that they're cosmic creator beings.