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"Go then. There are other worlds than these."

These words—written by one of the greatest authors of all time, Stephen King—struck me as a kind of universal truth. I contemplated the idea for quite some time, attempting to discover my own views and beliefs, and I finally settled on this: Perhaps there are other worlds, not only in this universe, but also within other branches of existence. Perhaps not.

But I think there are "other worlds than these," and I also think it's possible to visit these worlds through unconventional means. I think that Mr. King is a regular visitor to these worlds, and from there extracts his tales of love, hate, horror, and bliss. Tales so fantastical in nature as to become something more than real, granting me temporary reprieve from my own world.

My misery came in the same guise it dons for most young men in their early twenties—a girl and idiocy. In my case the idiocy applied both to my former life with the girl I no longer had and my self-destructive life afterward. My agony, like most emotional pain, was self-inflicted, and deserved. For a long time my only escape was to be drawn into the worlds described in Mr. Kings amazing books.

And then came the day of my own visit to another world. I say it like that because that's exactly how it felt. It was easy to feel that way, as the world I visited was a direct parallel to our own, with some distinct differences. A world each of us visits in time, though we don't always remember or even realize that we have. I saw something amazing, and personally disturbing, there, and I want to see it again. I want to go back. I think this may be my only means of return.

My 'visit' has inspired my own tale, though I have no gift for words. In my heart and mind a good portion of my story is as clear as day, while the rest is as clear as mud. I can't promise a clean path through that mud, nor can I promise that we'll even find a path that makes it to the other side. But if you will take my hand, as it were, then perhaps we can slog through the muck together and finally reach the golden and invisible place I came upon. Perhaps we can share in something beautiful, and, in the sharing, find our own means of return.

That is why I am writing this. This is an invitation, and participation is voluntary. I hope you will come with me. I think you'd like it there.