The day is young, it's just barely begun. I'm in the mountains, surrounded by trees and bird song. It's peaceful, almost blissful, but I must move.

The sunshine is warm on my skin as I break into a light jog. It takes me a moment to realise that I am, in fact, not alone on my descent down the mountain.

Surrounding me is my trusty companions, whom I've known for years. Emphasis on trusty, as they adorn the same outfit - or rather lack thereof. Our skin is bare for the world to see, only a pair of tighty-whities cover our shame. Strange as this may be, I find myself unconcerned, even as I notice that I too have been stripped of gender and in its stead, a fresh baguette protrudes from the back of the tighty-whities.

As we descend further down the mountain I blink and suddenly within my grasp is a warm slab of meat. A pork roast to be precise. I carry it without a second thought, just accepting that this is now what must be done.

The path we follow comes to a clearing in the trees with a sheer drop into a small river. The rocks and earth near the ledge are unstable, crumbling under themselves. We avoid it as best we can but soon after the ground beneath us quakes with a vengeance, then the land tears in two by an unforeseen force, carrying my friends and I into the air.

Panic-stricken, we attempt to wriggle out of its grasp but find that the mound of earth that came with us has formed into a shape with its own gravitational pull. I begin to run uncoordinated around the earthly bicep with the warm pork roast clutched tautly to my chest. With my friends in tandem, we make several laps around, what I assume is God's bicep, before the muscles flex then release us back onto the path we were following. I stumble with the shift in gravity then launch the roast into the river below to appease the bicep so that it never plucks me from the earth again.

The journey thereafter is pleasant. The only sounds to be heard are the songs sung by the birds and the rushing water below. Our breath, despite the exorcise, is unlaboured and even. As if our actions hold little to no power against them.

Eventually, we come to the base of the mountain where there's a handful of people standing and staring blankly into a canal that feeds into the river. These people are properly dressed, right down to their feet, but don't bat an eye at us. Even our baguettes are treated fairly.

I come to a halt in my jog, seeing up ahead that one of those people is someone I know, of whom I cannot face. I swivel around to face my companions, my hands clutching my face. "Help! You can't let them see me!" My voice is alien, laced with panic and confusion, and my dear friends nod to me before approaching the person directing their attention away from me so that I can pass.

This is where our paths split ways, I climb a very small hill that's surrounded by dense bushes and foliage directing me to a wall of solid snow with a perfectly cut square hole in the center. I understand what I must do. I take a running start towards the wall, leap and toss myself through the small opening.

Suddenly, I find myself in a frozen tundra. A snowstorm coming hard and fast, but the cold doesn't affect me. I am now a tiger, running on all fours, dodging the on slot of attacks from a very angry creature that stands tall as a house.

The sun has long since set but darkness is only now falling. I sprint past the creature as it slips on ice and shatters into a million pieces. I'm working against the clock, I need to get home. The thought urges me to push myself to the limits. Before I know it there is another wall of snow in front of me, with another small opening in the center. Again I take a running start and leap through the hole and transform back into myself. I sigh, the only thought in my head is I'm going to be late for work.