You never get used to dimensional storms. They come at you like an angry elephant sliding sideways, through the mud, downhill. All you can do is cower, and try not to shit yourself.
Every time it feels like it’s going to kill me. Every fucking time.
Sure, it’s magical once you are inside, slipping into some random dimension.
A different earth. A different future. A different whatever.
They’re pretty safe. I mean, sure, you hear a few stories, but they are rare enough that it doesn’t bother me.
Most of the time, you are just an observer in there, waiting for it to clear out and send you back to reality. I love that tingly feeling of coming out the backside of a storm. The point where you are drifting in and out of both dimensions. Goosebumps, I tell ya. Goosebumps.
I’ve gotten pretty good at tracking them, so I usually know when they are going to hit me. Fuck. Last month, we were out chasing on the Red Plains and just got blindsided by a doozy. I didn’t even have time to brace myself, which is kind of bullshit anyways, because while it looks like it’s going to knock you on your ass, it doesn’t. You flinch and flex with everything you have, but it doesn’t really feel like anything.
Every season I’m out here getting hit by these bastards. It gets old, but I’m trying to catch THE storm, you know, the one that throws physics in a blender and serves it to you upside down through the door from yesterday.