The Whole World is Made of PowderKathleen Sorenson went to bed as usual, on a normal Friday night, in her room, on her bed, like every other night. She slept soundly, although a few troubles snuck into her mind during the dark and quiet hours of midnight. Those troubles mutilated into something indescribable, unexplainable, and quite strange. As the thoughts grew, changing and inserting themselves into bizarre scenarios, she drew the blanket closer She awoke to the sound of clicking and whirring machinery. Turning over, she tried to muffle the sounds under the pillow, but the annoying clack-clack only got louder. Kathleen tried to force her mind to ignore the weird no