He was falling along with other officers, chunks of concrete, broken planks, signed paperwork and coffee cups caked with sediment. Spinning mid-air he saw a black smudge and flailed his arms towards it, as if trying to swim. He didn't manage to close in, but he got the idea what to do next. Leaning against the sky which looked like smeared watercolor painting, he kicked back with his elbow couple of times. It got him spinning and creeping closer to the smudge.
It was actually a plot hole. Encrusted with thin layer of disbelief.
He punched the blackness a few times and the otherwordly started glistening through. While some officers were already cruhing through the pine trees, painting them red and turning to ground meat, Miles managed to catch a grip on the plot hole's edge, then push himself up enough to put his torso through the hole.
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