Bringing his arms quickly to the sensitive and exposed sides of his neck, Thomas did the best he could to shield himself from that sick light pouring out past the gaunt figure before him! He brought his hands to his mouth and left them to tremble uncontrollably, creating absurdly comical and quick shadow puppets stretched and perverted across the wrinkles of his face.
The figure stood cold. The skin was black. More accurate to indicate would be to say that the skin was dark. Its quality was not that of abundance but rather of a keen and pointed lack of light. Unmoving and intentionally solid, the thin line of its frame seemed to pull at the edges of light passing around it and fuzzed all realistic sense of depth. To Thomas, there was a peculiar kind of deception found with the form. At this point, he was sheepishly shielding his eyes with his forearm. Yet, still, he had to squint.
The Nonentity charmed Thomas' old frame up the ramp and on to the insane ship.
Hours later in the field by the treeline, the only evidence of Thomas' experience was a single paper shopping bag and some dropped eggs.
Ten thousand years would pass before he would set foot on Earth again.