No end to the end

There were four walls and a bed - nothing beyond that at all. A vast, massive nothing outside...a lone planet, far away from Earth.
Earth was empty - no life anymore. Can't say I'm completely sorry.
Christmas had promised a new beginning but what could come of it, now that none of the population believed in Father Christmas?

I was alone, on that planet - that was nice, new and novel to me. Quite glad to be here, if truth be known.
I sat on the edge of the bed, noticing the last, precious remains of so-called Life on Earth as i knew it; two friends with me. One in the shape of a portrait painstakingly painted to perfection....and another, hand-written, editted, typed and meticulously metaphored into magical momentos, bound hard and trapped in a biographical 400 page book.

Look at you there, forever, doomed to peer out from your prisons - the frame of one, beheaded, alas, and the shiny, titled, photograph bearing sheath of the other....and i - alone at the end of infinity...no Earth, no wealth, no food nor fear..nothing...how exhilarating, after a moment or two. How positively beautiful to find myself so....free! Not a care in the world.
But for the seeming passing of said world - and the fact that not much remains of my two only remaining 'friends'.
Sober, i was, i might add, as even i tell you now that the picture looked at me, the more i looked at it...and then raised an eyebrow in my direction.
Odd, i thought. Yes. Did you just move?
I turned my attention once more to the cover of the book, and its personage shuffled and gave a noncommital shrug of the shoulders and an upturned palm.
Animation; absolutely.
What then? My lovely friends of the end of the Earth.
So what? The reply...it was only a matter of time, before we would be freed from our folly, our getting stuck like this, in a photo, or in a frame - decapitated.
Yes, er, gravely sorry about that. What can I do?
Nothing to do - it's the end - all's well that ends well - couldn't be more delighted - to live on, do you see? In the hearts of others or in the pages of a book - if it's all the same to you it's all the same, do you see? Besides from finding a new Father Christmas- someone believeable this time - there's nothing to be done...isn't that wonderful news?
yes, yes it is - i'm enjoying this already. My god, talking objects, i didn't know this could happen?
Nor did I. Till now. Thank you, what's your name again?
Leaf.
Oh yes. And have you seen those fellows before?

I looked where was pointed, by the bedside cupboard, and gradually into focus appeared tiny folk - faeries.
Amazement, wonder, gladfulness and awe consumed my entire being as i observed, for some hours maybe, the toing and froing and comings and goings of those shy, industrious, timid, busy little persons, whom i had read about but never had seen.
They worked in an ethereal world.
There were some wispy, flimsy objects which they made their business with and some seemed idle if not care free, in their realm.
A broarder ethereal realm then became visible to me for the first time - i could see the strands of time and existence linked and joined as luminous, colorful, spider-web threads, resting on and stretching effortlessly between every item and object within the four walls of the room.
I picked up the book from the bed and placed it on the chair, noticing the strands stretch and break over the distance. i waited to note any re-attachment, but there was none; i was puzzled.
Seeing the carpeted floor, the strands and threads could be described as almost grass-like, but floating, weightless, colored blue and deep pink, like a sun-set on Skye.
I wanted to feel them; the grassy, cobwebby threads, so i began gathering what i could in my hands. First from the chair, then from the floor.
The strands broke from their places, an abundance of them covering everywhere. And in my hands i could see them as clear and as real as the everyday objects they were joined to - but i felt nothing. There were tangles where the strands were broken and fallen, and there were reams and handfulls of them in my hands or on my open palm as i looked, but could not feel any substance.
As the physical, heavy, material world imposed its overbearing mass on me as is usual, the scene and the ether drifted back into the unseen and invisible division of my awareness.
It was no more.
No faeries. No threads of relativity.
Just a hospital ward, and a psychiatrist to humour!