Joe was a kind man, sweetly protective.
“Don’t step in the middle,” he said pointing to the bright spot on the parquet floor.
“Where the light is shining?”
“It is not safe. You’ll slip through the weave and into another dimension.”
“Joe, it’s not fabric. It’s wood.”
He waved his finger in my face. “No, no, no my dear, don’t be fooled.”
We stood at the edge. Would it help him if I proved it was safe?
He grabbed my hand.
“Believe me,” he said. “But if not, take me with you.” Then we leaped into the illumination.
Clare Graith 
