Staring into the infinite primordial soup of universes past and present through a cabin window, you remember that you forgot to eat breakfast today. That was a bad decision, because you're not going to hit solid land for another 10,000,000 years to the exact second; for you are the first explorer to set sail on the open Seas of the Multiverse. Ten thousand millenia is a long time to go without cornflakes.
The claustrophobia-inducing innards of the ship contain all the basic amenities required for sustaining life, making tea and cross-universal travel: an oxygen tank, a kettle and a super-sonic, sub-atomic, hadron-smashing spacetime movement synthesizer.
The ship hurtles forwards, backwards, sideways and inside out through four dimensions at once. In front of you are the ship's controls. You're getting homesick and thirsty.
[[Make tea|Ship, tea]]
[[Hit every coloured button on the control panel|Ship, buttons]]Overwhelmed by the desire to imbibe tea, you hover over to the kettle. It's covered in limescale on a geological scale, having spent roughly a billion years hurtling through space, but it still works. A bit of calcium is good for your bones anyway, you decide.
You flip the switch,
And a light turns on.
You wait two minutes until the steam is gone.
You lift the kettle,
Tilt it down,
Watch the water pour into the infusion, which is brown.
In the space of years,
And in the cup, tea is born.
Gulping it down
With a satisfactory sigh,
Our young hero's on a tea high.
Poetry sometimes seeps into the ship when it passes by a galaxy. Sorry I didn't mention that.
[[Hit every coloured button on the control panel|Ship, buttons]]A fist gets smashed into every glowing button on the control panel. The ship rattles a bit.
After a few seconds, the ship abruptly stops and galaxies spiral into formation either side of the ship, portside. Now that the ship is *technically* stationary (it might still be moving through the fifth or sixth dimensions, but that's not conducive to this story), one can stick one's head oustide the cabin without it being vapourised by galaxies past, present and future, simultaneously.
There are two main galaxies in front of you - one formed from the confluence of majestic blues and royal reds, blending together into a rich tapestry of scintillating purple hues, dancing on the edge of the universe and forming brilliant chords of visual music. The other is a bit yellow.
[[Fly towards the purple galaxy|Purple galaxy]]
[[Drift into the yellow abyss|Yellow galaxy]]<style>
Your ship's oversized sail billows through the solar winds, lapping up the lavender light, a lilac love letter dating back to the formation of the Multiverse. You're sure you've landed in a red and a blue galaxy simultaneously, but there's no way to prove that. Humans only perceive three of the twenty-seven dimensions.
Manoeuvering through the mauve, through pockets of plum-painted stars, you almost crash into a giant brick house erected right in the middle of the cosmos. Who knows how it got here? Thick grey smoke guffaws out of the chimney and a classic plastic pink flamingo wobbles wildly in the solar winds in the front garden. The house has two stories, and is rather small. Some might say "cosy".
Against all odds, you realise it is, in fact, your house, floating in the middle of nowhere in space and millions of years in the future in time. But you've hit land! Like all journeys, you can't wait to lie on the sofa, take your shoes off and put your feet up. You can't shake the feeling that something might be odd about the whole thing, but the primal need to relax after a journey fills one's mind and you climb out of your ship, take out your keys and turn them in the lock.
[[Enter your house|House]]What did I tell you? It's just a lot of yellow here. You have enough yellow back home. Go and look at some purple, you pillock.
[[Fly towards the purple galaxy|Purple galaxy]]Ahhh, home sweet home.
Everything is just as you left it this morning. The TV is blasting out repeats of old crime drama episodes, the syncopated beats of the washing machine rattling around blend in with the discordant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. It's even a sunny day outside!
It's literally exactly how you left your house this morning. In a move that has stunned the laws of probability themselves, you've gone so far in time, you've looped back to the exact point in spacetime that you left the house this morning. You probably just missed yourself leaving for work.
In fact, the only difference is the abnormally large ship in front of your house. But that's a small detail compared to the fact you've just experienced another Big Bang and landed back where you started.
[[Go outside|Outside house]]A large ship stares you down like a dog expecting to be pet. It appears to be several generations ahead of any other technology that exists at this point and bigger than your garden, despite fitting inside it. Things get weird when higher dimensions are in play.
You're home, but every time you step outside, you're looking into the future, though you're also stuck in the present. You step into the ship. Your journey starts again.