Ok, this is isn't actually short fiction. But after reading it again (and again) last night, I did not see necessary prescribed classifcations on what does and doesn't constitute narrative form; I saw my own restrictions, hemming in experience by nature of a preferred structure. Because make no mistake, Blue Sky Paradise is a story, a seeing, breathing roadtrip, both in and out of oblivion...and it is so full of imagery that it makes some stories seem positively blind by comparison...