It was finally there, after all those years, right in front of him. He reached out a gnarled hand and grasped at the square of glistening air in front of him. The particles shifted and danced under his light touch, drawn towards the density of his skin. The square of air looked to be caressing his arthritic fingers. He flexed his wrist, his palm, his thumb, each taut digit. Slowly, he reached through. Slowly, the tips of his fingers began to disappear: first his nails, then each knuckle 1 2 3 4, then again 1 2 3 4 and now his thumb knuckly and the last 1 2 3 4 and 5. All that remained was his palm, his fingerless palm.
Suddenly he felt his fingers grasped from the other side and his palm, forearm, elbow, his whole being was jerked through the square of air. His feet left the solid ground and he was plunged into darkness.