Punctuationally

She takes the first, tentative steps onto the oversized ellipsis, which carries her like a moving sidewalk through the empty space. It travels horizontally, left to right, and begins to repeat itself. Space, ellipsis. Space, ellipsis. Clusters of three dots she must walk across. She jumps the chasms between the clusters with trepidation at first, but soon hits her stride and makes the leaps with ease. Step, step, step, jump. Step, step, step, jump.

Suddenly, her landing doesn't stick. The first sphere of an ellipsis spins beneath her feet like a barrel floating in the river. She wobbles and dances, dangerously close to falling off. We see her arms shoot out sideways, desperate to find balance. Her feet eventually find a pace to match the spinning dot, and she's safe, but the game has changed. The ellipses aren't solid and sure anymore; they're treacherous and slippery, and threaten to throw her at the slightest misstep.

She keeps moving, though slower now than before. The dots spin beneath her feet as if slickened by oil. And now, another change: the ellipsis beneath her feet spreads out, widening impossibly. She'll never make it across; the distance is too far. She perches precariously for one final moment before losing her balance and dropping down, down, down between clusters of dots that are stretching out across the vacant blackness.

Arms and legs akimbo, hair caught up in the fall, she goes down, down, down. Nothing but empty space around her at first, and then, floating up, one after another, spread across the screen - question marks. Like tiny umbrellas, or parachutes. They go up, up, up as she keeps plummeting down, down, down. She grabs for one, just catching it by the dot of its bottom half, and her body slowly swings to a stop, like a wind chime abandoned by the breeze.

She hangs on. The question mark moves vertically through a void filled with the more of same, faster than some, slower than others. Her arms are growing tired. She pulls herself up to stand on the dot, holding on to the curved stem above it.

One by one, the other question marks disappear until only hers remains. A horizontal line - a dash - breaches the right side of the screen. She sees it. The dash repeats, and repeats again, unfolding backwards to the left, until it spans the nearly the full length of the space above her. It's a path she needs to get to.

She tries to climbs the question mark she floats on, to use its rounded crown as a stepping stone. She pulls her body up - but in doing so, her weight causes it to capsize, and she scrambles to stay on board. The top heavy mark swings back and forth like a pendulum, jerking her with it, until she tumbles into the opened, upside down curve of the bulb.

She's safe, for the moment, in this makeshift cradle, which drifts without an anchor through a sea of black.