From: firstname.lastname@example.org Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: The Hero of the Story Awakens Date: Wed, 01 Dec 1999 21:12:43 GMT Organization: Deja.com - Before you buy. Lines: 46 Message-ID: <email@example.com> X-Article-Creation-Date: Wed Dec 01 21:12:43 1999 GMT X-Http-User-Agent: Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 4.01; Windows 98) X-Http-Proxy: 1.1 x41.deja.com:80 (Squid/1.1.22) for client 18.104.22.168 X-MyDeja-Info: XMYDJUIDthe_thom It was a very warm day, for October. Our Hero was clinging for dear life to a ladder, suspended over a twelve-foot-deep sea of Fabric Softener. He barked orders like crazy to the head janitor, who was clinging to another ladder and responding with choice hand-gestures. Our Hero could tell it was going to be one of those days. His grip on the ladder had been slipping for some time, as the ladder itself had been rendered quite slippery from the pink mist which had been hanging in the air over the pool of fabric softener. A muscle spasm rocked Our Hero's forearm, forcing him to release his grip and land in his former cow-orker's kitchen. A young boy (himself the son of the former cow-orker) stepped up to the table where The Hero of The Story found himself seated, and offered him two of the six toaster pastries from the cookie sheet he was holding. Our Hero thanked him and took the pastries. The boy took a bite of the pastry he had kept for himself and promptly dropped it on the floor. He picked it up, looked at it in disgust, sprayed it down with bug killer and continued eating, nonplussed. When The Hero of The Story finally awoke, he found himself on a suspended floor. His releif quickly diminished when he realized that the entire room was silent. He opened his eyes, and saw a large, dark blur. Without his eyesight, he decided to try some other experiments. He dopped his head back down on the floor again, noting that the carpeting was correct, and that the tile was correctly resonant, but the echo was wrong. In a fit of panic, he felt for the edge of the tile and jammed his fingernails into the seam. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the pleas from the nerve-endings in his fingertips, he lifted the tile and thrust his hand under the floor, nearly busting a knuckle on the concrete only six inches under the floor. He screamed in alarm, and then relaxed. His vision was clearing up, and he recognized the long-abandoned room around him. His head was clearing, and he remembered... ...he didn't work in that place anymore. --Thom Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/ Before you buy.