Read Me A Story...

Good Morning!

Huh! Stupid alarm clock! Your dreams of sailing down a river of jam on a giant panda are interrupted - as usual - by the braying voice of "Mickey Mickson and his Funky Breakfast Shindig" on Radio 6. As you repeatedly try and fail to smack the top of your clock radio you glance at the red numbers below. It's 7:30. Since you don't have to be out of the house until 8:00, you decide to go back to sleep. With one final swipe you happen to land your fist on the snooze button, roll over and fall asleep again instantly.

You wake up again at noon.

Running for the bus, you pass a shop you'd never noticed before. The sign - which looks surprisingly weathered - reads "Fiona's Fruite Ande Vege" and a withered old lady sits inside knitting.

More than a little curious (not to mention pretty sure you've fired by now anyway) you go inside. The lady smiles sweetly and leaves you to browse her stock.

After finding no sweets, computer games or motorbikes in the shop you decide to leave... but your conscience gets the better of you and, rather than leaving empty handed, you buy the cheapest thing you can find. A tomato, for your lunch... or failing that, to throw at your boss when he gives you the bad news.

As you walk down the street you playfully throw the tomato from hand to hand, for the next half-mile or so at least. It's only when startled by a cat running out in front of you that you accidentally throw the tomato up into the air and fall backwards onto your rear, to the badly-hidden chuckles of the few people to whom you were visible.

The tomato, however, rather than slamming onto the ground and going "squesh" - that's "squesh" - instead drifts slowly towards the pavement and hovers, about a foot from the dirt, as if to make sure that you're alright. As you change from glancing to staring at the floating fruit it suddenly falls the final few inches onto the ground and lies there motionless. Not quite sure whether you just saw what you think you saw, you contemplate your next move.

You decide to take the tomato to Bran Krug, a doctor of floating salad items.

Enter The Bran

"Brian! Brian! Get out here!"

Bran Krug tugs at his door a few times, finally convincing it to let go of its grip on the the 17th layer of paint around its Victorian frame. "Trevor, welcome to my humble abode! It's been a while since I've seen you, my good friend... please, please, come in and take a load off," he implies by grunting and slamming the door in your face. Then again, you never were too good at reading other people.

"Brian, I've got something here you might find interesting," you shout through the letterbox. "It's a tomato, and it can float!"

Bran reappears, opening the door slightly more and grunting slightly less. "A floating tomato?" he repeats. "Why, I haven't seen one of those for years. Are we talking simple inanimate weightlessness or full-blown cognitive multi-directional manouverability?"

"Yep," you reply, sure that you understood the question. Bran doesn't seem to agree.

"Care to demonstrate?"

You see no harm in showing off your new party trick and take your hands out from behind your back, where you'd been hiding the tomato until this point. You hold it between your thumb and forefinger and make eye contact with Bran. He looks on with a mixture of trepidation and amazement. However, when you release the tomato, it neither smashes onto the gravel nor stops a matter of inches above it as before. Instead, with a barely audible swoosh, it nips in through Bran's open door and vanishes.

"We can't let it get away!" Bran calls, already pounding back inside after the tomato and leaving the door wide open. You wander in after him and find him barely 10 steps away, panting slightly and wondering which wing of his huge house to check first.

You decide to suggest looking for it together.

The Door

You say "There's saftey in numbers. Let's search the north wing!" "Uh... Trevor?" says Bran. "There is no north wing!" "I knew that!" you snap.
Just then, You hear a weird noise that sounds something like the following:
JJJJJAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
(Freaky isin't it?) You both gasp. "It came from the north wing!" you say pointing east (you've always had that problem). "That's east!" says Bran. "Whatever. Let's go!" You yell back as you tear down the hall.
Bran catches up and grabs you by the collar of you shirt (which nearly chokes you) Bran then proceeds to pick you up, (you never have been a healthy weight) and carry you back down the hall, and put you down in
front of a door that is blue and has pinks, purples, and greens swirling across it. Swirling, swirling.... you reach for the doorknob as if in a trance (NOTE: you ARE in a trance) and open the door. in doing so the door is now facing
Bran, who then (Swirling, swirling....) falls under the door's spell. He follows you in, and the door slams shut, leaving you in a small (elevator-sized) and empty room. Then the door disapears, taking you and Bran with it
(!!!!!!!!!HHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAJJJ) to a horibble place in a horibble land that I can't discribe here (shudder!),
Where you're its mindless slaves for all eternity :)


THE END

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