Monday, February 20, 2006

11: Storyline 1.6

I collected myself and rose to my feet in the field of strawberries. I noticed my right pinky finger, fire axe, and mysterious glowing orb lying on the ground nearby next to a rip in the fabric of space-time. (I figured the latter to be the hole in the stairs.) I retrieved my belongings and put them away, all the while contemplating my options.

There are a number of things one can do when confronted by a rip in the fabric of space-time, but I think my choice was the most obvious: I decided to dance. To rock out. To strut my funky stuff. As I began, music erupted from every tiny leaf and berry around me, a ringing endorsement of my choice.

Funny thing about dancing: When you're dancing, you don't worry about rats eating your rotting corpse. The idea of the sun going nova doesn't really enter your mind. When the music is pumping and you know exactly what to do about it, you achieve temporary immortality.

Now, I have a confession to make: I like using colons, but I'm starting to worry that I'm overdoing it. Fuck. In my feistiness I've written a self-referential paragraph. I must end it immediately.

Now, to be perfectly honest, I can't dance worth a shit. But there, on that day, in that strawberry field, it was right. I don't know how to describe it. But I know that I was kicking ass, and had they been there, the finest dancers the world has ever known would have been envying my chops.

I danced for a while, and then I stopped. The music ended in a finale timed perfectly with my cessation. There were some trampled strawberry plants, but the rip had vanished.

I contemplated my next move.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

two days a week!
i must rearrange the daily internet time to accomidate this!
and dance i shall!

ok. maybe i am just to much into the energy from this one.


9:02 PM  

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