Seeing as how I am obligated to help a friend move tomorrow, at the ripe hour of eight in the morning, I've posted the below in advance. (Just pretend the date says "Sep 1, 2004.") I've no idea where it came from. I wrote it on the spot. Whatever the case, it should be somewhat amusing. Or, at least I hope so.
Oh, and it's 2 a.m., so it's staying unscanned and unedited until tomorrow evening. Blame the broken laptop for errors until then.
I awoke this morning to find that my hands were no longer. Instead, they'd been replaced with two large, clawed paws. And, I could no longer see me skin beneath the thickness of cheasnut fur that'd grown apparently overnight.
Normally this type of Kafkaesque metamorphesis would be cause for alarm, yet I couldn't remember my name - not at first. Rolling out of bed, I looked around to study my surroundings with eyes still hazy. Nothing, I noticed, had changed: my bedroom was identical to how I left it the previous evening. Surely I was still dreaming, then. If so, I hypothesized, a shower would surely wake me.
On flipping on the array of lights in my bathroom though, I was detered from my task as, for the first time that day, I saw my full length in the mirror. Dream indeed, I thought; for I appear to be a Badger - with a glorious strip of white down my back and all.
I couldn't take a shower, being clothed in fur as I was. I'd clog the drain and the smell might cause concern, even among the drunkards of my hall. So I set about finding something to cover myself.
To my amazement, the closet had been altered too. The shelves and clothes-rods were in place as usual, but the only garments there were simple black t-shirts. Now I must digress to mention that my curiosity toward not only the shirts, but also the rest of my surreal situation, went beyond what I'd previously considered normal, human levels. In fact, my curiosity felt more like compulsion, like I'd been hardcoded for the express purpose of exploring. Thus, on pulling the unfamiliar tee down off its hanger, I found myself actually tingling with excitement. I spun it 'round in my paws --after a brief moment of thanks that I could still manipulate objects-- to find a single word printed on the front, bold-faced in white: Editor.
I quickly pulled the shirt over my head and was immediately struck by the urge --no, the desire-- to seek out a red pen. The feeling was intense and overwhelming.
Luckily, my recent membership to an online society of uncertain renown, but definite character and worth, had mandated that I keep such an instrument beside my desktop computer. I ran strangely upright on my approach to the table, but managed to reach my destination without falling and, excitedly, beheld the pen. However, in yet another turn of curious (oh, how curious) fate, my red pen bore words not native to its manufacture. Leaning down to sharpen my vision, I read them aloud to the empty room.
"Mercurial is coming. Ready the presses - coffee and print."
In that instant, with the quality of the mysterious words still on the air, I realized my purpose. My human self was gone. I could not remember the slightest of my former life. All I knew was that I'd been chosen by the cosmic forces to put forth this creation, this dream, this "Mercurial"; so I did as the prophetic red pen asked.
The presses are ready, and I've only to wait.
Oh, and it's 2 a.m., so it's staying unscanned and unedited until tomorrow evening. Blame the broken laptop for errors until then.
I awoke this morning to find that my hands were no longer. Instead, they'd been replaced with two large, clawed paws. And, I could no longer see me skin beneath the thickness of cheasnut fur that'd grown apparently overnight.
Normally this type of Kafkaesque metamorphesis would be cause for alarm, yet I couldn't remember my name - not at first. Rolling out of bed, I looked around to study my surroundings with eyes still hazy. Nothing, I noticed, had changed: my bedroom was identical to how I left it the previous evening. Surely I was still dreaming, then. If so, I hypothesized, a shower would surely wake me.
On flipping on the array of lights in my bathroom though, I was detered from my task as, for the first time that day, I saw my full length in the mirror. Dream indeed, I thought; for I appear to be a Badger - with a glorious strip of white down my back and all.
I couldn't take a shower, being clothed in fur as I was. I'd clog the drain and the smell might cause concern, even among the drunkards of my hall. So I set about finding something to cover myself.
To my amazement, the closet had been altered too. The shelves and clothes-rods were in place as usual, but the only garments there were simple black t-shirts. Now I must digress to mention that my curiosity toward not only the shirts, but also the rest of my surreal situation, went beyond what I'd previously considered normal, human levels. In fact, my curiosity felt more like compulsion, like I'd been hardcoded for the express purpose of exploring. Thus, on pulling the unfamiliar tee down off its hanger, I found myself actually tingling with excitement. I spun it 'round in my paws --after a brief moment of thanks that I could still manipulate objects-- to find a single word printed on the front, bold-faced in white: Editor.
I quickly pulled the shirt over my head and was immediately struck by the urge --no, the desire-- to seek out a red pen. The feeling was intense and overwhelming.
Luckily, my recent membership to an online society of uncertain renown, but definite character and worth, had mandated that I keep such an instrument beside my desktop computer. I ran strangely upright on my approach to the table, but managed to reach my destination without falling and, excitedly, beheld the pen. However, in yet another turn of curious (oh, how curious) fate, my red pen bore words not native to its manufacture. Leaning down to sharpen my vision, I read them aloud to the empty room.
"Mercurial is coming. Ready the presses - coffee and print."
In that instant, with the quality of the mysterious words still on the air, I realized my purpose. My human self was gone. I could not remember the slightest of my former life. All I knew was that I'd been chosen by the cosmic forces to put forth this creation, this dream, this "Mercurial"; so I did as the prophetic red pen asked.
The presses are ready, and I've only to wait.
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