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| Installment #3: (we realize this is a repeat from last issue) |
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| Byron lowered the receiver and numbly returned it to it's receptical (as if Byron could return anything in any other fashion). With his ears still ringing from this recent barrage, he dropped his head to his hands and envisioned a granite toilet bowl devouring his future (this day would eventually fall under the category "not even my worst day"). With whatever last iota of dignity remaining within him, Byron stood and turned resolutely from the console and then ran like a scared bunny, barely noticing the blaring "ah-ooo-ga" in the distance that signaled the security forces mustering to turn him into a large pot of tapioca. |
| Stumbling blindly from door to door, Byron looked for somewhere to hide, knowing full well that nowhere was far enough from right here, right now. Then as if signaling to him that he had reached the bottom of the barrel (later in life he would look back and laugh at himself thinking "this" was as bad as it could get), he noticed a door marked, "Danger, Do Not Enter". Figuring, "how bad could it be?", he plunged through it. |
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| Author: Jonathan Gellert |
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| This concludes installment #3 of this currently untitled fictional work. See you next month for installment #4. |
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