Mick gazed down the hole.
And it gazed back at him.
This was mildly disturbing.
He paced the floor.
The floor was doing some pretty good laps.
This was also mildly disturbing, and Mick was getting sick of this.
Sick of this costed- and Mick attacked the author.
Mick paced the floor, gazing down the hole that had planted itself in his dining room floor.
It was just sort of there, like holes usually are, only this one seemed to be bottomless. Mick had tried dropping a Rolex down it, but no sound had echoed back, just the cold silence and the small hum of the mini refrigerator beside him. Mick tried dropping the mini refrigerator down.
Nothing.
He pulled out his Pocket Guide to Holes, and followed the instructions.
If dark, go to page 2. If lit up brightly, go to page 3. If other, go to page 4
He turned to page 2.
If rocky, go to page 6. If smooth and plastic, go to page 8. If other, go to page 12.
Page 6 it was.
If bottomless, go to page 13. If not bottomless, go to page 16. If you are not an expert on bottomless holes, then this hole may be cleverly disguised as a bottomless hole and is actually using Narbacular theorems and effects to prevent you from realizing otherwise, or is actually bottomless and cleverly disguised as a hole full of bottoms. Turn to page 20 if this is the case.
...20?
If you wish to discover whether this hole is bottomless or not, deposit this book in the hole. If it returns, proceed to page 22. If it does not, proceed to page 30.
Mick tossed the book down the hole.
And waited.
Nothing came back up.
Oh crap a small buttered toast through a gooseberry.
Mick looked at the hole.
And looked.
And looked very carefully.
And jumped.
---
FIVE DAYS EARLIER
“Hey!” said Mick.
“Hey!” said Mick’s friends.
“It sure is fun living in this place called Earth, having a life the readers call “somewhat normal”!” said Mick.
“Yep, it sure is!” said Mick’s friends, and the author suddenly felt this great sense of shame, even though he hadn’t broken the rule of show-not-tell at all. Not at all.
---
“Aaaaaaaaah!” Mick squealed like a little girl as he fell through the hole.
Eventually, he landed in a grassy meadow.
“Oh my God! Where am I?” Mick said, thinking he was in some other part of Earth.
He saw a Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius) flying past in the distance.
“A dragon!?” he squealed.
A wizard came by.
Casting a Hypno-Spell 3000, she intoned “You will forget your previous life and believe that you grew up here in this meadow, as otherwise your life from here on would be a cliched plot. Since Mick is the name of my ex, I don’t like it and you’ll be called Peter from now on. You will also have this thing for tacos,” thus saving us from a lot of boredom.
She danced off, giggling “Hehe, tacos!”
Peter looked around blearily.
“So, Peter,” he said to himself. “Why in the world have you been sitting here for your entire freaking life eating grass when you could’ve been venturing off to get yourself some tasty tacos?”
He sat up, looked around, saw a Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius) off in the distance flying around.
“Say!” said Peter, who was a bit new to the whole life thing as far as he could remember and was going to have a hard time breaking the habit of talking to himself about everything. “Maybe that fire-breathing menacing Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius) knows where to get some tasty tacos!”
Peter started walking towards the Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius).
---
The Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius) was flying around a menacing-looking bush that he rather liked to fly around. He thought it complemented his menacing look and made him rather dashing with the ladies.
The ladies wondered why there was some weirdo flying around a piece of shrubbery and wisely left him alone.
The Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius), thusly, hadn’t gotten it on in quite some time and was getting pretty cranky, seeing as they hadn’t invented plain brown wrapped parcels for Roaring Dragons (scientific name Draco Clamariuses) yet.
However, when he saw Peter off in the distance, he smelled the irresistible smell of human and set off for him.
---
Peter saw that the Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius) was getting close with a happy expression on its face.
“Huzzah!” he said happily. “I wonder if it wants to be friends with me. I bet it does!”
He broke out into a run for the Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius), eagerly awaiting directions to tasty tacos and a new friendship.
---
The Roaring Dragon (scientific name Draco Clamarius) happily devoured him.
---
Peter was squished through the digestive system and finally landed on the stomach lining with an unpleasant sounding squick.
There was a guy sitting in front of a TV.
“Oh jeez, another one? This is the third time!” he said, and tossed a pamphlet over his shoulder at Peter without even turning to look at him.
Peter looked at the pamphlet. The pamphlet looked at him. This stirred a vague memory.
The pamphlet said ‘How to TELELPORT: A Quick Speh-shul Guide Written By Matt Iinkin’.
Peter opened it and read it carefully, then TELELPORTed out of the stomach.
As his particles were starting to be whipped through space, he saw someone else fall down and hit with a displeasing “SPLAPPADOODLEDOO”. Only without the “ADOODLEDOO”.
Matt Iinkin greeted this person as if he was the first person to fall down into the stomach.
Peter TELELPORTED all the way to...
Another field.
It filled him with glee.
He discovered it had no tasty tacos.
This did not fill him with glee.
He attempted to TELELPORT again, only to discover that he had forgotten how to do it and lost the pamphlet on his journey.
He started trudging through the field unhappily. "Why must I suffer like this?" he questioned the skies. "Is there some sort of rule that states that I cannot live a happy life, eating tasty tacos in the Cra-yon Fee-ilds?" He sighed unhappily, and trudged on.
Crayolla was watching.
Crayolla watches everyone, though, so this doesn't really mean much.
Peter reached a house, and went inside, and sat down to have a nice supper. "Ahhhh. It’s hardly tasty tacos, but this soup will do for now.” He sat there, eating and eating soup happily. Life was good, and this house was a lovely house to live in for the rest of his life.
The End.
...Until the door opened.
“Oh my GOD, who are YOU?” screamed the owner of the house and the soup, pulled out her cellphone, and dialed the cops.
Peter jumped with fright, toppled the bowl of soup and the chair in his mad dash to get out through the window, smashed through the window, tumbled in a roll on the grass, sprung to his feet, and ran off.
He noted that there was now soup and small shards of broken glass all over his tuxedo.
Yes, he was wearing a tuxedo.
Why do these things surprise anyone anymore?
He kept on running, as the white and purple lights of the police car drove up to the house he had mistakenly ate soup at. Unfortunately for him, it was homing soup, and the soup he had ate and the soup on his shirt meant he would be able to be tracked.
The window was not a homing window.
The window was just a window.
A sexy, sexy window.
Mmm mmm.
Such a sexy window.
Incandescent.
Sparkly.
Scintillating.
Adonis-like.
Like flawlessly carved marble, and Peter ran on, this sparkling god-like window clinging to his body in almost a sexual way.
But Peter was not interested in the window's advances on him. Peter was interested in getting away from that house and hopefully, finally, finding some tasty, tasty tacos.
Peter ran and ran, panting but continuing in desperate search of the tasty tacos that eluded him.
Night fell, and he ran on, until his legs gave out underneath him and he collapsed to the ground, aching in all different places, and ruing the day he had wondered why in the world he was standing there, when he could be finding tasty tasty tacos.
He lost consciousness.
Someone came across his unconscious body, zipped it up in a bag, and dragged it off.
Peter was dreaming. In his dream, he was in a white room. He could see a small device in the center of the room. He got up, walked over to it, and fiddled with some things on it. He suddenly warped to a different time.
"Hello," said Peter.
"Hello," said Peter. "I think I found a sort of odd device that allows me to teleport."
"No, I don't think so," said Peter, sitting in a chair, eating soup. "It looks to me, since I do not have this soup on my shirt and you do, that it is a time machine and you are from the future."
"Hmm," said Peter. "Well, I don't have any use for it, you can have it."
"Hey, cool, thanks!"
Peter handed the time machine to Peter and exited the house, only to witness the owner come up, not notice him, open the door and scream, and call the cops, who promptly came and shot him.
Due to a time paradox, Peter awoke in a white room. He could see a small device in the center of the room. He got up, walked over to it, and fiddled with some things on it. He warped to a different time and saw another him. This other him was busy eating soup, and Peter, very weirded out by this, quietly slipped away.
Or he would have, if he had not then noticed that underneath the chair that his past self was sitting on was a plate. On that plate was a simply scrumptious tasty taco.
"Holy crap, a tasty taco!"
Past Peter looked around startled, followed Future Peter's gaze, and found the tasty taco.
"Hey neat!" said Past Peter. "Let's share it!"
So they did, eliminating the event that brought Future Peter into existence. He felt himself slipping away, grabbed a knife from his pocket, pulled his shirt up, looked down at the bare stomach and flinched, preparing to carve a message that he had suddenly realized that he had already tried to do something similiar and due to an incongruency failed and was brought back to the white room. He plunged the knife down, and felt it sink into the block of soft wood attached to his stomach. He carved the message in and waited for the white room.
Peter woke up in a white room. He read the message, and as the trigger made a doorway from one dimension to another, the dimension explosion that occured made him remember all of his past experiences.
He cautiously picked up the time device, turned the knob, and got pulled through time.
Peter found himself in the same white room, and realized that he had turned it a different way. He kept turning it that different way, going forward through time at a remarkable speed. Suddenly, the white room was no longer there. He stopped turning the knob and looked around. There was a rather old looking house a bit of a ways off, and he was standing in the remains of some sort of white room that had finally decided to collapse. He started running towards the house.
When he reached it, he opened the door, looked inside, and gasped.
There he was, sitting there still eating the soup from what Peter now realized must be the Neverending Bowl.
Future Peter looked up from eating the soup with a bemused expression on his face, and croaked "How the devil are you a younger version of myself if you've got soup and glass on your shirt? I certainly don't remember anything of the sort happening to me."
Peter woke up in a white room, at a bit more of an advantage this time for remembering everything that hadn't actually happened any more.
He sat up and stared at the repulsive little time device.
And suddenly had an idea.
He turned back time until he was looking at the house off in the distance. He saw himself running towards him and quickly hid behind a handy bush.
As Past Peter ran up to him, he chucked a heavy rock at Past Peter's head. Past Peter fell unconscious.
Peter found some handy drywall nearby, and constructed a quick room. Before putting the final wall in, he chucked his time device in, slipped the final wall into place, and walked off, finally free.
Now, the important matter. Tasty, tasty, tasty tacos.
He started running back to the house and tripped over the drywall.
A very startled Past Peter stood up and looked at him. Without bothering to explain, Peter grabbed the time device and started pulling Past Peter along with him before the jerk could figure out anything wrong about the situation to send him back.
He saw the police coming after him, and turned the knob forwards. The police disappeared, and the drywall was rubble. He walked forward to the house, turned the knob back, saw the police running away from him, bemused at the way he had disappeared, and climbed through the broken window.
The tasty taco was there, under the chair, for him to eat. Past Peter was fine with this, as Peter explained, and he took Past Peter back, laid him down, put the drywall back up again, and finally, tossed the time device into the structure and put the final wall into place. The time device would probably keep on exchanging hands like that in infinite different universes, looping and looping through time, but he was done now. He had gotten his tasty taco.
He walked off into the sunset.
The End.
Multiple universes ftw! Expect this to be elaborated on in Cra-yon Lay-onds 7, maybe. Also, Cra-yon Lay-onds 8 or something will come out on Valentine's Day, and wrap up Cra-yon Lay-onds 5, just like I promised about a year ago. *giggles*
