Monday, 15 February 2010

Every day is a little adventure.

You are in a well lit room, lined with bookcases. In the corner on a desk sits a keyboard, a mouse and a large blank screen. There is a door to the north.


You check your dressing-gown pockets.

You find :

A creased copy of “On Liberty” by John Stuart Mill.

Half a pint of Shandy.

Indigestion pills.

An apple.

A slightly rotten apple.

An apple core.

A piece of folded paper with the word “Sleep” written on it.

You are holding:

A cold cup of tea


You try to go north. You hit your shin on the coffee table. You swear loudly. You spill cold tea on your slippers. You hear a reprimand from the next room.

You reach the door at a limp. You have lost 2 sanity points.

You go NORTH to a dimly lit corridor. Shoes are lined up on a rack by a door to the EAST. To the WEST stairs wind upwards out of sight. To the NORTH you can see an open door to a kitchen. There are clattering noises from the kitchen and a greasy smell that could be food. Unopened letters spill from a hole in the eastern door. Something is knocking on the EASTERN door.

You can go back SOUTH, NORTH to the Kitchen, WEST up the stairs or open the EASTERN door.

>Open door.

Outside the door is a GRUE. He is lost and lonely after being evicted from his cave. It is snowing outside. He is looking for somewhere to live.

>Slam Door.

You slam the door in the face of the distraught GRUE. You can hear: some muffled sobbing. You lose :13 sanity points.


I’m sorry, could you be more specific?

>Why is their a GRUE outside my front door?

You hear a muffled reply from the kitchen but it is drowned out by the clattering. You can hear: muffled sobbing. You can see: unopened letters. You can go WEST back to bed, EAST to the slammed door or NORTH to the noisy kitchen.

>Pick up letters

You pick up the letters awkwardly, slopping cold tea onto the shoes. The GRUE wails disconsolately.


You are in a hot, busy kitchen. Your wife is currently making her breakfast, her six metallic limbs flashing and clanging. Her laser-beam eye flashes as it lights upon your dishevelled form. She takes the letters and the mug of tea from you as she pours a fresh one , fries eggs, toasts scones and puts the milk back in the fridge, all at the same time. There is an old oak table with six chairs in front of you. One of the chairs contains your child, beeping contentedly as he eats from a bowl full of AA batteries. His lights are green with pleasure. Distractedly you notice that it has started to snow in earnest outside and the GRUE has pressed it’s face against the window, slowly freezing tears congealing round his nose.

You feel: guilt. You can hear: clanking. You can smell: breakfast.

You can go SOUTH or SIT DOWN.

>Freak out

You: freak out, thrashing wildly. You drain your tea in one swift gulp, place the mug on your head and sing incoherently. Your performance of a Russian dance is limber and well co-ordinated. You tell: a ribald joke backwards.

Your wife is clearly unimpressed. Your son bleeps questioningly The GRUE is now frozen to the window.

You see a threatening Skillet. You hear bleeping and the faint crackling of freezing cartilage. You have lost: 14 Billion Sanity points.


You are in the dark hallway. Behind you is your Cyborg wife, loading her plasma skillet. You can go NORTH, EAST, WEST.


Sorry you’ll have to be more specific.


A Plasma bolt sears the wall next to you.


Sorry, but she is your wife.


You go outside into the Blizzard. It is cold. You can see a GRUE stuck to the window to the NORTH. You can see nothing but WHITE in every other direction. The snowflakes all seem to be in the shape of Jim Morrison. Somewhere “Dead flag blues” by Godspeed you Black Emperor is playing. Your dressing-gown has change into a white tuxedo, dusted with miniature Jims. Your indistinct reflection in the window looks like Manny Calavera.

You feel: cold and scared.

>Help me GRUE!

The GRUE shrugs helplessly, before being torn off the window by a bolt of fuzzy blue energy. You spin round to see your cyborg wife bearing down on you, Plasma Skillet aimed directly between your eyes. Behind her, your child is having problems with his wheels getting stuck in snowdrifts.

>Oh GODS what is happening? I’ve got to WAKE UP!

You have lost the piece of folded paper with the word “Sleep” written on it.

You wake up.

Well done. You have progressed to level 2.

You feel: Sleepy. You hear: loud bleeping.

You are in your warm bed. The world is dark and obscure. Somewhere an alarm is going off. It is possible you are late for work. Swimming up into focus at the foot of the bed is a GRUE. It gives you a small wave and a nervous smile. Something clanks in the bed next to you.


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