Truth. Justice. Minesweeper.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

One of the doors out of my office, the rightmost one on the wall opposite the elevator, has been locked since I started working here, and I've never found a key for it. There isn't even one in Carl's emergency stash-o'-keys.

Today I noticed that the carpet in front of that door was rucked up a bit. Not that I'm Sherlock Holmes over here; it could have been like that for days. But it hasn't always been like that. So I went over to check the door, and this time it opened.

Beyond the door was space.

An endless purple void of space, filled with an eerie green glow.

A staircase, starting at my doorway, zigged and zagged up and out and across this void, ending in front of a red-sparkling portal hundreds of feet away. Similar portals hung in the violet air as far as I could see, some near, some far, above, below, left and right. Strange triple-winged birds screamed distantly as they swooped past clusters of floating rectangles.

I closed the door. I had been hoping for something more interesting than that.

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