Thursday, October 10, 2013


After so many hours awake, even the most potent pot of Joe doesn’t do the deed anymore. Abigail found herself quickly reaching that point. She had been poring over several small idols which had been brought in recently. They appeared to have vague connections to the Rapa Nui, Maori, or some other Polynesian group. Her examinations so far had proved inconclusive.
            As the weariness wore on, Abigail went to reach for her mug. In her tired state, her coordination failed her and she caught her hand on a spear one of the small figures was holding. Made from carved obsidian, the point easily tore both her gloves and her flesh. A fresh surge of adrenaline brought her awake.
            Before she could react further, the idol, covered in her fresh blood, glowed brightly. An instant later her entire world whirled, a myriad of colors and textures.
            Except, for a dark spot far off in front of her, slightly to her left. As if compelled by some force, Abigail made her way there, her world still motley and indistinct. As she approached the figure, she saw it was humanoid, lying down in the fetal position. As she crouched down to touch it, the colors left.
            She was somehow in a janitorial closet, a dead homeless person lying in front of her.

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