Okay, readers have chided me to join in Derb’s fun. For the sake of continuity, I’ve included the preceding entry by Derb in italics:
Suddenly a shadow fell on the room. The window imploded, shards and fragments of glass raining down on Smith and his work surfaces. A strange figure was now in the room, still clutching at the rope with which he must have rappelled down to the window from the house roof. Though standing upright, the creature was plainly some species of giant turtle. Green in color, he sported a ninja headband and a cloth belt in which were stuffed a pair of nunchakus.
“Who are you?” cried Winston Smith in panic.
“Calm your fears, writer person,” soothed the turtle. “I have been charged with a grave mission, and need your assistance. The Republican Party is in danger!….”
“Eeeep! Eeeep! Eeep!”
Suddenly, I awoke from what seemed too real to be a dream.
“Eeeep! Eeeep! Eeeep!”
My alarm clock continued to blare sounds which sounded like baby android chicks waiting to be fed.
I got up from my desk and, still groggy, kept stabbing at buttons on the clock with my fingers until the voracious electronic birds went silent, seemingly sated by the right combination of pokes.
My forehead throbbed. Putting my hand to my hairline, I felt hard indentations amidst a cold sweat. Looking in the mirror, I could see the outlines of my keyboard pressed into my flesh.
“What a weird dream…” I muttered, now looking at the floor where moments before I was sure there had been shards of glass and a man-sized reptile staring back at me, asking me to go on some sort of mission.
I looked to my computer screen, expecting to see a long string of gibberish stemming from the fact I had used the keyboard as a pillow. But there was no gibberish, no long string of meaningless letters and numbers. Instead, there was a message, a message that would change my life and leave me wishing it had only been a dream.