Friday, 16 May 2014
The Whoseum (Choose Your Own Adventure variant)
The tunnel you're crawling down is now almost too narrow to move through. You can feel the weight of the mountain above you, waiting. The flickering candlelight dances across a junction a few feet ahead. The tunnel seems to stretch further on. Two new ink-filled passages on either side. It's impossible to tell how far any of them lead.
And then the candle gutters out.
Your heartbeat speeds up, matching your sudden wet gasps. Spider legs of fear brush the back of your mind. Sweat trickles; tiny tickling ice-hairs. You taste grit and dust but everything smells flat. Invisible rock crushes slowly in. There's no cake. There's no cake.