Woohoo! Another fic for me, I'm so gonna be bogged down now… OH WELL.

Please read this fic, it's humour and centering on non other that our widdle Ollie, as Shannon would put it… but anyway, on with it!

Disclaimer: I only own what is mine, and being a lawyer you should be able to figure that out…if you can't, that's your fault and you can't sue me, because I said I didn't own what wasn't mine, so.. YEAH –sticks out tongue-

Chapter 1

Christ his head hurt. Why couldn't he have just died without the extra dizziness? Noooo, it had to be so difficult, like Carmelita Spats.

"Couldn't have just picked the BLUE tutu" Olaf said under his breath. "God damnit I always hated that little b-

"Ahhh, tutu problems," said a voice. "We had one of those a few years back, two young woman ran and ran after each other till they collapsed, all for the tutu…"

Olaf looked around for anyone, there was nobody around, everything was pure white. Stupid voices, he meant to go see a psychiatrist… He was afraid he might strangle him, being told what to think wasn't one of his specialties. Now strangling and killing on the other hand…

But, he felt so POWERLESS and he hated not being in control, he was floating for gods sake, how typical, you die, then float around in space for a few minutes.

Floating was fun though…when he was a boy he would want to be a pilot. Gods, when he was a BOY? He had tried to forget what he was like as a boy, he had actually given an APPLE to his teacher, and he was good looking! Not that he wasn't good looking now of course…

If he could only move… he tried, he was frozen in the same moronic position, talk about looking like Michael Jackson. He wondered if he had to go to the washroom before he died, that would explain the hand positioning…

He was pissed (A/N: Not LITERALLY pissed, the pissed as in MAD). "Ok, what the HELL?

A split second later, he landed with a thud on an earthy surface. There was no more bright white, but to replace it was red, and different colours. Oranges, browns, reds…some different shades of reds, and Oohh! Look over there MORE RED. EVERYTHING was the same creepy autumn shades, it was almost too much to bear. He seemed to be on some sort of dirt patch, littered with, uhg, bones. Human or not, there was still meat on them, he looked away, upwards. There were spiraling paths leading up as far as he could see. Looking around, he saw other people, most lugging around burlap sacks or wooden wagons, others just sitting near large rocks

Worst thing was that it all looked like a HUGE . FRICKIN . MOUNTAIN. Nothing against mountains, they were actually quite nice, it was just the fact that he had fallen off one, to his death.

Ok, it was true, he didn't die from Carmelita and a blue tutu, he had died in an attempt to capture the Baudelaires and their fortune, at the top of cliff on SheepVille Mountain. He wasn't about to let anyone know that, not that he'd need to tell anyone, wherever he was. He may not even be able to see the earth again, if he was where he thought he was.

He wouldn't be missing his acquaintances, eh, they were all morons anyway. And he would never miss that nerd Klaus or the biting monster, but Violet was so pretty… He sighed. No more fantasies about him and Violet running off into the sunset…

He looked around at all the people sitting around on their lazy arses. Most were very short and pale looking. It was time he shot some questions into them.

Olaf stood up, his bones cracking, and casually made his way to one of the rocks, where a scary looking man leaned against. Standing in front of him in a threatening way, he spoke.

"So, is this some bad impression of hell?"he said staring at him with those awful shiny eyes.

The mans face was emotionless, and he stayed silent, not even looking up to face the man speaking to him.

"Well" said Olaf, his voice rising. "Are you going to answer me?"

Silence.

This man must really have some nerve. If he had a weapon with him, Olaf would have killed him right there (if it was possible), then maybe some of the others would start speaking. Considering he didn't have a weapon, he continued. He towered over the man.

"Basturd, ANSWER MY QUESTION!"

But then something caught his eye. A pitchfork was propped up on the rock next to the man, so shiny and evil looking, smooth and wanting. One thought was on his mind,

Cha Ching….

Quickly he grabbed the pitchfork and ran, feeling it in his hands, it was quite hot, and what the heck was it mad of? It wasn't aluminum, metal or wood… Mmm, but it WAS smooth, good for killing. If only he had gone into farm land and stolen one of these before he started hunting down the Baudelaires. He wondered if there was some sort of place he could sell it, it was new looking, and light, perhaps there was some Ebay of the Down under.

He stopped to catch his breath. He had worked his way up one of the open spiraling passages. He looked down to the man who he'd stolen the pitchfork from, he still hadn't moved an inch, what was HIS problem? There were people passing him, backs hunched, walking slowly. Nobody stopped, nobody had even looked at him, it was as if he wasn't even there. What was wrong with everyone? He was positive he was in hell. He had a little chuckle inside his head, yeah, like I'd be sent to the OTHER place, he thought. He just needed to know,

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

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Ok, first chapter, so how is it? Flames are unwanted, constructive critism would be nice, what do YOU think going to happen next? – evil grin- I know mwhaha, er, sorry… but please Review : ) Make my day.

(And that wasn't a sarcastic comment, funny or nice reviews always make my day.)

Yours till I waddle…like a penguin,

.:The OddBird:.