Sporke woke up, alarmed. She lay still for a moment, to hide her return to the world of the conscious. After a moment of silence, she risked opening one eye, just a slit. Emptiness! Sporke sat up, feeling the blood rush away from her head. For not the first time, she wondered why that happened. The theory favoured was that blood was afraid of heights, but Sporke had always thought that faulty. Why, she had known tall, thin boys who had red faces and pale hands; obviously it wasn't afraid if it could make it to their heads and not hands. Then Sporke, reflecting over the last idea, realised that she was being both slightly cruel and fairly superficial. Perhaps the blood in her own head had fallen simply because it was not ready to go up. That was probably it.
At any rate, Sporke had awoken. Rational thoughts (e.g., those having nothing to do with her former train of thought) raced along neural pathways from various regions. Sporke's brain quickly gathered the information, then wished it hadn't. Legs and arms: aching. Head, shoulders, knees and toes: also aching. Stomach: empty, growling, and slightly painful. Liver: not reporting yet, probably off-colour and aching. Kidneys: also not reporting. Sporke opened her eyes, and stumbled out to the door, hair hanging raggedly in her face. It was not until she had vomited twice that she grasped the reality of her situation.
A limb overhead rustled and a voice called down, gaily, 'Are you all right?' Sporke cast an eye upward, in a fairly dramatic manner. The tree gave a slight rustling noise, and dropped an acorn at her foot. Sporke thought for a moment, then said, dryly, 'Gee. Whiz. Thanks a million, pal, because what I need right this instant is an acorn.'
Another nut fell, this time landing on her head. Sporke picked it up, threw is out into the forest, walked into the hut and slammed the door. Then she raised her hand, and licked her fingers.
'Umm,' she said, 'sugar. I remember now--I'm in a candy cottage.' Then she thought to herself: 'Why the hell am I speaking out loud?'
At any rate, Sporke had awoken. Rational thoughts (e.g., those having nothing to do with her former train of thought) raced along neural pathways from various regions. Sporke's brain quickly gathered the information, then wished it hadn't. Legs and arms: aching. Head, shoulders, knees and toes: also aching. Stomach: empty, growling, and slightly painful. Liver: not reporting yet, probably off-colour and aching. Kidneys: also not reporting. Sporke opened her eyes, and stumbled out to the door, hair hanging raggedly in her face. It was not until she had vomited twice that she grasped the reality of her situation.
A limb overhead rustled and a voice called down, gaily, 'Are you all right?' Sporke cast an eye upward, in a fairly dramatic manner. The tree gave a slight rustling noise, and dropped an acorn at her foot. Sporke thought for a moment, then said, dryly, 'Gee. Whiz. Thanks a million, pal, because what I need right this instant is an acorn.'
Another nut fell, this time landing on her head. Sporke picked it up, threw is out into the forest, walked into the hut and slammed the door. Then she raised her hand, and licked her fingers.
'Umm,' she said, 'sugar. I remember now--I'm in a candy cottage.' Then she thought to herself: 'Why the hell am I speaking out loud?'
