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I guess that I should not be suprised that an escape attempted (based on an emergency ZCD created under suboptimal conditions) did not go according to plans. Or that my head is currently protesting with the aid of three pile drivers, a collection of very bad rock anthems and a flock of angry woodpeckers.
However, once I eventually managed to crowbar my eyes open, the scene was really not what I expected. The nearest description I can come up with, is to say that it was as if reality had been replaced by the most incredible plaid fabric constructed from exceedinly vibrant smells woven with the deft hands of a fish into something that did not resemble any room ever created or invented. Ever.
"Ummm Hello?" I asked to the void in general, at which point Marc, or what looked like Marc, swept back the plaid, stepped round the fabric.
"Yes?"
"Marc?"
"No."
"Umm?"
"Just another ZCD hallucination. Or maybe not."
"Where am I?" I asked, rather than confront that particular issue. And at that point three flying bananas went past, chased by an invisible rabbit wearing and invisible librarian's uniform, carrying a silver salver on which where piles of books from Machiavelli, Sun Tzu and Robert Sheckley, and accompanied by an honour guard of banoffee pies.
"Based on that, I'd hazard a guess you're stuck in Adrian's subconscious."
There are times when I envy the ability of a computer to say "overload" and shutdown for a few days. "Out of the Frying Pan and into the Frier. What happened to WDE? And any ideas how I get out here? "
"I don't think Adrian has taken any sort of Holy Orders. Anyhow WDE got out. Apparently the ZCD has a different effect on him. And he's nicer to the squid. Anyway, since I'm just a hallucination of yours, why are you asking yourself of these questions?" Marc replied.
"Because I appear to be stuck in the subconscious of an imaginary creation, suffering an emergency ZCD hangunder, with only a hallucination and my wits to help be get out."
"Strange; I didn't take you for an optimist. But I think you've overlooked two major assets you have." And with that Marc reach under his coat and into his two holsters (which was somewhat disconcerting as up until that point he had neither holsters or coat), and with the flourish of a mad wild west gunslinger drew out two long feathers.
I blinked. It seemed the only thing to do.
"A little tickling is called for, " said Marc and set about applying the feathers to a rather strange protrusion in the fabric of Adrian's subconscious.
"Ummm.... Why?"
"Well a good tickling is always cathartic."
"You're trying to get me laughed out of his head?"
"Well, you've been laughed out of enough other places. Anyway, you thought it was a good plan."
At this point I heard a noise behind me, like thousands of booted feet, and turned round.
"Ummm. Marc. I think I could do with some help..." at which point Marc glanced round.
"Naaaa. Don't worry about them they're just Adrian's antibodies. Anyway, I've almost finished my feather frottaging of his farcical glands."
In a move that thankfully pushed me over the edge, Adrian's Antibodies (which to me looked exactly like an army of squirrels), reached in.... well somewhere, and in perfect unision pulled out Ikea catalogues together with a shopping list of items and advanced on me. Seeing no other option I reached into my hip pocket, found a hip flask I didn't have and quaffed the entire ZCD on the grounds that with a bit of luck it would make things a lot worse.
I'm not really sure what happened next, as I slipped into what I shall call un-consciousness, but I think Marc shouted "Got it -- hang on." whilst distance ceased to exist and everything, including all the squirrel (sorry Adrian's antibodies) promptly occupied exactly the same space as me, the "room" gave a sort of dimensional hiccup, and, strangest of all, I could have sworn I heard The Lumberjack Song.....
<BLACKNESS>
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