Two things happened after I woke up that morning. The first thing was the lights went on with a blinding flash. The second thing was that when I went into the control room to look for Alabaster, I found that all of the ejection seats had been activated.
I told Plittereeg about the ejection seats. He was as bewildered as I was. Our only choice was to go into the maze. We wandered aimlessly, often backtracking and “shortcutting†through random tunnels. Left-right, right-left, and back again until we saw Dave’s glowing eyes around the bend of the tunnel. But then I realized something, I pointed it out to Plittereeg: This was Dave’s ship. He had made it out of the maze, having started last night.
Weasel, on the other hand, would not have.
When we rounded the bend, we found Weasel standing in the middle of the tunnel. We stared at him in amazement. There wasn’t anything amazing about Weasel still being in the maze. Nobody but Dave could find their way out without help. In his hand was a small glowing egg with a spiderweb of cracks. Before our eyes, the spiderweb of cracks grew. The egg swelled and quite suddenly burst. Out of the egg came a—WHACK!
A punch hit me on the back of the head, before I had a chance to analyze what came out of the egg. Before I had a chance to turn to see who had hit me, I heard another WHACK happening to Plittereeg. I tried to get up and help Plittereeg, but I was too weak. In my attempt to help him, I passed out from exhaustion.
When I came to, I was in one of those glass tubes full of water, like the kind that are supposed to be in Area 51 or on TV shows that think they know way too much about Area 51. Instead of the clothes I had been wearing when I was knocked out, a skin-tight body suit had been substituted. The suit was covered in medical electrodes linked to wires that disappeared into the bottom of the tank and snaked around the floor around the glass tube. I was wearing a gas mask and some sore of light filtration goggles, which was my closest guess to what the strange pair of goggles on my face could be. As I surveyed my surroundings, I saw there were many more glass tubes. The creatures inside were in a similar predicament to me.
The last thing I saw before attempting to resign for the night was a strangely familiar creature in the case next to mine. It was … Dave?
Category: Creative Corner
Makices are creative creatures. We think grand thoughts, draw elaborate sketches, and tell engaging stories. We even write poetry, occasionally.