The Lair of the Guide

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The long, rough tunnel ends suddenly. Your feet are tired and blistered. Before you are two doors, and two decisions.

The horns of a dilemma

Placing one hand on the left hand one (a pleasant, ivy covered, white door; something akin to your grandmother's country cottage garden) you feel that it is cold and lifeless. It has a small round pane of glass. Looking in, you see that the light that fills the space beyond it, is white and harsh - not unlike the harsh neon glow of many mass-consumer supermarkets.

Placing your hand on the other however, it is warm and even though there is no window, a soft orange glow emits from the gap beneath the bottom. It warms your cold limbs and seems, on the whole, quite cheerful. The door is wood, and has no features besides a large heavy black door knocker.

You choose the warmer door. After all, you grew up in England, where the cold is plentiful, and central heating, er, not. It turns out you don't need the knocker; that it served as an adequate cliche, and as your fingers touch it, the door swings open. Beyond is a cosy length of tunnel dappled with dancing strands of orange-red light, and at the end, the top rungs of a ladder.

A surreal Dali-esque picture including a face, a melting clock and a man in a suit.

Rung after rung, you realised that instead of looking around, you simply turned and began to descend the ladder. After realising this, you get the acute feeling of being watched. Shrugging to yourself, you realise it couldn't be worse that where you came from, and keep staring down at your feet as you climb down.

Once at the bottom, you take a quick glance up towards the hole you came from, and then look behind you.

The cavern is not very large, but the ceiling seems a million miles away. In the center, a large wooden table is laid out, covered in half emptied bottles of wine, iPods, laptops of various genres and brand names, discarded plastic containers that previously held junk food. At least one person is smoking cheap cigarettes. You don't care for them yourself (or maybe you didn't until now), but heck, you aren't sure it matters. Someone looks up from their laptop, with a Cathode Ray Tan, indicates a spare seat and shiny new computer for you to possess, and goes back to whatever they were doing.

Sitting down, you find the chair perfectly comfortable, with a plump blue cushion to arrange as you see fit. You switch on the computer, and wait for everything to load. Looking around, the only sounds you hear are the frantic speed typing of your new companions and the muffled bang-bang-bang of their headphones. You aren't sure who or what they are, but they seem nice.

Once loaded, you shake the mouse from side to side; when suddenly, an instant message pops up...

Seven Deadly Sins


Smiling, you click on the browser icon, and realise you are home.

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