You wake slowly. Your hand caresses the fat on the back of your head. You attempt to stand. You stumble. This is not a hangover. Thoughts fly to your latest memory, and return blank. The things you do remember are odd: the number forty, a seductive women, a tropical drink, and darkness. The rest is lost. Again, the power of idea overcomes you as you attempt to stand. This time the results are fairly better as one arm is planted on a small panel for support, and both feet cling to the ground. Realizing your eyes are still shut, you open them...
24th place (out of 26) in the Second Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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