The Author (Chapter 2)

Two

Water rushed past Emmett in a frightening rush, pulling and tugging at his backpack as he spiraled out of control. His first thought was that he was being sucked downward-he had fallen into the puddle in that direction, after all-but now he was not so sure. It was too difficult to discern a direction. His only surety was the fact that he was moving, and fast. It felt like being sucked through a whirlpool. Emmett suddenly felt sorry for all of the laundry he’d ever put through the spin cycle.

After what seemed like an eternity, he burst out of the water, a gust of sweet air filling his lungs. His relief was short-lived. To his surprise, he was actually falling out of the water. As if the body of liquid, and not the sky, was the zenith of this place.

As he tumbled down through the air like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the wind rushed past him, jerking his lips into riotous motions. Tears streaked from his eyes. His stomach dropped to his feet while his lunch began creeping up to his throat. That Salisbury steak looked bad enough before he’d even eaten it, and Emmett was not very excited to see how it might look on the way out. But as it happens to many who experience free-fall for the first time, Emmett’s bladder had trouble containing itself. Needless to say, the liquid on his pants didn’t stay warm for very long.

So with his eyes squeezed shut and his jeans wet with urine, Emmett suddenly stopped. An abrupt stop. As if he’d landed in a chair. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to find himself in exactly that situation. He was sitting in a brown, scuffed leather recliner that rested in what appeared, at first glance, to be an office. Emmett shook his head-to make sure that it was still attached-before giving the room a better look.

The vicinity had a few plants standing about-obviously fake even from a distance-and a number of boring paintings lined the walls. Across the room from where he sat was a mahogany desk. It was preposterously large and mottled with papers, feather quills, ink jars, empty bottles, and what appeared to be a pair of underwear. Though, what truly caught Emmett’s attention was what was parked behind.

There sat a skinny old man whose face was covered from the nose down in a snowy white beard. He had a set of ears that stuck out like satellite dishes. Balancing on the bridge of his nose were a pair of glasses thick as the bottom of coke bottles, which, because of their breadth, made his eyes look positively enormous. He appeared somewhat miniature in comparison to his gargantuan escritoire.

As he was flashing a grin from beneath his fuzzy appendage, the old thing spoke. "Aha! Perfect catch!" he shouted in excitement.

Emmett, wondering how he’d come to be in an office all of the sudden, couldn’t help but look up. What he witnessed made his jaw go slack. There was no ceiling to the room. Only sky stared back at him. And by the looks of it, this office was actually moving. The sky rushed by in a blue and white blur. But, before he could consider the matter further, a ceiling, that was attached by some enormous hinges, swung shut, enclosing him inside.

Emmett turned back to the old man, his face scrunched up in bewilderment.

"You see, that last couple of times I missed, and the people just landed on the floor. We’ve had quite a few broken bones in here because of that. OH NO!" He jumped from his desk and started towards Emmett.