User:Sj/welcometomyuniverse

look

On the floor you see some books (a stack of 'pedias(?), dictionaries(?), Reference handbook(?), sourcebooks(?), a copy of Bartlett's(?), and a 9/11 memorial plaque(?)...)
Above you, you see the outlines of Meta and WMF.
The strains of an argument waft up from downstairs.

up

You climb into the cozy attic. It is full of templates, manuscripts, letters, boards, and old projects (Wiki, meta, and otherwise).
You fall asleep in a beam of sunlit dander.

fret

You start daydreaming of freedom (copyright/copyleft,accessibility), scope, growth and wealth...
...Then your dreams turn to war, monsters, schism and death.

down

You encounter a gaggle of users and heirarchs, by # of edits (50 active, full .csv), RfC, age, &c. Many are toting camera bags. Others are wandering about recording foreign sounds.

There is a door to the East, and a small tunnel to the South.

south

Inside the tunnel, you find a hollow with a crystal ball.
Looking into the ball you see babbling universal static, chapter-length monographs flying by... you feel a certain subtle solidification centered on the back of your head, and can almost grasp what the fuss is all about.

• If you boldly grasp enlightenment, turn to Page 9.
• If you let yourself relax into the ball, turn to Page 63.
• If you snap out of it and crawl deeper into the tunnel, turn to Page 40.

Page 9

Everything looks like home... but somehow different. You notice you have a real door in place of a portal. Your feet carry you toward it, and it slides open at your approach. The WP:neighborhood watch gives you a friendly nod as you head out. There's a little barbecue down the block; a block reporter with a press badge is there taking notes and grabbing stills from the webcam. ...

Page 40

It gets darker and darker. You have the sense of fabric-padded walls rising up to form low parallellopipeds. In the distance you hear a refrigerator compressor wheeze on. The air starts to smell like bulk sanitizer. you hear voices placing purchase orders, files being placed in drawers, doors being opened and closed, locks being flicked, the jingle of keys and the whirr of fax machines. You can't see anyone, but they all seem awfully busy.

Page 63

Ahhhh, that's more like it. Who needs music when white noise inspires such peace? You wouldn't mind never waking up... slumbering dreamlessly, you don't.