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Old Tyme Cough Syrup

“Don’t drink that!” Professor Quick screamed as his brew spills down my throat: “So it’s you who’s been stealing my Old Tymer’s Syrup!”

The lab floor lifts up like a heaving tectonic plate, and then drops away, sucking me downward, falling, falling, falling…..the roar of earth’s core applauds my brave choice. I hear a stomping, a hammering, like clanging metal, and the smell of old books, horses, wine and myrrh, fill my nose.

A pool of light appears to my left, I don’t know if I’m falling up, down, or sideways. Voices. I can hear them, like shouts from a stadium’s crowd, getting louder and louder…

…soon I burst through a low cloud layer and continue my fall straight towards a cheering arena directly below me. I see a figure clad in armor laying face-down with a familiar figure standing next to him and suddenly, with the force of wind, I fall directly into the toppled armor-

-and a strong foot rolls me over:

“Get up Squire 32, and submit your comments to your fellow Ficliteers!”

Yes! I’m back!

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