Carrying On

My coffin was a polished mahogany confection complete with a built-in sound system and five disc changer; the last track I'd played - SexyBack by Justin Timberlake - still pushed a remnant of song through the speakers. The insides of all four walls were lined with plush that paled in comparison to the softness of my parodoxically stone-hard skin, which was less than desirable, but still the best that money could buy. On the wooden lid - the part of the lid that was facing towards me, not to undeserving outsiders - I'd pasted enough glow-in-the-dark-stars to form my very own galaxy.

I was inordinately proud of my coffin, of course. I could have recognized my coffin from a lineup of all the countless others in the world. However, what caused me confusion at the moment was I distinctly remembered leaving my coffin at home in North America. I'd been resigned to sleeping on less-than-absolutely-perfect beds on the Teh Smex cruise ship, and then everybody knew European hotel rooms were worse than that. I'd thought it would be a good seven days or more before I got tired of my world tour, returned home, and would get to sleep in my own coffin again. So how did I get to be here?

A tang of seawater that was definitely out-of-place in my confined save haven - and a dead fish considerately left in my coat pocket - abruptly reminded me of Poseidon, the very next moment. "Poseidon!" I roared. "He transported me to my beloved comfortable coffin WHEN I DIDN'T WANT TO BE IN MY BELOVED COMFORTABLE COFFIN! He thwarted my plans! Just wait until I get my hands on him! I should destroy this coffin right now, to spite him-" But somehow I couldn't bring myself to carry through with the threat. I fumed instead.

As I paced, I passed the largest most ornate mirror any human would ever have the chance to see, in my room - for I was not only back in my coffin, but once I climbed out of that bed, back in my room at home, as well - and I preoccupied myself a little with making sure my brooding look appeared appropriately sexy. This prompted me to recall that I now had someone to provide a reason for my sexiness. "Dissonance, oh Dissonance, whatever could Michaelps be doing to you at present, while I'm not there to protect you?" I lamented. I truly wanted to retrace my steps, reclaim Dissonance, and continue whupping Michaelps as I'd been in the act of doing, when I'd left off. It's impatience was my greatest enemy.

"I don't want to have to wade through all that bureaucratic red tape again, in order to board yet another lousy Teh Smex cruise ship, in order to get kidnapped by a different - or the same - ugly werewolf, in order to get to see my beautiful hairy Diss!" I exclaimed in self-defeat. "Whatever else can I do, though?" This sudden indecision was so unlike me. After the last four hours (or four chapters ;) ) I felt strangely out of character especially because of these histrionics. Maybe what I needed to do first was something the old The-of-a-mere-five-hours-before, would have done. Something I had done. "I need to eat," I decided half-heartedly.

The End

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