The sun creeps over your sleeping form as the alarm clock on your dresser waits patiently to decree the beginning of a new day. When it finally rings, you're still pretty sleepy, as you stayed up all evening worried about your first day of school; you and your family have just moved from the bustling streets of Chicago to the quiet town of Rhodes. The other children you've met in this town seem distant and never make eye contact when speaking to one another. This bothers you, but your mother always says to "take your worries and shove them down deep inside to where they can never ever find their way out," so you stretch and head down the stairs, hoping not to be late for first period. As you walk out the front door, you see many of your schoolmates walking in a trance-like state, armed with needles and thread. Now you're really frightened. Do you...
A) Go back inside and hide your head under your pillow (go to pg. 41)B) Ask one of the children to explain the strange goings-on (go to pg. 93)
Pg. 41As you race back inside, you are ambushed by a gang of ninjas who proceed to trounce your ten-year old ass nice and proper. It appears that you're pretty dead.
The child turns to you, his head hung low. "We are following the prophet Sparhawk. He has said that when our town has finished knitting the mystical Winter Blanket, then he and his life-partner Mimi can reunite with the messianic Kramer, lord of the drone, and rule over the earthly Kingdom of Low."
A) Run off to school and forget about this conversation (go to pg. 12)B) Continue talking to Culty McJimjones here (go to pg. 25)
Pg. 12You run off to school and forget about the preceding conversation. When lunch time arrives, you open your lunchbox to find it swarming with scorpions. As you try to pick them from your eyes, a gang of ninjas descends from the cafeteria rafters and manhandles your puny adolescent body, which is clearly no match for their brute strength. After you are dead, they use your corpse as a training dummy for their intense games of thumb war.
"Well," responds the child, eyes darting wildly. He only oversees the production of the Winter Blanket. It's actually the brainchild of this guy Doug Miller. He's a sweet and caring man, and he knows how tough it would be for us grade-schoolers to pay attention to any sudden changes in the structure or dynamics of tha' Blanket, so he keeps the work really simple and repetitive. Nothing too daring or original. We couldn't keep up! And when he speaks, he says things really plaintive so that even we kids can understand. Like yesterday, when he took me aside and whispered, 'Why am I waking up without you by side/ All night I can't sleep with open eyes.'"
"Yeah!" responds the child, obviously gaining in excitement. He then looks about nervously and leans toward you. "But really," he stammers out, "the Winter Blanket is just something to pass the time until Low's next renaissance. Its child-like simplicity, structurally speaking, won't give it much durability in the coming years. Shit, I'm sick of it already."
With two knowing taps on the nose, he walks off into the traffic of dreary-eyed youths filing their way into the schoolhouse. You consider joining them in their uniform march, but think better of it and decide to catch a taxi back to Chicago. Unfortunately, while trying to hail a cab, you leave your kidneys, ribs, and upper chest open to spontaneous ninja attack. This mistake will be your last.
