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// Prologue 
// Story: Crazy Times and Rainy Days 
// by Gruekiller 
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It was a dark and stormy day in Toronto.

I hope that isn't too cliché, because I’m rolling with it either way.

It just wasn't a pleasant sort of day. And by that, I mean it was dreadful. You know that sort of dreary, gray day where it’s just cold, miserable, and drizzly? That was precisely what greeted my weary eyes when I glanced outside, nose wrinkling disdainfully. Rain was my absolute least favorite kind of weather. Ever since I was a little girl, I've hated rain showers, drizzles, downpours, liquid precipitation of all kinds. I guess you could even go so far as to say that, loathe as I am to admit it…

Rain kinda scares me.

Because reasons. Shut up.

The cluttered surface of my desk didn't help to improve the atmosphere, either. My poor, beleaguered workplace was absolutely drowning in paperwork. Reams upon reams of papers cluttered the desktop, piling nearly high enough to obscure the doorway from my (admittedly) low vantage point.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my job paid well - hell, accounting should have been my dream job, by all rights, what with my peculiar penchant for facts and figures. But, all the same, the routine had frankly grown tedious over the last months, seeing as I functioned more or less as a glorified pencil-pusher, filling out form after form. It was just so unspeakably… dull. That was the only term that could describe it.

You might be wondering at this point why I went into a job in accounts receivable looking for fun and excitement. Of course, the only easy reply is Shut the hell up and let me tell the story.

I glanced about the undecorated, Cold War-era office once again with a sigh as I jotted a few more figures into the boxes on the sheet in front of me. A vacation. That’s what I need. A change of scenery, somewhere nice and tropical. I heard the Turks and Caicos were nice this time of year, but anywhere would do, just so long as it wasn't here.

I wish I could just be someplace else. 

At about that time, I became aware of a small movement out of the corner of my eye. A paperclip on my desk rattled out a tinny staccato as it jumped and jittered in place, drawing my notice. Curious, I squinted at the object. That’s odd. I didn't feel the floor shaking at all.

A moment later, the distinctive scent of ozone filled the air around me; my hair nearly stood on end from what I thought was static electricity. As I puzzled over this change in the room’s atmosphere, a shock leapt from the metal on my pen to my hand, causing me to drop the writing utensil in surprise, a frightened yelp escaping me.

Rubbing my hand, I looked around in mute horror as the air around me picked up in a gust, papers and pens whirling about in a twister of insane office supplies. Startled, I let out a shout, but the sound was carried away by the roar of the unnatural winds tearing through my office.

Desperately, I grabbed onto the back of my chair, but it wasn't enough to keep me anchored to the floor. The chair, and I along with it, was lifted aloft, whirling about madly. The flying staplers and notebooks became an indistinct blur of color, blue lightning dancing across my vision. “Urp.” I groaned, trying to stop myself from losing my lunch.

As the winds rose in speed, I felt a peculiar sensation overtake me, as though I was being pulled like taffy, stretching. I shut my eyes and grimaced, only a dull pop reaching my senses as I exited this reality.





While I’m still hurtling between dimensions, I guess it wouldn't hurt to introduce myself.

I’m Emily Martin. I’m a native Torontonian, I’m 24 years old, and I work as an accountant.

And if I survive this ordeal, I have one lesson to impart upon you: Be careful what you wish for.