Pink lightning flickered across the darkening purple sky. As the rain began to fall, everything muted into a uniform shade of gray. The only sound is that of the raging storm.
Everyone sane is indoors right now. That probably explains why I'm still out here, alone, calling to the sky hoping that something, anything, will answer.
Looming towards me in the darkness is a shape that refuses to make up its mind. Terror slowly begins to creep over me. As another bolt of lightning strikes nearby, I hear a deep and smooth voice say, "You should have been more specific."
CAPITAL letters are always the best way of dealing with things you don't have an answer to - Douglas Adams
Why is it that whenever I get "It's a Small World" stuck in my head, I need to sing it loudly and off-key?