THE ENVELOPE: AN IMPROVISED LIVE TEXT ADVENTURE

17.

You eat your apple with enthusiasm. You are already feeling full from your recent meal, however, and you find it uncomfortable to continue eating. The final mouthfull of the apple hits your stomach like an iron weight. You now feeling nauseous.

After eating the apple, you skip forward a few paces, your hips swinging back and forth. You stop immediately in front of the envelope on the ground.

You pick up the envelope. It is plain, unmarked, and in good condition. It has not been previously used and the glue is still sticky. You lift the envelope's flap and look inside, only to discover that it is empty.

You make a paper airplane out of the envelope. It is a sad work of origami, being that an envelope is not well-suited for making a paper airplane, but your creation seems capable of limited flight. You gently toss the miserable plane forward.

To your surprise, it flies unusually fast and true for a paper airplane. You decide to follow it. You dash forward after the plane, finding it difficult to keep up - 10 feet, 20 feet, 50 feet, 100 feet. The tunnel curves sharply left ahead, and just as the plane is about to crash, it is caught by a squall and propelled at a ninety degree angle. You dash around the corner after the plane, your feet skidding on the rocky floor. You nearly slip as you spring forward down the tunnel's new course.

The plane is nowhere in sight.

You look all around, certain that the paper plane should most certainly be right in front of you. It is not. While it was travelling remarkably fast for an airplane made from a folded envelope, you do not believe that it could have outraced you.

Suddenly, your stomach makes an audible rumble and you begin salivating. Your mouth feels extremely warm. You realize that you are about to vomit. You swallow, struggling not to lose the precious meal you have just enjoyed. You are successful, but only barely - you decide that sprinting with an overly full stomach was probably not in good advice.

After you recover, you notice that laying on the ground in front of you is a plain, unmarked envelope.

You have no possessions. You feel nauseous.

18.

You look around again for the paper airplane that you had thrown before, but it is nowhere in sight.

You pick up the envelope in front of you. You lick its paste, seal it shut, and wait a moment for it to set. Once the glue dries, you tear the envelope open. You notice that there are two pieces of carefully folded stationery inside.

You decide to eat the envelope. You remove the stationery and set it aside. You then crumple the envelope into a ball and stuff it into your mouth. It tastes dry and dusty, and it soaks the moisture out of your mouth. You try to chew on the rough paper, but the odd feeling of your teeth grinding against dry paper sends shivers down your spine. After a few minutes of mashing and shivering, the envelope finally soaks enough of your saliva to be chewable. You grind the envelope to a pulp and swallow.

The ball of pulp sticks in your throat. You try to swallow a second time, but to no avail - it is wedged. You realize that you can't breathe. You immediately start to feel a panic set in. Your extremities tingle. Your spine feels like water. Your legs wobble. The room is spinning. The stress makes your stomach retch, but its contents have nowhere to go. You have only a minute or two before you lose consciousness.

Your heart sinks as a grim reality sets in: you are in grave danger of dying.

You are carrying two pieces of carefully folded stationery. You are choking and suffocating.

19.

You clasp your hands together and give your abdomen a forceful thrust to try and dislodge the wad in your throat. Bolts of sharp pain shoot through your stomach as your fists drive in, but the wad doesn't budge. You thrust again. Nothing happens. Icy sweat beads on your face. Your bowels feel mushy and your legs feel weak as you go longer and longer without air.

You thrust a third time. A sickening crack rings out in your chest, and you are suddenly wracked with terrible pain. You collapse to your knees. Deep inside, you groan - but you are still choking. You cannot groan. You wonder: is my rib broken? But it's a waste of time, you realize, and bring yourself back to the moment: you are suffocating and you will die. How much longer until I die, you wonder.

Your body starts to feel warm, and a pleasant feeling fills your body. You smile. You feel completely relaxed - you are still aware that you are dying, but the thought no longer bothers you. Off in the distance, you hear something - is that . . . pleasant music? Though it is barely audible, the thin wispy harmonies are beautiful. Vaguely, you are aware that you have a terrible injury in your chest somewhere, but you are not in pain. In fact, there is a pleasant tickle spreading through you.

There are washes of colors in front of you. Are those angels? They smell very nice - like flowers, or maybe fragrant leaves. Jasmine? It might be jasmine. It's a very nice place, here, in this cave, you think, here, with the choir, and with the cherubs, and with the lovely fragrance, and with that sensation in your heart. Is this what it feels like to be in love? Oh - wait . . . I am dying, you muse. You chuckle a bit.

No, you aren't chuckling.

You are choking!

Your vision goes black. You are filled with terror. The angels are gone, and the flowers are gone, and the tickle is gone. Nobody is singing anymore. Your chest is on fire. Your head is pounding. You are lying on the ground, now, hurting. You start to weep.

You give one final, feeble push on your abdomen, right where your rib is probably broken. Horrible agony flashes through every nerve in your body, and you swear that your head has exploded.

Your stomach churns, and then it hurls.

Thick, soupy projectile vomit erupts from your mouth and your nose. It sprays the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and perhaps on yourself, but you aren't entirely certian. Your body goes limp, and you lay on the floor. You give up and wait for the asphyxiation to run its course and for your brain to die. You take shallow breaths and invite the comfort of death.

But you aren't dying anymore, you realize. You are breathing again. You can see, now. You can see the ceiling, above you, with bits of your last meal stuck to it. You can see the tunnel wall, with a swath of stinky red fluid sprayed across it. You can see the floor, and a puddle of puke. In the middle of the puddle lies a wet wad of paper.

You are carrying two pieces of carefully folded stationery. You are delirious and not aware of whether you feel well or not (you probably feel terrible).