Message from Marzipan
Thursday, April 8, 2010
(Never sent)
Editors –
I don’t have much time. Guys, I need help. Now. My phone isn’t working, Hobbes is gone, and I think they’re coming. I mean, I think I’m safe enough, for now – if they wanted to get me, they would’ve by now. Wouldn’t they? They’ve had time. But I feel like they’re getting close.
I’ve figured out who they are, what they want, and, well – you’re not going to believe me.
I’m sorry. I guess I should get you up to speed, right? Okay, where to start?...
Hobbes and I were answering questions, like we do every week. It was the same as usual; we were tackling the over-hours questions, doing research, and writing what we found (with our sarcastic interjections) when Hobbes got a phone call and stepped out of the room for a moment.
I was looking through the inbox for a question I could easily answer in the meantime, and I came across some happy one about relationships or something. It so happened that several writers were online at the same time and we were sort of bantering back and forth and I got somewhat carried away and I realized that Hobbes had been gone for well over fifteen minutes, which I found odd. Deciding to check on him, I stepped over to the door, poked my head out and was greeted by some kind of gunfire, which narrowly missed my face.
I screamed.
Slamming the door shut and locking the handle with violently shaking fingers, I scanned the room to see what I could do to keep those…whatever they were…from getting in. With an understandable amount of difficulty, I dragged over two bookcases (after knocking all the books from the shelves, that would’ve been much too heavy for someone of my size) to barricade myself in.
"Good," I sighed. "That’ll…um…"
No, Marzipan. It won’t hold against whatever weaponry they have. I shook my head. But about seven minutes had passed and they hadn’t shot through the door yet. I idly wondered why. My biggest concern at the moment was where Hobbes had ended up. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed his number, putting my phone to my ear and pacing nervously. My pulse increased as I listened to the phone ring.
"Hello? Marzipan?"
"Hobbes!" I exclaimed, relieved. "You’re alive!" What a cliché thing to say.
"Yeah, are you okay? What’s going on?" Hobbes asked. He sounded slightly out of breath, as if he had been running.
"I have no idea! I was working on a question, and noticed you’d been gone for a while so I tried to check up on you and I looked outside and they started shooting at me! Hobbes, who are they?"
"I don’t know, but that phone call was a trap," he replied darkly. "They got a hold of my phone number somehow - "
"What?"
" - and they’ve been talking about…assimilation? Marzy, we’ve got to get out of here. Here’s the plan. I’m going to try to come back to – "
The phone went dead.
"Hello?" I said. "Hobbes?" I pulled the phone away from my ear, looking at it in horror. I tried dialing his number again, but it was as if the battery died completely.
No phone? Fine. I’d take the next best thing; the internet.
So I’ve been writing this message since then, and doing a bit of research, trying to figure out who these people are. I didn’t know where to start, honestly. And then I remembered a conversation Gimgimno and The Detective had some time ago, and it clicked. I checked fan forums online and, like I said, you aren’t going to belieheya;oiwjdflcvaw erifskdlx,v.c rseyguijk
NO!!!!!!!!
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