22. The Escape

I notice a tab on one of the tree-stumps that says, 'HOME'. I click on it and find myself, broom in hand, employed as a janitor for Hatchhouse Inc. I'm sweeping -- walking backwards through what seems to be an endless labyrinth of corridors and rooms, rooms and corridors, corridors and rooms. "What sort of home is this?" I ask.

I turn a corner and find myself standing in a small alcove. It looks like some kind of unstable storage space for sad memory. There's a ladder leaned up against a wall. I climb up the ladder and use the broom-handle to punch a hole in the ceiling. I earnestly climb out through the hole and escape.

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