Charmed by the sunny sunniness of the day, the bright light that shone outside, Roger settled into his desk for a nap. He had a small pillow for this very purpose that he placed upon his desk and flipped his computer's custom scrolling "NAP NAP NAP" screensaver on so any visitors would see that he was taking a nap.
By the time Yanni and Melinda walked out to lunch, Roger was fast asleep. Yanni didn't notice, which was for the best.
Roger's dreams began quickly, perhaps aided by the common office noises and the warm and well-lit environment. He didn't always remember his dreams, but sometimes did. It's hard to imagine why memory serves so sporadically.
It was the ocean, and in the ocean an ice flow floated towards the dry, grassy shore. A sizable herd of savage penguins stood at attention, leaning in unison along the edge of the ice towards the land they approached. They snarled viciously, beaks flapping to and fro. Some of them leapt up and down with unbridlable arctic rage and anxiety. The din was unthinkable.
In the distance, some dogs barked. Some tigers, lions and leopards lay sunning themselves on the land at the edge of the grass. There was a zebra there, too, eating grass dumbly. A withered but still formidable tree stood some yards into the grass and upon it the birds were perched -- not the penguin birds, these were just some other ordinary birds.
The ice flow came upon another smaller ice flow that sat between it and the land of dirt. Upon this smaller flow was a mighty mother polar bear curled up in a ball having a snooze. Oh, what poor timing! Ironically, she probably was dreaming of penguins the moment the ice flows collided. The ice crunched and sent morsels of snow and ice shooting skyward from the force of the impact.
This was a world of fantasy, of course. And in this world, the polar bear awoke with a start, knocking her Coca-Cola bottles all astray. It was too late, though. In an instant, less than an instant, the penguins leapt and pecked and the lightning strike of their black beaks was too much. Mother bear was overwhelmed and the smaller flow quickly ran red with her lifeblood that she customarily kept on the inside of her bear body.
The dogs paused for a moment, hardly able to believe what they witnessed, and then continued with the barking. One of the tigers lifted his head in surprise. "Holy crap" he thought to himself, in tiger speak.
David Attenborough and Oprah looked on from a helicopter hovering in the arctic skies above. They struggled to summon the words to describe the penguin-bear role reversing massacre they had just beheld. "Holy crap," Oprah shouted through her headset "wicked!".
The ice continued on its path towards the land.
At that moment, a door opened and slammed. The sound and rush of air caused Roger to stir and wake from his slumber. He noticed he had accidentally knocked some papers from his desk to the floor. He carefully picked them up, sorted them and dropped them in the recycling bin.
By the time Yanni and Melinda walked out to lunch, Roger was fast asleep. Yanni didn't notice, which was for the best.
Roger's dreams began quickly, perhaps aided by the common office noises and the warm and well-lit environment. He didn't always remember his dreams, but sometimes did. It's hard to imagine why memory serves so sporadically.
It was the ocean, and in the ocean an ice flow floated towards the dry, grassy shore. A sizable herd of savage penguins stood at attention, leaning in unison along the edge of the ice towards the land they approached. They snarled viciously, beaks flapping to and fro. Some of them leapt up and down with unbridlable arctic rage and anxiety. The din was unthinkable.
In the distance, some dogs barked. Some tigers, lions and leopards lay sunning themselves on the land at the edge of the grass. There was a zebra there, too, eating grass dumbly. A withered but still formidable tree stood some yards into the grass and upon it the birds were perched -- not the penguin birds, these were just some other ordinary birds.
The ice flow came upon another smaller ice flow that sat between it and the land of dirt. Upon this smaller flow was a mighty mother polar bear curled up in a ball having a snooze. Oh, what poor timing! Ironically, she probably was dreaming of penguins the moment the ice flows collided. The ice crunched and sent morsels of snow and ice shooting skyward from the force of the impact.
This was a world of fantasy, of course. And in this world, the polar bear awoke with a start, knocking her Coca-Cola bottles all astray. It was too late, though. In an instant, less than an instant, the penguins leapt and pecked and the lightning strike of their black beaks was too much. Mother bear was overwhelmed and the smaller flow quickly ran red with her lifeblood that she customarily kept on the inside of her bear body.
The dogs paused for a moment, hardly able to believe what they witnessed, and then continued with the barking. One of the tigers lifted his head in surprise. "Holy crap" he thought to himself, in tiger speak.
David Attenborough and Oprah looked on from a helicopter hovering in the arctic skies above. They struggled to summon the words to describe the penguin-bear role reversing massacre they had just beheld. "Holy crap," Oprah shouted through her headset "wicked!".
The ice continued on its path towards the land.
At that moment, a door opened and slammed. The sound and rush of air caused Roger to stir and wake from his slumber. He noticed he had accidentally knocked some papers from his desk to the floor. He carefully picked them up, sorted them and dropped them in the recycling bin.
