Someone purer

That’s great!! I haven’t met him I don’t think? My son is almost as tall as me too but he’s only ten.

I don’t think you have - he’s a little shy, but he’s a great kid.

Great!!! We had another baby! how have you been?

several hours later update it worked with aspartame here try it

Oh.  Really?  Huh.  …Yeah, not too different.

You can mix cocoa powder and sugar into plain hummus, but that doesn’t make it Nutella.  It also doesn’t cancel out the garlic and onion flavor, or even completely mask it.

You can mix cocoa powder and sugar into plain hummus, but that doesn’t make it Nutella.  It also doesn’t cancel out the garlic and onion flavor, or even completely mask it.

You can mix cocoa powder and sugar into plain hummus, but that doesn’t make it Nutella.  It also doesn’t cancel out the garlic and onion flavor, or even completely mask it.

He feels like he should be angry but he doesn’t want to be angry so he just turns that off and lets it layer inside him with everything else.

The room is gray and empty. Maybe he died. Maybe this is Hell. He reaches over his shoulder and feels the bones, they’re still sticking out like an ugly bug shell. His teeth are still sharp. He’d always assumed his soul would be human.

Stanley looks like everyone he’s ever worked with all at once, and he didn’t think Hell would have any comforts in it but this is nice.

The hunger is still there.

“So. Am I dead?”

Not dead, but if you stay here long enough, you’ll wish you were.

Stanley didn’t say that. He smiled, comfortingly.

“No, you’re not. And there are still chances of escaping. Sometimes you have to play a game. Sometimes you have to walk through a certain door. And sometimes…” He paused, his smile faltering a little. “Sometimes you just have to die to make the Office release its grip on you.”

a visible tenseness. A small and brief anger. “We’re NOT aliens. That’s propaganda. I do radio work.” in, well, propaganda, where aliens is the only true bit and he’s just in denial. He pokes around at a desk, the keys on the computer don’t seem to do anything. Huh.

“Oh- no, no, no. Not you. The people who, er, made this Office.” It occured to Stanley that Kevin might really have no idea where he is.

“Um, this here,” he gestures around him. “It just looks like an Office but it really isnt. It’s a prison, one where you can’t leave, you can’t die, and the admins aka the Narrators have most of the power. And the ones of this particular Office are aliens.”

He sighed. It’s nothing new, explaining all this to the newcomers, although there was usually a difference between ‘guests’ and 'new employees’.

Guests appear, confused, from another dimension. They usually have no idea where they are and need a little time to orient themselves.

It’s quite the same with the newlings, except that guests get to leave eventually when they are dragged back to their home dimension.

The newlings get to stay here for years. 

The room is gray and empty. Maybe he died. Maybe this is Hell. He reaches over his shoulder and feels the bones, they’re still sticking out like an ugly bug shell. His teeth are still sharp. He’d always assumed his soul would be human.

Stanley looks like everyone he’s ever worked with all at once, and he didn’t think Hell would have any comforts in it but this is nice.

The hunger is still there.