Deep in the heart of the jungle, a tiny ladybug stumbled upon a giant, sleeping, something. Its fur was green with algae, and it moved as slowly as the trees. The ladybug, finding it difficult to walk along the creature’s surface, hopped here and there, looking for a face. Maybe it was a friendly something.

I woke from my slumber, which exactly was 34200 seconds. For the average minded person, 9 hours and 30 minutes. I counted each strand of hair, 110,032. Great, no balding yet. I stood up and took 65 steps to get out of my bedroom, past the five other doors in the hallway, to the elevator. It took four seconds for the elevator to get to the bottom floor to reach my boss. 

The grandfather clock was made out of old oak wood and brass metal. The grandfather clock was clogged with cobwebs and sprinkled with dust. The minute hand of this clock was also strangely gone. “Oh!” The people in the home felt haunted. “What happened?” The minute hand had a tendency to turn invisible, detach from the clock, and stab random people. 

It’s never a good idea to sit around idly, eating onion flavored chips on the stone rim of any sort of well. I mean, it’s not my fault Carl decided to pop out of nowhere. I reassured it. Wells are so terribly frightened of everything. “B-b-be careful,” it told me. I rolled my eyes and kept munching. 

It started in the clouds. I lost my keys on a solid cloud. This meant that I wouldn’t be able to start my car, so I had to trek through the fluffy cotton candy-like terrain to find them. It isn’t exactly easy to find car keys in the clouds — it’s a mess of fluff and blinding sunlight that makes it nearly impossible.