Wrenlaw
by Ryan Veeder (2013)

It would be nice to know what you're looking for.

action: %
response: The coordinates you have are incomplete. They only narrow it down to this general area. And, although it's not a big park, the thing you're looking for is very small. Probably.

Between the train tracks and the softball field there's barely any room for a trail, and the bike rack here is almost lost in the overgrowth. Presumably somebody will come by at some point and prune the bushes, but today you're the only one around.

The trail leads south from here.

You finish locking up your bike and shove the key in your pocket.
action: About yourself
response: Your "hiking gear" is indistinguishable from what you wear to class every day: jacket, T-shirt, whatever. Your shoes and jeans are basically clean.
action: You look at the paper
response: Scrawled in blue ink:

41.664, -91.562
blue box

During the couple of days that you've been wondering about the origin of these clues, it has been difficult for you to distinguish your well-reasoned guesses from your hopeless delusions.
action: You examine rack
response: The bike rack is a frame of thick metal bars, and your bike is attached to it fairly securely.
action: You examine the bike
response: Yours is not the most reliable bicycle in the world, but it's still more trustworthy than, say, a car. At least when your bike betrays you, it's fairly up-front about it.
action: You look at the lock
response: If you think about it, you could use a bike lock to lock up almost anything. But, now that you think about it, you can't think of anything else you need to lock up.

> X TRAIN TRACKS

The tracks run along the crest of the hill, north to south, from who-knows-where to who-knows-where.
action: You examine trail
response: This stretch of the trail is still cheap asphalt, and there are a few loose chunks and potholes. Other trails in other parks are maintained better.
action: Xyzzy
response: From far away comes a sound like thunder.
action: You look at the gps
response: You can't see any such thing.

> X SOFTBALL FIELD

Nobody's playing any softball today. It's too wet, or too cold.
action: You go to the south
response: The bike trail turns here, giving as wide a berth as possible to both the softball field and the woods. Cradled in the curve of the asphalt is a pool of rainwater.

On the other side of the trail, a low balance beam and an accompanying informative sign have been pounded into the ground, both encrusted with lichen. Behind them rise the woods to the south, as infinitely dense and expansive as they can manage given the limited space available.

The path leads north and east.
action: You look at the sign
response: The sign describes some exercises for the athletically inclined to try out using the balance beam. You can imagine the Parks Department designing a dozen of these Fitness Stations, erecting this one, and then running out of funding. Or running out of enthusiasm.

Looking around at the back and the base of the sign doesn't yield any clues.
action: You look at the beam
response: It's still kind of damp, but you could probably sit on it. You've sat on it before.
action: You sit on the beam
response: You take a seat and look up into the sky above the softball field.

[...]
The bursts of lightning would hang in the air for unnatural lengths of time, so that you could make them out in great detail—but when the thunder finally came, it was very quiet.

This was two years ago. Maybe you were talking about something. No, you remember you were sitting in silence, watching the storm pass as if it were a parade.

But then she leaned over so that her head was on your right shoulder, which was unexpected, so you thought What do I do now? and
then you put your right arm around her. And she said "Thank you," which at the time did not strike you as odd.

Eventually the rain was not falling far away: it was falling on the softball field, and then on the two of you, so you ran off.

[...]
You stand up.
action: You think
response: What a good idea.
action: You examine the pool
response: Standing water like this pool here is a vector for mosquitos. But it's probably too early for mosquitos anyway.
action: You jump in the puddle
response: I only understood you as far as wanting to jump.

> LOOK INTO POOL

You find nothing of interest.
action: You get in POOL
response: That seems unnecessary.

> TOUCH POOL

The pool of rainwater feels pretty normal.
action: Drink water
response: That would be a bad idea.
action: You examine the lichen
response: The lichen is growing mostly around the bases of the beam and the sign. It gets by where it can.
action: You eat the lichen
response: (first taking the lichen)
Even if you could separate the lichen from the beams, you still wouldn't have much of a use for it.
action: Go east
response: Here is where the curve of the outfield fence gets close to a small rise in the bike path. The incline is such that the asphalt is a little drier here than it is to the east or west.

A lonely drinking fountain stands just off the path.
action: You look at the fountain
response: The drinking fountain seems to be of an older vintage than the other park amenities. Maybe it's from the seventies.

Apparently it's activated by turning the knob on the side.
action: You examine the knob
response: It's made of scuffed stainless steel.
action: Drink water
response: You take a sip from the fountain. The water is lukewarm, and it tastes like a piece of aluminum foil. Somehow you swallow it down.

The drinking fountain peters out and stops.
action: You examine the fence
response: The fence curves from over there in what you guess is left field to way over there in what would have to be right field. The nearest fence post is missing its cap thing.
action: You look at the hole
response: (the bike trail)
This stretch of the trail is still cheap asphalt, and there are a few loose chunks and potholes. Other trails in other parks are maintained better.
action: You look in the circular hole
response: It's not a blue box, but it does seem like a good place to hide something.

Unfortunately, there's nothing inside.
action: You climb the fence
response: The softball field strikes you as a lousy place to continue your search.

Although, if you did climb over the fence and head north, what would you find? Past the field there's the mall, and then the Interstate, and the hilly country where you fell off your bike that one time.

And from the ultimate North come the cold winds that bring snow and make life miserable.
action: You look at the field
response: Nobody's playing any softball today. It's too wet, or too cold.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: Here is where the curve of the outfield fence gets close to a small rise in the bike path. The incline is such that the asphalt is a little drier here than it is to the east or west.

A lonely drinking fountain stands just off the path.
action: You go to the east
response: The bike trail turns from west to south here, and outside the curve is a cozy bench, which for whatever reason sits facing east, toward the highway.

Next to the bench is a chipped blue garbage can.
action: Search can
response: The garbage can is empty.
action: You examine the bench
response: Downtown, the benches all have big uncomfortable armrests sticking out of them to discourage people from sleeping on them, but this one is just a plain old bench. There's a panel set into the back with a dedication.
action: You read the panel
response: She sounds nice.
action: About yourself
response: Your "hiking gear" is indistinguishable from what you wear to class every day: jacket, T-shirt, whatever. Your shoes and jeans are basically clean.

> SIT ON BENCH

You take a seat on the bench and stare down at your feet.

[...]
"Hey, so, we haven't talked in a while, and I was wondering what was going on with you. I mean, there was also something else I wanted to talk to you about, a specific issue, which is causing me some stress I guess. I'm walking in a straight line right now, and, unless something happens, I have to keep on walking in a straight line. This is how I'm dealing with my stress. But I thought maybe if I had a chance to talk to you then I could get some of this specific issue worked out. Sorry to bother you. Please call me back."

And your legs kept on walking, in a straight line, up an unfamiliar street, with your head down, with your phone clenched in your fist. Time seemed to pass.

Then you heard a clap of thunder, and it occurred to you that you should turn around and get home, but then it occurred to you that it was necessary to continue walking in a straight line.

There was a long flash of lightning, and as you finally looked up you realized you were in the cemetery, surrounded by gravestones, and up ahead was the statue of the Black Angel, perhaps facing you, perhaps with its back to you. Now it was dark.

Your phone buzzed. She wasn't calling you back; she had sent a text message. And the text of the message was: "?"

[...]
You blink a couple times and stand up.
action: You look at highway
response: Herds of cars zoom left and right, and what's on the other side? East of here is just bars, and then frat houses, and on the very easternmost edge of your understanding of this city is a cemetery.

But mostly the East is full of huge crowds of people, who are unbearable.
action: You read the paper
response: Scrawled in blue ink:

41.664, -91.562
blue box

During the couple of days that you've been wondering about the origin of these clues, it has been difficult for you to distinguish your well-reasoned guesses from your hopeless delusions.
action: Plugh
response: Nope.
action: Go south
response: It's theoretically possible to get across the highway here, but you have yet to see it done. The white lines of the crosswalk are more like a blueprint for an imaginary bridge.

The bike trail supposedly continues on the other side of the highway. Realistically, though, you can follow it north, or take a narrow, unpaved track between tufts of grass to the south.
action: You look at the grass
response: The grass still looks pretty damp.
action: You look at the crosswalk
response: The crosswalk consists of a button that reads "PUSH FOR WALK SIGNAL", a pair of white lines across the highway, and a signal at the other end that will always, always say "DON'T WALK".
action: You look at the signal
response: The amber letters of the signal across the highway say "DON'T WALK".
action: You hit the button
response: Don't be brutish.

An incredibly loud motorcycle speeds by, and you lose your train of thought for a few seconds.
action: Look around
response: It's theoretically possible to get across the highway here, but you have yet to see it done. The white lines of the crosswalk are more like a blueprint for an imaginary bridge.

The bike trail supposedly continues on the other side of the highway. Realistically, though, you can follow it north, or take a narrow, unpaved track between tufts of grass to the south.

An unseen crow emits a series of angry caws.
action: Go south
response: You find yourself in a low, damp area, partially hidden from the road above. A stream runs out of the woods here and noisily disappears into a grate under the highway.

You could scramble up north, to the bike path, or you could walk along the creek to the west.

An empty potato chip bag is stuck up against the grate.
action: You examine the bag
response: The force of the water is pushing it up against the grate, but it's too big to squeeze through the holes. It's trapped.
action: You examine the grate
response: A metal frame blocks off the tunnel under the highway so that only the stream can get through. The words "CITY WATER" are embossed.

Currently the flow of the stream is impeded somewhat by the empty potato chip bag that's pressed up against the grate.
action: You get the bag
response: You fish out the bag and unclog the stream, which gurgles gratefully.
action: You tell the stream you're welcome
response: You can only do that to something animate.
action: You open the grate
response: The grate doesn't have any hinges. It's a permanent installation.
action: You examine the bag
response: This bag is a damp, greasy mess, and to a certain extent you regret ever having pulled it out of the stream.

> LOOK INSIDE BAG

There's nothing in there but the tiniest soggy crumbs.
action: Go north
response: It's theoretically possible to get across the highway here, but you have yet to see it done. The white lines of the crosswalk are more like a blueprint for an imaginary bridge.

The bike trail supposedly continues on the other side of the highway. Realistically, though, you can follow it north, or take a narrow, unpaved track between tufts of grass to the south.
action: You go to the north
response: The bike trail turns from west to south here, and outside the curve is a cozy bench, which for whatever reason sits facing east, toward the highway.

Next to the bench is a chipped blue garbage can.
action: You put the bag in the trash
response: You stuff the bag into the garbage, which is where it belongs.
action: Go south
response: You find yourself in a low, damp area, partially hidden from the road above. The stream runs out of the woods here and noisily disappears into a grate under the highway.

You could scramble up north, to the bike path, or you could walk along the creek to the west.
action: You go west
response: This clearing is bounded by a fallen log on the west side and a boulder on the other. The ground around the rock is littered with shards of glass; even with shoes on, you watch your steps carefully.

The path along the stream runs east and west, but there might also be a way north, through the vegetation that covers the hill.
action: You get the glass
response: There are too many tiny pieces to try and clean up, even if you had gloves. The most you can do is try and kick them under the boulder, where they're less likely to get stepped on.

As you're kicking shards around, you notice one unbroken bottle.

You can hear some small mammals scratching around up in the trees.
action: You get the bottle
response: Taken.
action: You examine bottle
response: The scratched blue glass is basically opaque, and the bottle is empty, but it feels heavier than it should. Apparently "Schmetz" is the name of the liquid that used to be inside of this. The labeling is not very specific about what "Schmetz" is.
action: You look in the bottle
response: The blue bottle is empty.
action: You smash bottle
response: Your blows are ineffectual. It's a sturdy bottle.
action: You listen
response: The creek burbles peacefully.
action: You look at the log
response: You can imagine the scene easily: Drunk kids take a seat on the log; when their bottles are empty, they toss them at the boulder. Drunk kids don't care about getting their five cent deposit back.
action: You look at the boulder
response: It's taller than you are, made from rough speckled black and white and grey stone, cut out of a mountain or something, back in the days of the caveman.
action: You climb the boulder
response: You could probably manage that. Sure.

You jump up the lower side, get some traction with your shoes, and scramble up to the top of the boulder. You cross your legs and look out across the woods from your perch. The view isn't appreciably different.

But next to you, spraypainted in green on the rock, is a message:
HEY.

So you say "hey" back, and then you slide back down.
action: You sit on the log
response: You sit on the log and stare at the side of the boulder.

[...]
Then the song was over, and you could hear each other talk for a few seconds.

"Why aren't you drinking?" she asked. A satisfactory answer did not spring to mind.

"Do you wanna dance?"

"No."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you should try something new.
It's good to get out of your comfort zone."

"I should do things that I don't want to do, just because I don't want to do them?" you tried to ask, but the music started up again.

"Well I'm gonna dance. Watch my drink!" she shouted, and she ran off, so you sat and stared at her glass for a while.

[...]

You allow yourself a heavy sigh before standing up.
action: You sit on the boulder
response: It's not that you don't have the energy to climb the boulder again; it's just that it probably wouldn't be worth the effort.
action: Hey
response: Hey yourself.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: This clearing is bounded by a fallen log on the west side and a boulder on the other. The ground around the rock is littered with shards of glass; even with shoes on, you watch your steps carefully.

The path along the stream runs east and west, but there might also be a way north, through the vegetation that covers the hill.
action: You look at the vegetation
response: Who knows what kind of bushes these are. They're thick on the ground and impossible to walk through.
action: You look at the stream
response: The stream is running swiftly and noisily right now, on account of last night's big storm. Most days it's probably not much of a stream at all.
action: You go north
response: Oh, this is creepy.

The bushes thin out near the top of the hill, and in the center of the clearing is a small tent.

A large branch, apparently blown down by the storm, leans against the tent flap.

Reflecting on this detail, you conclude that this tent must be—is definitely, probably, unoccupied.
action: You look at the branch
response: It's a big leafy one, obviously freshly snapped off its tree. Nobody could have gotten in or out since last night without moving it.
action: You get the branch
response: You pull the branch off of the tent and, in an effort to command some control over your weird situation, toss it into the depths of the woods.
action: Shout
response: Screaming into the outdoors is not as cathartic as you'd hoped. You feel vaguely embarrassed.

A bird is singing an extremely repetitive song: "Seeee-saw. Seeee-saw. Seeee-saw". Over and over.
action: You open the tent
response: You pull open the tent flap, but then you let it fall again. For a second, everything seems very quiet.

The faint sound of a police siren reaches your ears from across town somewhere.
action: You enter the tent
response: With extreme gingerness, you unzip the flap, poke your head in, and enter the tent.

A single beam of sunlight cuts through a hole in the western wall, illuminating a shambolic mass of books, notepads, and newspapers strewn across the floor. Everything is stained and crumpled by moisture to some degree.

In the center of it all is a low stool.
action: You sit on the stool
response: You hunch down on the stool, and the sun gets in your eyes. Why didn't you bring your sunglasses?

Actually, this reminds you of something...

[...]
action: You sit on the stool
response: Or not. You get off the stool.
action: You get the books
response: It's creepy enough that you're inside of this tent at all. Physically messing with this person's stuff would be too gross.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: The books look like mostly poetry, written by guys with names like "Blaise Fontanelle". One is lying open to a page with a stanza circled:

Ay, que lo que soy siga existiendo y cesando de existir,
y que mi obediencia se ordene con tales condiciones de
hierro...

All right, then.

A single beam of sunlight cuts through a hole in the western wall, illuminating a shambolic mass of books, notepads, and newspapers strewn across the floor. Everything is stained and crumpled by moisture to some degree.

You can see a stool here.

> X NOTEPADS

Let's see. Here's a really lousy drawing of a squirrel, here's a diagram of a triangle with some calculations next to it, and over here is an actual note, written in plain English.
action: You look at the newspapers
response: They're local papers, going back a few months, based on what you can see without touching anything. Whoever owns this tent likes to do crosswords, but not Sudoku. Hmm.
action: You examine the note
response: Hey, that's a Stephen Malkmus song!
action: You examine the triangle
response: Apparently it was necessary to prove some fact about the dimensions of this triangle—for a while, and then it wasn't so important anymore, since the author didn't finish the calculations.
action: You examine the squirrel
response: It's probably supposed to be a squirrel. Whatever it is, it isn't happy.
action: You look around
response: A single beam of sunlight cuts through a hole in the western wall, illuminating a shambolic mass of books, notepads, and newspapers strewn across the floor. Everything is stained and crumpled by moisture to some degree.

You can see a stool here.
action: You get the stool
response: But that's someone else's stool.
action: You put the bottle on stool
response: You put the blue bottle on the stool.
action: You take the bottle
response: Taken.
action: Go outside
response: The bushes thin out near the top of the hill, and in the center of the clearing is a small tent.
action: Go south
response: This clearing is bounded by a fallen log on the west side and a boulder on the other. The ground around the rock is littered with shards of glass; even with shoes on, you watch your steps carefully.

The path along the stream runs east and west, but there's also a way north, through the vegetation that covers the hill.
action: Go west
response: The stream runs out of a culvert here, from beneath the hill and the train tracks to the west. The runoff from last night's storm flows swiftly and musically.

The ways out of the woods are north and east.

A cricket hops out of your way and disappears.
action: You examine the culvert
response: The circular tunnel is wide enough to handle the worst floods. You could probably walk through fairly comfortably.
action: Go west
response: You look ahead with a scrunched-up neck and fail to keep your shoes out of the water. The curved floor is harder to walk on than you would have thought.

The tunnel leads east and west.
action: Yell
response: Your screams echo up and down the tunnel, but then you're alone again.
action: Hey
response: Hey yourself.
action: You go west
response: You make your uncomfortable way toward the light of day.

Sunlight finds you at the bottom of a rocky ditch. The stream flows noisily between the rocks, past your feet, and into the culvert to the east.

Mounted on a post stuck between the rocks is a small blue birdhouse.
action: You examine birdhouse
response: You pull yourself out of the stream and approach the birdhouse.

On closer inspection, it can't really be a birdhouse. The circular entryway is blocked off on the inside; there's no way for any birds to get in.

Based on the weathering of the paint, it might have been put up here a year or two ago, if you had to guess. A word is written in black magic marker across the back: WRENLAW. The plank on top is attached
with a hinge.

The circular entryway is blocked off on the inside; there's no way for any birds to get in.

Based on the weathering of the paint, it might have been put up here a year or two ago, if you had to guess. A word is written in black magic marker across the back: WRENLAW. The plank on top is attached
with a hinge.
action: You open it
response: You flip open the "lid" of the birdhouse, revealing a tiny screwdriver.
action: You get the screwdriver
response: As you lift the screwdriver into the sunlight, your mind lurches with something like recognition—but the feeling passes, and you can't remember what it reminded you of.
action: You examine the screwdriver
response: It's thinner than a pen. The handle is blue; the Philips-head bit at the end is so tiny and delicate, it almost isn't there.

You have no idea why anyone would put this in a fake birdhouse.
action: You get the house
response: The birdhouse is nailed to the post, and the post is stuck irrevocably in the rocks.
action: You look in the house
response: The imitation birdhouse is empty.
action: Close house
response: You close the imitation birdhouse.
action: You get the water
response: That's hardly portable.
action: You put the water in the bottle
response: First you take the stream.

That's hardly portable.
action: You put the screwdriver in the bottle
response: If you ever got it in, would you be able to get it out?
action: No
response: That was a rhetorical question.
action: You examine bottle
response: The scratched blue glass is basically opaque, and the bottle is empty, but it feels heavier than it should. Apparently "Schmetz" is the name of the liquid that used to be inside of this. The labeling is not very specific about what "Schmetz" is.
action: Drink bottle
response: There might be a drop left. You lean back, invert the bottle over your mouth, and start shaking.

A single drop falls out and on to your tongue. It burns.
action: Look around
response: Sunlight finds you at the bottom of a rocky ditch. The stream flows noisily between the rocks, past your feet, and into the culvert to the east.

Mounted on a post stuck between the rocks is a imitation birdhouse.
action: Go east
response: You stagger eagerly toward familiar ground.

The stream runs out of a culvert here, from beneath the hill and the train tracks to the west. The runoff from last night's storm flows swiftly and musically.

The ways out of the woods are north and east.

Your mouth still tastes nasty.
action: You go to the north
response: This may have been a bad idea.

What seemed at first to be a clear path has revealed itself as a clinging morass. The mud squeaks angrily every time you lift a foot; when you step down, it rises up to your ankles. Occasionally it slips beneath you, and you're forced to swing your arms in the air like an idiot to avoid falling on your face in the muck.

This viscous pit sits between two hills: one to the east, too thick with bushes to offer any purchase, and one to the west, which you happen to know has a railroad track running across the top. But the only clear ways out are north and south.

Sensing your approach, a sparrow chirps a warning and flies away.

Half-sunk in the mire is a styrofoam cooler.
action: You examine cooler
response: The styrofoam walls are unnecessarily thick. Probably this was used to transport some live bait, or some beers, or first one and then the other.
action: You open the cooler
response: It's already open. You have no idea where the lid is.
action: You look in the cooler
response: The styrofoam cooler is empty.
action: You get cooler
response: The mud relinquishes its prize with a long, sickening squelch.
action: Look around
response: What seemed at first to be a clear path has revealed itself as a clinging morass. The mud squeaks angrily every time you lift a foot; when you step down, it rises up to your ankles. Occasionally it slips beneath you, and you're forced to swing your arms in the air like an idiot to avoid falling on your face in the muck.

This viscous pit sits between two hills: one to the east, too thick with bushes to offer any purchase, and one to the west, which you happen to know has a railroad track running across the top. But the only clear ways out are north and south.

> X ME

Your "hiking gear" is indistinguishable from what you wear to class every day: jacket, T-shirt, whatever. Your shoes and jeans are wet, muddy, and covered in cockleburs.
action: You examine the sign
response: The sign describes some exercises for the athletically inclined to try out using the balance beam. You can imagine the Parks Department designing a dozen of these Fitness Stations, erecting this one, and then running out of funding. Or running out of enthusiasm.
action: Go north
response: Between the train tracks and the softball field there's barely any room for a trail, and the bike rack here is almost lost in the overgrowth. Presumably somebody will come by at some point and prune the bushes, but today you're the only one around.

The trail leads south from here.

Your bike is still here, locked up to the bike rack.
action: Go south
response: What seemed at first to be a clear path has revealed itself as a clinging morass. The mud squeaks angrily every time you lift a foot; when you step down, it rises up to your ankles. Occasionally it slips beneath you, and you're forced to swing your arms in the air like an idiot to avoid falling on your face in the muck.

This viscous pit sits between two hills: one to the east, too thick with bushes to offer any purchase, and one to the west, which you happen to know has a railroad track running across the top. But the only clear ways out are north and south.
action: You go to the west
response: It occurs to you that you don't know for sure what's on the other side of the railroad tracks. Now is probably a good time to find out...

You stand on the train tracks and look down the hill. The sun is setting over a huge green golf course. There are no golfers; the fairways are spread out just for you, to lead you to whatever comes next.

You have no idea what's beyond this golf course. The West is a realm of potential because in the West is the freedom of the unknown, the undecided. You can be anyone, because nobody there knows who you are.

You could do it right now. You could walk down this hill and off of the map, into something brand new.
action: You look at the tracks
response: But not today. You have other things to take care of today.

What seemed at first to be a clear path has revealed itself as a clinging morass. The mud squeaks angrily every time you lift a foot; when you step down, it rises up to your ankles. Occasionally it slips beneath you, and you're forced to swing your arms in the air like an idiot to avoid falling on your face in the muck.

This viscous pit sits between two hills: one to the east, too thick with bushes to offer any purchase, and one to the west, which you happen to know has a railroad track running across the top. But the only clear ways out are north and south.
action: You examine the cockleburs
response: A bunch of those horrible barbed seed things are stuck to your jeans and your shoelaces. You'll have to pull them off when you get home.
action: Go east
response: Keeping close to the eastern hill, you're able to grab onto some branches to keep your balance, but the bushes have grown too close together for you to climb up from here.
action: Go south
response: The bushes at the edge of the woods here are too thick to go tromping through.
action: You go south
response: The stream runs out of a culvert here, from beneath the hill and the train tracks to the west. The runoff from last night's storm flows swiftly and musically.

The ways out of the woods are north and east.
action: Go east
response: This clearing is bounded by a fallen log on the west side and a boulder on the other. The ground around the rock is littered with shards of glass; even with shoes on, you watch your steps carefully.

The path along the stream runs east and west, but there's also a way north, through the vegetation that covers the hill.
action: You go to the north
response: The bushes thin out near the top of the hill, and in the center of the clearing is a small tent.

A squirrel sees you and bolts.
action: You go inside
response: A single beam of sunlight cuts through a hole in the western wall, illuminating a shambolic mass of books, notepads, and newspapers strewn across the floor. Everything is stained and crumpled by moisture to some degree.

You can see a stool here.
action: You look at the stool
response: It doesn't look like anybody's ideal stool, but it's probably more comfortable than the floor.

> SIT ON STOOL

You sit on the stool again, and the sun gets in your eyes again.

Oh! Now you remember!

[...]
You picked up your sunglasses, and the right lens fell out. Jessica gasped.

"Is it broken?" She was concerned, but she didn't lean over to look. You were able to notice this while appearing to give all your attention to your sunglasses.

"No, the screw is just loose." You sighed. "I don't think I have a screwdriver for tiny sunglasses screws, is the thing."

The two of you contemplated this state of affairs in silence for a moment.

Then Jessica spoke up. "I wish I had a tiny screwdriver I could give you," she said (and she seemed much more broken up about it than you were), "but I don't."

You grinned. "What, are you trying to make this a metaphor for our relationship?"

She smiled, and hugged you for the second-to-last time, and said, "Sure. If you want."
action: Author
response: A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

In the interest of saving you some time, I'd like to let you know that the "geocache" described in this game does not exist, as far as I know.

Thank you for playing Wrenlaw.

Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command, or read a note from the AUTHOR?
action: Go south
response: This clearing is bounded by a fallen log on the west side and a boulder on the other. The ground around the rock is littered with shards of glass; even with shoes on, you watch your steps carefully.

The path along the stream runs east and west, but there's also a way north, through the vegetation that covers the hill.

Sensing your approach, a sparrow chirps a warning and flies away.
action: Go west
response: The stream runs out of a culvert here, from beneath the hill and the train tracks to the west. The runoff from last night's storm flows swiftly and musically.

The ways out of the woods are north and east.

A cricket hops out of your way and disappears.
action: Go north
response: What seemed at first to be a clear path has revealed itself as a clinging morass. The mud squeaks angrily every time you lift a foot; when you step down, it rises up to your ankles. Occasionally it slips beneath you, and you're forced to swing your arms in the air like an idiot to avoid falling on your face in the muck.

This viscous pit sits between two hills: one to the east, too thick with bushes to offer any purchase, and one to the west, which you happen to know has a railroad track running across the top. But the only clear ways out are north and south.

A squirrel sees you and bolts.
action: Go west
response: No, not today. Someday. Eventually. Definitely.
action: Unlock bike
response: (with the bike key)
Are you ready to take off, then? [y/n]
action: Y.
response: You unlock your bike and hop on.

This is all really strange. Whose tent was that? Why did they abandon it? Why did you go inside?

At least the mystery of the blue box is solved, kind of. And now you have a tiny screwdriver, which is something you didn't have before.

You squint into the sun, and then you turn your bike down gentle hills toward home.
action: You go to the south
response: This may have been a bad idea.

What seemed at first to be a clear path has revealed itself as a clinging morass. The mud squeaks angrily every time you lift a foot; when you step down, it rises up to your ankles. Occasionally it slips beneath you, and you're forced to swing your arms in the air like an idiot to avoid falling on your face in the muck.

This viscous pit sits between two hills: one to the east, too thick with bushes to offer any purchase, and one to the west, which you happen to know has a railroad track running across the top. But the only clear ways out are north and south.

Half-sunk in the mire is a styrofoam cooler.
action: You go to the west
response: It occurs to you that you don't know for sure what's on the other side of the railroad tracks. Now is probably a good time to find out...

You stand on the train tracks and look down the hill. The sun is setting over a huge green golf course. There are no golfers; the fairways are spread out just for you, to lead you to whatever comes next.

You have no idea what's beyond this golf course. The West is a realm of potential because in the West is the freedom of the unknown, the undecided. You can be anyone, because nobody there knows who you are.

You could do it right now. You could walk down this hill and off of the map, into something brand new.
action: Go west
response: But not today. You have other things to take care of today.

What seemed at first to be a clear path has revealed itself as a clinging morass. The mud squeaks angrily every time you lift a foot; when you step down, it rises up to your ankles. Occasionally it slips beneath you, and you're forced to swing your arms in the air like an idiot to avoid falling on your face in the muck.

This viscous pit sits between two hills: one to the east, too thick with bushes to offer any purchase, and one to the west, which you happen to know has a railroad track running across the top. But the only clear ways out are north and south.

Half-sunk in the mire is a styrofoam cooler.
action: You go east
response: According to the signal across the road, it's not safe to cross now. Based on the speed of traffic, you have to agree.
action: You run
response: You'll have to say which compass direction to go in.
action: You wait
response: Time passes.
action: Go east
response: According to the signal across the road, it's not safe to cross now. Based on the speed of traffic, you have to agree.

An incredibly loud motorcycle speeds by, and you lose your train of thought for a few seconds.
action: You jump
response: You jump up and down a couple times. Get the blood flowing.