[ WP ] ( from the chat room ) You find a small box with a red button while walking in the woods . You push the button . What happens ?


 Red capes, red dawns, red buttons, red herrings, red flags. Red, the signal of shit ’ s going down. There ’ s this red button. A red button in the middle of the woods. A red button housed in a silver box. There ’ s no sticker, no icon, no scratched in filth, just a perfectly shiny silver box and a perfectly shiny large red polycarbonate button. What the fuck. 
 
 I ’ m not an outdoorsy person. I don ’ t trek, bird, pick flowers, talk to squirrels, kick pinecones or care one way or other about the seasons. It ’ s hot, it ’ s cold, it ’ s humid, whatever, I like it indoors, seventy-three mother fucking degrees, the toilet nearby, the fridge even closer, my computer on. It ’ s called evolution, folks. I like it. Life at home and life at work is climate controlled and I have a black one hoody fits all occasions that I wash once a week. Now, that ’ s just smart and efficient fashion. 
 
 Except this stupid fucking weekend. 
 
 I ’ m not at home. I ’ m not at work. I ’ m not wearing my black hoody. I ’ m standing in the middle of anti-civilization staring at the one thing I ’ ve seen man-made for a few hours now and it ’ s itching my brain and soul in such a strange way. Like that sweet and sour chicken burrito I had the other day from Aye! Burrito! It was fried chicken nuggets doused in neon orange sauce, with a mayo tamari and sesame aioli, garlic fried rice and, instead of the usual shredded lettuce, onion and tomato, it was vegetable tempura, carrots, onion and asparagus, all wrapped in a giant rice pancake. RIGHT? Amazing. It was seventeen bucks for a fucking burrito, but worth every penny. 
 
 Yeah, I could really go for an Aye! Pow! burrito right now. 
 
 This stupid fucking weekend I ’ m on a work retreat. My boss made a mighty decree that we needed to commune with nature. He had just had a soul altering retreat in, I don ’ t know, some third world country with lots of trees and animals and shit, and now he wants us to experience the same thing, but at the fraction of the cost and under his terms. Millionaires. What assholes. Only really rich people have soul altering experiences. And then they think they ’ re being generous by pushing their experiences on us common hoody folk. So, we ’ ve each -- there ’ s eleven of us -- have been dropped off at a remote section of this 200 acre private woods ( another rich d-bag ) and told that in a few hours they ’ d locate us with heat sensors from a chopper and lower the rope. In the meantime, we ’ re supposed to contemplate things like, the wind, the leaf, the chirp. 
 
 They didn ’ t say anything about a silver box with a red shiny button. 
 
 What is this, the fucking Hunger Games? 
 
 I scan the area with a solemn 360 shuffle. Without realizing it, my arms are slightly raised, like I ’ m getting ready for a wrestling match. I sniff the wind. I do a run down of the sounds around me -- bird call, squirrel scamper, pine cone drop, branch creak and, if I ’ m not mistaken, helicopter whir. 
 
 ….. 
 
 I asked everyone about the red button. I asked the pilot. The groundskeeper. My co-workers. The catering company. The yogis. The shaman. The boss. I googled red button in woods, silver boxes with red buttons in woods, fucked up things in nature, why is there a red button in the woods, and nothing. Not a goddamn thing. And it is driving me insane. 
 
 Whys-whats-hows, that ’ s what ’ s consuming me. I was this close. I was chosen. I was meant to be. 
 
 I ’ ve got to go back. Back to the woods. But next time I ’ m packing an Aye! Pow! burrito. 
 

