Later, who knows how much time has passed, you wake up and wander around. You hear a strange and haunting music in the distance, but the thick vegetation blocks your view of its source. And where has that girl gone? As you panic you wonder what could have happened. Has a hockey player absconded with her? Has she finally left town on that modeling contract that she ordered from the diet cereal box? Has she been hit by some sort of lightning? But then the foliage parts and she steps out with an orchid in her hand. She glances over at you. Wow, you want to smell that thing from close up. But just as quickly as she appeared, she is gone. You try to stay behind her, following the path she breaks through the underbrush. You wish she had a machete on her, so she could be easier to catch. Your only hope is to follow the strange music that she is following. You don't mind the music at all. Mostly you want that orchid. It is pink and purple and has that scent that can't be explained. It kind of glows in the dusk like a firefly and you can almost taste it on the wind. You crash through some ferns into a clearing just in time to see her walk up to an old geezer who is cranking a hurdy gurdy. There is a giant funnel on top of it that feeds down into the baffles down through the carburetor and up into the bellows that finally huff out the song. Just before you can reach her she stands up on her tip-toes and drops the orchid into the funnel. You watch in horror as the orchid vanishes. The song sways and floats on a gust of breeze. The girl has disappeared. The hurdy gurdy orchid grinder smiles almost bashfully and you feel sick as you see a tiny bit of purple soot poof out of the bellows. You try to gather to orchid soot into a pile. You make it into an orchid shape but that doesn't quite move you the same. Then you try to make it spell ORCHID but only have enough to spell ORCH. Maybe you should just take it with you and brew some tea with it when you wake up. Just as you are about to scoop it up, a silken-haired imp comes by and snatches it. He scares you because he is so tiny. Why this alarms you is unclear, but you take a moment to calculate just how tough he might be. He looks back and laughs as he runs off with the pulverized petals. Just as you are about to say "That was my orchid powder, you runt," you realize that your arm is now being pulled into the orchid grinder. You look over at the operator of the hurdy gurdy. He has put on a welding helmet and some of those sandwichmaker plastic gloves. He shrugs as he lowers the visor on his helmet and then he really begins to crank that thing. Can that machine really think that you are an orchid? Is that a compliment? But what a pleasant melody it is that comes from your arm. Though there isn't much space to dance as the thing keeps pulling you closer, you try to look smooth as you do a lopsided waltz back and forth. Just as you are about to show off by dipping yourself low, you are yanked off of your feet. You wonder if there is anyone watching to appreciate the little air dance you do as you feel yourself ground into the sweetest melody you have ever heard. You, gentle reader, are done for. THE END