The familiar falling sensation of being transported 24 hours through time …
… doesn’t even bother you anymore.
And when you find yourself landing on a forested part of my copywriting island that you don’t recognise …
… by this point, that doesn’t surprise you either.
And then, when you hear a terrifying shriek a few metres behind you—
… well, this time you just roll your eyes.
“Oh, let me guess. Another wild creature outside the lab that’s going to kill me if I leave this email list. How … original. That Daniel Throssell must be running out of ideas.”
You turn around … and jolt back involuntarily.
There’s … nothing there?
Or at least, that’s what you think until you look down … and see a tiny toucan.
“Heh … I wouldn’t hang around here if I were you, buddy,” you say, trying to shoo the toucan away. “There’s something nasty around—“
Suddenly, the ‘toucan’ opens its beak …
… and lets out a bloodcurdling shriek.
The exact same noise you just heard.
You jump back. “What the—“
Suddenly, before your eyes, the ‘toucan’ starts growing … and growing … and growing … until it’s a good eight feet tall.
The toucan squares up toward you … and licks its lips.
“Oh … dear,” you say.
Then you remember:
How many times have we had THIS trope in these stories?
Suddenly, you get a feeling that you know what’s going to happen next.
You look around for a moment, and then you spot him:
In a tree in the distance …
An American guy …
With a giant sniper rifle pointed your way.
It’s my friend and frequent story cameo … Tom Burns.
“Aha … just like I thought,” you say. “This is getting too predictable.”
You stand there, smirking as the toucan walks up to you.
You don’t budge.
“This might hurt,” you say to the toucan.
The creature bares its fangs—
Lunges towards you—
You see a puff of smoke from Tom’s sniper rifle as it fires in the distance …
… and then — whoosh! — the bullet sails right past the toucan …
… and slams into a nearby tree.
“Crap!” curses Tom, reloading.
He … missed?
In horror, your eyes flit from Tom in the distance, back to the giant toucan in front of you, when—
In one clean bite, it rips off your left forearm and swallows it.
You look down at the stump of your elbow.
And then, you giggle neurotically.
This is … a joke, right?
Wasn’t this supposed to be the part where someone shot the thing from behind? The deus ex machina?
You look back up at the toucan, busily chewing away at your arm—
Suddenly it blows up in a gory spray.
From in the distance, you hear Tom Burns’ voice:
“Okay, got it that time!”
Meanwhile, blood is spurting out of your arm.
You take another look …
… and promptly pass out.
As you lie there unconscious, your phone pings.
It’s your email app.
There’s a new email from Daniel Throssell there …