I immediately felt sick. I wished I hadn't

I immediately felt sick. I wished I hadn't eaten the green banana from the toilet. I lost consciousness just as the folding story rehab staff burst in with handcuffs.

Next thing I woke in solitary.It was dark & lonely & boring. Did I mention dark? I'm losing my mind. "Hey there's a slit under the door.Someone passed a folded sheet with writing

on it: "Next thing I woke in solitary. It was dark & lonely & boring. Did I mention dark?" I folded the sheet longways & continued: "A rat scurried across my toes. Prison smells

musky and dank. Every day I stare at the window, longing for freedom and fresh air." I folded the sheet again so that only my line was visible and passed it to the left.

I (the one on the left) took the tattered slip of paper and read the mysterious message. It had to be a riddle. It was then that I noticed someone peering over my shoulder. It was

Pierre Peary, the French explorer. "Who do you think you are, Margaret Meade?" I asked him. "Subject seems agitated," he scribbled furiously into his notebook. "I am not agitated!"

Pierre Peary wiped his sweaty brow. "You can always talk about it with me, cheri, you know," he said. I snorted, knocked his pith helmet onto the mud floor and stamped on it

"You'd like that wouldn't you!" I shouted. "I'll never talk to you." Pierre Peary bent to recoup the muddy helmet, now beyond pith, having sustained a hole the shape of my foot.

The helmet had grown porcupine like spikes and emitted an odour that made me feel like laughing out loud. But when I did, the helmet bonked me and Pierre Peary so hard that we

castigated our way out of a tight spot without a blemish to our name. We threw the years at then and enough stuck to bring us all to our senses. "So much for believing in me."