Frank Mckenzie: A Fictional Narrative

“Well, Frank Mckenzie, it’s nice meeting you,” Lorenzo responded jovially as they formally shook hands, and Phillip could feel his paw almost dwarfed in Lorenzo’s impressively large mitt. “And, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around.” But the word around didn’t come out of Lorenzo’s mouth as it normally should have. It came out as Ah-rrr-ound… extending and fading as it trailed off at the end. It had seemed as if Lorenzo’s attention suddenly became distant—sidetracked. Phillip then caught on as he noticed Lorenzo starring down at Randy Kallibeck’s name patch on his uniform shirt. Their eyes met, locked instantly in a standoff and awaiting for who it will be to make the first move. Lorenzo pulled and then dropped his hand from Phillip,

But, suddenly, from a ways further down the hall, two men materialized out of a door that abruptly swung open. They came walking out from what Phillip had remembered was the side of the corridor that entered into what Lorenzo had called, “The floor.” But Phillip knew it as the cavernous storage area where he had now twice woken up in, and definitely had no intentions on returning any time soon. So without allowing the distance between him and the approaching men to be any further closed upon, (or for them to see his bare feet for that matter) he ducked into hiding using Lorenzo’s ID pass to gain access into an adjoining room which so happened to be the first door he’d come upon after the men had surprised him by entering the

Shelves were lined up at its core one after another and they were sectioning off most of the main part of the floor space just as how the lockers in the Mens’ changing room had done the same. On each of the ledges were boxes and small plastic bottles arranged like books on a library shelf. There were thousands of them, too numerous to count, and they came in all shapes and sizes and colors. There was also a foreboding of eeriness accompanying them, something artificial, unnatural, and