The Viscount Verb found himself standing in the middle of one of Grammar’s most luxurious homes, with several pairs of angry eyes trained upon his.
Somehow, the Viscount Verb had managed to anger the Auxiliaries, an elite group of verbs who were responsible for his election to the position of Viscount Verb. A few of them stood together, the primary ones—Be, Am, Is, Are, Was, Were, Do, Did, Have, Has and Had—before the Viscount Verb in a semicircle. With each word they uttered, they inched closer, glared harder and spoke louder.
The Auxiliaries were closer now, and they had closed the gap in the circle. The Viscount Verb was surrounded. He chanced a look at their eyes again. Their eyes seemed to be growing larger. Each of them was displaying a different scene. The eyes were demanding his attention. They were drawing him in—hauling actually—with some kind of suctioning power. The Viscount Verb tried not to focus. Was left the circle and came to stand closer to the Viscount Verb. Suddenly, the Viscount Verb found himself somewhere else. Gone were the plush surroundings. He had been transported to the past, to the time Pre-P. Slowly, he beheld the destruction around him. There were mounds and mounds of discarded paper crumpled into an array of shapes. There was no empty space, he realised. The paper had been strewn everywhere, even beneath his feet. Suddenly, the paper beneath him shifted. His arms flailed wildly as he struggled to find purchase. He stepped forward, searching frantically for sturdier ground. His body was thrust forward as he sunk even deeper. He tried to run, both legs frantically churning as if the surface upon which he had been standing had suddenly fallen away. His legs rotated as his body sank deeper. He was being swallowed by a bog of paper. Grammar was on the verge of being buried by paper. He closed his eyes and screamed.
