Annual Pedantry

He stifled another yawn . . . then gave up stifling them and let them flow freely.

It wasn't that his church's annual meeting was boring.  It was really more like . . . no.  His church's annual meeting was boring.  It wasn't always.  In fact, some years, it was downright exciting once they got on to something controversial like last year's time change proposal that he could have sworn almost came to blows.  This year, however, there didn't seem to be anything worth fighting over.

Lame.

He tried to listen to the members bringing up the same points and getting confused by the same reports and volunteering for the same things they did the year before, but that was a hopeless endeavor.  He tried to get involved in the conversations himself, hoping he could throw everyone a curve ball that would catch everyone off guard, but he couldn't focus enough to add anything.  He even tried to imagine that it was actually a mafia assemblage (the heads of all five families were present, after all), but there wasn't even enough excitement for him to make that work.

As they started to open discussion on the proposed budget for the coming year, he accepted that money was never going to be something that he could make sense of anyway and settled back into the pew.  He stretched out his arms, careful to make sure to keep them low enough that no one thought he was volunteering for something, and allowed another yawn.

And he closed his eyes.

He felt a warm breeze blowing on his face, filling his nostrils with their first glimpse of the outside world in years.  His first thought was that it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

His second was that it smelled like burned salmon.

His third was that he had no idea was burned salmon smelled like.

He opened his eyes and looked around at the ruined laboratory surrounding him.  Whatever had set him free of his confines must have been incredibly powerful to leave this kind of impression on his captors' fortress.  Broken glass covered roasted corpses and the ground surrounding them while large gaping holes riddled the walls.  A layer of ash gave everything the feel of an old black-and-white movie.

He smiled, reveling in his newfound freedom.  He felt a slight twinge of guilt about the joy he felt towards the bodies he was walking on, but it was so strongly outweighed by the relatively chemical-free air filling his lungs that he didn't actually care.

A sudden scraping noise on the large metallic door across the room pulled him away from his revelry.

He turned slowly, a manic grinning spreading across his face as his hands gently traced the trail he had taken since he had awoken.  As they moved gracefully in front of his face, he slowly curled his fingers into a fist and marched forward with sudden deliberateness to meet whoever was knocking on the door of his long-time home.

He reached the door just as it swung open to reveal a heavy-framed, humanoid form.

Without hesitation, he reeled around, lifting his left leg gracefully into the air and planting his heel hard on the figure's head.  Before he could figure out what kind of effect this had on his new visitor, he leapt through the doorway, lifted effortlessly off the ground, and flew off into the sunset.

"Great," a voice echoed from somewhere just beyond the horizon.  "Thank you for doing that!"

He opened his eyes.

Several people in the room had turned to look at him while others whispered to each other, gesturing at him with nods and even a point or two.  He took a quick inventory of himself to find one arm stretched straight up in the air.  His sister was giggling quietly next to him.

Uh oh.

He smiled up at the president of the church council and nodded curtly.

What exactly had he just volunteered for?