((This is just a little snipit of my writing style, sort of a short off-shoot story from my psuedo-book-in-progress, Mick N' Sophie. Any criticism would be appreciated.))
Mick absently whistled the gummy bear song as he brushed aside some empty wrappers and picked up a newspaper off the ground of his filthy apartment. He tucked it up under his arm as reading material and walked toward the bathroom. Finishing his whistled tune, Mick reached out and opened the door.
A monstrous roar filled the air and the lights flickered threateningly. In the bathroom doorway was a swirling, red and black mural. Purple lightning flashed across the scene in time to the deep bass rumbles. Mick stared at the ominous portal for a moment, and then closed the door.
Everything returned to normal, or at least, Mick's rendition of normal. The green fox stood in front of the door for a long time, pondering what he'd just seen and drumming his digits on the doorknob. Hmmm… There appears to be a trans-dimensional vortex in my bathroom, He observed calmly, How odd.
He drummed his fingers for a bit longer, then leaned in and opened the door a crack. There was his bathroom, same as always; non-paradoxal. He clicked the door closed, drummed his fingers, and opened it again. The booming and crazy lights returned as Mick examined the visible sliver of vortex that had appeared once again. He stared for a while, then pulled the newspaper out from its resting place in his armpit and rolled it up. Cautiously, he held it out and poked the event horizon with January 14th's copy of the City Post.
The event horizon rippled and the lightning concentrated on the paper, but there was no other visible change. He held it there for a moment, then pulled it out and looked at the end of it. The end of the rolled up newspaper had a fake nose, mustache, and glasses on.
Mick pursed his lips in thought, his eyes alternating between the newspaper with facial hair and the sliver of anomalous bathroom. He stooped like that for many minutes, and then suddenly straightened again. He took a step back and pulled the door all the way open, allowing the entire portal to be seen. He looked at it curiously, wondering what it was and where in Thor's name it had come from, then haphazardly tossed the newspaper into it, like he was throwing a steak to a hungry Sasquatch.
The horizon shimmered as the paper passed through, but soon stabilized. Mick waited, leaning to either side to see the vortex from other angles. He waited... and waited... and waited. Then, all of the sudden and without warning... he continued to wait. Just as he was about to get something else to toss through, a newspaper was tossed out of the doorway at chest height.
Mick fumbled to catch it, almost dropping it, and the door closed itself with a slam. He blinked as everything returned to the semi-norm and looked down at the paper he now held. It was the same paper; he recognized the coffee stain on it and the date; but now it was tie-dyed rainbow colors, covered in broccoli stickers, wearing a thong bikini, and filled with rice. What... the Hell? Mick thought in fascination.
He looked the paper over several times, shaking rice and ants onto the wooden floor, and then he looked back at the door. Still not believing what he was seeing. He walked over and opened it. The bathroom sat there. Close, open. The vortex. Close, open. Bathroom. Vortex. Bathroom. Vortex. Bathroom...
Mick closed the door with a silly grin on his face, planning on doing this for quite a long time, then someone pounded on his front door, and a gruff voice yelled, “Mick! Your rent’s late... AGAIN!!!”
Mick went rigid and spun around. CRAP!! He yelled inside his head, I totally forgot!
“Open this door Mick! I want my money by the count of sixty four! One!”
Mick dropped the newspaper and spun around in a panic.
He ran to the window, ready to jump, but stopped just in time as he remembered he was on the third floor with nothing but a concrete street below.
Mick pulled to a stop in his mad dash to find a hiding place. Four?
Sweet Twinkies! He’s doubling!
Mick looked around frantically and caught sight of what normally would have been the best, or rather most obvious, choice for a hiding place. The bathroom. No, that’s crazy. Insane. Whacked-
Who-cares-I’m-doing-it!!! Mick thought without really thinking. He sprinted over to the door, yanked it open, and jumped into the trans-dimensional wormhole (or whatever its classification was) and pulled the door shut behind him.
“Sixty-four!” The front door of Mick’s apartment crashed open, revealing a badger-man only about four and a half feet tall, but that was four and a half feet of pure, German muscle. Mr. Gertch, Mick’s landlord, marched into the apartment and sneered in disgust at the mess. He quickly set about searching for the elusive fox, checking for loose floorboards, looking in the fridge, even checking the street outside Mick’s window. He scoured the room and finally came to the bathroom. He pulled the door open, ready to yell Mick into submission, but the small room was foxless. (Smelled though)
Mr. Gertch scrunched up his nose and quickly slammed the door shut, “Filthy fox... I could’ve sworn I heard ‘im in here,” He grumbled to himself as he trudged out the door, closing it as he exited the apartment. The sound of his grumbling and footsteps faded as he retreated down the hall, off to accost someone else about due rent.
The lights were off, the door was closed, and the only sound came from impatient citizens honking their horns in the streets below. Nothing moved in the empty apartment... then the lights flickered on and off with a crackling buzz. In a blur the bathroom door swung open, casting red and purple wobbling light over the apartment. The sound of a storm filled the single room abode and Mick came stumbling out of the portal.
First off, he was dressed up in a purple leather jacket, pants made of scotch tape and AA batteries, watermelon shoes, ham gloves, a cybertronic monocle, and Abraham Lincoln’s hat. Second, his pockets were filled with salamanders and copper wire, a sock monkey was tied to his left leg, a blown glass duck was tied to his right leg with sausage links, and three slimy tentacles wriggled out from beneath his hat. And thirdly, he smelled like burning tuna and the number 6, and his shadow was having a seizure.
Mick coughed up a cloud of glitter and swayed from side to side as the door slammed shut behind him. He staggered about as the rift in time/space mended itself (again) and the lights came on. He looked thoroughly dazed, as if he’d just chugged a dozen pills he’d found on the floor. For a few seconds he just tried to keep his outfit from falling apart, then he sighed as a grin spread across his face, “Groovy.” His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto the floor. Subconscious Note: NEVER, do that again... more than twice... per week... probably.