Tagged for a story

Normally I wouldn't do something like this on this site, but things have been slow. Basically I'm supposed to add a paragraph to this ongoing story and tag some people to continue it:

I had been shuffling around the house for a few hours and already felt tired. The doorbell rang. I opened the front door and saw a figure striding away from the house, quickly and purposefully. I looked down and saw a bulky envelope. I picked it up. The handwriting was smudged and cramped, and I could only make out a few words. (Splotchy)

"Meet me at two o'clock at Grisham Square. Don't be late!"

What? I already had an appointment at that time. In fact, that was the only reason I had even taken off work that Wednesday. But, when I saw the photos, I knew I had to go and see what the hell was going on. Oh gosh, now I wish I hadn't, but how was I to know then that Elizabeth would take this whole thing so far? (Freida Bee)

She had exposed the nefarious Republican oil-for-neckties program, skillfully dismantling its diabolically brilliant mind control scheme, giving each man, woman and child his or her freewill back, and this had made her a national, nay, worldwide, heroine, but -- the fear -- the look of stark, otherworldly terror on the -- could they even be classified as faces anymore?

No, I had to swallow the overwhelming dread that was threatening to force me into complete shutdown, collapsing on the hallowed ground where I would silently, naively wish it all away until it came for -- me. Fruitlessly wiping away a flood of icy sweat, I knew I had to steel my resolve, look upon those photos once more and let them burn their horrific images in my psyche. Permanently. (Randal Graves)

Yet something was tickling my psyche, trying to work it's way to the surface of my consciousness like that bad memory for grade school I buried long ago. The one where I had to give a speech to the whole class and was trying to imagine them in their underwear so I wouldn't be nervous, when I suddenly realized I was the one who was in my underwear as I had forgotten to wear pants. I realized that the faces in the picture weren't faces after all. I was holding the picture upside down. (Dean Wormer)

Ah, that was better. What had first appeared as people and then abstract art now resolved into pictures of cells. Plant cells. I stifled a chuckle thinking the cells were heads of people, but wait! The lower row of cells had twice as many chromosomes as the first row. Then it hit me, the gaunt figure striding away from my door was Elizabeth's old botany professor. His ambling gait percolated back into my consciousness. What could he want with me and why give me pictures of mutated cells? (Don Snabulus)

Still examining the photos under furrowed brows, I went back into the house and went straight to the liquor cabinet.  Normally at that time of day I would be content with the old standby gin & tonic, but this was different.  I was puzzled and I was bothered, and that really annoyed me.  You see, I've never really believed in emotions.  Definitely overrated.  They just get in the way.  It was bad enough to feel one at any given time, but I was feeling two, and that had given rise to a third.  Triple whammy.  I needed to force myself back to single-mindedness, and that called for single malt.  Yes, it was definitely a job for McCallen.  (tympani roll)

I continued to stare at the photos intently as I poured the whiskey, only partly aware of the liquid that was missing my glass and trickling onto the floor.  Yes...the old botany professor.  I remembered him well, because Elizabeth had told me so much about him.  She always said he was a weird, old fart.  Kind of a mad scientist, really.  He was the sort that was both a genius and a tempting spitwad target at the same time.  But he was also intriguing.  In fact, now that I thought about it, hadn't Elizabeth said something about an experiment?  (The Moody Minstrel)

I think I'll tag Olivia, Pandabonium, Agus, The Intrepid Adventurer, and the seventeenth person to read this post (whoever that is).