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I'm coming back from lunch, or break, or something. So is Mr. Out. We erase our names from the whiteboard, and we are heading back to our individual desks.

Suddenly, out of the blue, our supervisor starts yelling, loudly, at Mr. Out to not freak out, and to stop it.

Everyone who had been working and not noticing anything going on start taking notice.

A: "Huh???"
Mr. Out attempts to explain: "I was running with scissors."
Me: "Well, stop it!"
Mr. Out: "But I'm Edward Scissorhands!"
Me: "Put 'em in your pockets. Then you'll be Edward Scissorpants, and you'll have a lot more to worry about."
Mr. Out cracks up.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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