In an attempt to make up for my lack of writing fiction these past few months, I decided to start a random story and have people continue the story. So if u want to, just e-mail me your output to richard@thehomelands.net

Nia opened her door, and it looked like Hiroshima. As she looked around her apartment, she saw nothing but black, crusty remnants of her material goods.

Halfway through her vacation in Amsterdam, she had felt like something very bad had happened, and the "good" weed she had been consuming in large quantities was not helping matters. Now she knew her feelings were not just paranoia.

Nia sighed loudly, sat down in the middle of her floor, which strangely had not one burn mark. She looked around again, and realized that only her furniture and anything not part of the wal or floor showed signs of burning. Even the front door to the studio had nary a sign of fire.

Then a loud knock came from her door. Then the clicking of something. Then a male and female voice saying, "Open the door Nia Lynch!"...