Scrambled eggs

contemplating on the meaning wherein the locus of “the meaned” is felt beyond the relation to only the object - that part - but in context of the gerund whole, the body within which mean-ing takes place.

But what could it mean?! Carole read the inscription again and again, each time failing to make sense of the cryptic passage. She threw the down tome in frustration sending a plume of dust into the air. After a moment, she cleaned the grime from her glasses and got back to work.

As she put her glasses back on, she realized the settled dust had activated a second ink color, previously unseen on the inscription, revealing a secret location and promise of grandeur. She would need to get to Albuquerque and fast.

She heard a thump behind her and she froze. What was that?

She turned around there was nothing there... Then, another thump! She pivoted. Again, nothing. What was happening? Was she losing her mind? The thumps started getting louder, as if something large was approaching. Her Fabergé egg collection started to rattle. "What do I do?"

She had to get her valuables to safety! But where? She scanned the room as the thumps became louder and louder, the beating of her heart nearly competing with them. And then she remembered her childhood hiding place - the loose boards along the back of the closet wall. She

, in an attempt to sprint as hard as she can towards the closet, trips over herself and falls to the ground. All of her roll or fly away from her, most of it lands near the closet door. She gathers as much of she can and attempts to crawl quickly to the loose boards. He enters.

“Ho Ho Ho!” He bellows. “Have you been naughty or have you been nice?!” Her worst nightmare was coming true: she never wished it could be Christmas every day.