You wake up, screaming the word "MANURE!" at the top of your lungs, almost swearing you smell a whiff of it as you come to. You're suddenly quite thankful that you don't have a roommate, but there's always the possibility that this incident will incite another grandfatherly chat from the nosy guy next door. He probably would have gotten along with Aunt Mareen. "Would have been a freaking romantic masterpiece," you grumble as you get out of bed. You glance at your reflection in the mirror on the back of your bedroom door, notice immediately the disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes. Geez, this weird orb thing really must be getting to you. Determined to get to the bottom of things and back on the rational side of life, you head downstairs to inspect the orb again, but the orb isn't there. In the exact spot on the counter where you left the orb now rests a cylinder, a cylinder the exact shade of red and seemingly made of the same material. You want to confirm this transformation by touch, so you pick up the cylinder and flip it over. You notice a small inscription on the bottom. It's your name, in tiny, neat letters. What the freaking crap. You decide enough is enough - you're done with this orb-turnedred-turnedcylinder nonsense. Done. You grasp the cylinder tightly in your hand, jog outside to your bike, and pedal furiously away from your house. You keep pedaling, all in a huff and not paying much attention, until you think you can almost smell that stuff Aunt Mareen was talking about. Perturbed, you bring the bike to a squealing halt, turn, and chuck the cylinder as far as you can into the trees. Without taking note of the place, you turn around and bike home, quickly, excited to get away from the the blasted object.