Billies Seasonal Weather Anomalies is the sort of building that you can't walk by and not look at it. It is, as I said before, in the centre of the city. But unlike all the other hundreds of other dull grey and green skyscrapers around, Billies Anomalies is definitely on the more colourful scheme of the spectrum. The actual base colour is a bright yellow. On top of that there are huge splatters of neon green, blue and pink, like someone grabbed a giant paint brush and gave it a huge flick towards the building.

               When I first got employed in the skyscraper, I asked one of my colleagues, Nicky, what was with it. He shrugged, saying it had something to with symbolising the different seasons, weather and times zones the place can bring. Clay reckoned once-upon-a-time they were Billy's favourite colours. I never asked him again.

               The inside of the building isn't quite so vibrant. Plush light grey carpet and navy blue walls. The only thing that really marks it as a place different from the norm is this crazy oil painting hanging on one of the far walls, which, for a painting, actually looks pretty cool. It's of a city. The buildings have all been coated in a forest green paint. In the sky there's two suns, leaving the ground to be in a mismatch of randomly placed shadows. It's creative, different and unique, yet still looks remarkably similar to earth.

"Ah, the lad's made it on time for his big day," Clay announces the moment I step foot in the building. Not knowing exactly what he's going on about, I grin, give him a poorly disguised fake laugh and head over to the safety of my beloved desk. Good golly, people get stranger everyday.

My day's pretty dull. Not a lot happens. Egypt had another bad dust storm. I contained it and sent it off to one of the sand-bagging companies where it'll be shipped to a child day care's sandpit. By four-thirty in the afternoon, exactly twenty-four hours from when my boss last spoke to me, I can't not admit that I've been anxious for officially getting my promotion since finding out about it yesterday. Okay, and I'm a tiny bit curious as to find out what exactly will be changing in my daily routine.

Tentatively, I lightly tap my knuckles against Bradley's monstrous door. Just breathe, Phil. Breathing's the key. The door doesn't open and no voice booms at me to open it. I knock a bit louder. "Come in."

For a moment blinded by panic, I forget how to open a door. Do you twist the handle left, or right? If I turn it the wrong way, he'll see. Maybe I should just run back to my cubicle and pretend it was another poor soul that attempted to open this freaking door? But what'll he think? That it was a practical joke? And then what will happen? He'll come out looking for the culprit and my traitorous colleagues will all point their scrawny fingers at me!

Thankfully, panic soon subsides into basic common sense, allowing me to actually attempt opening this door. Muscle memory clicks in and I find myself turning it clockwise. Bingo. "Phillip. I was expecting you. Please, take a seat." My boss, unaware of my recent dilemma, gestures to one of the seats in front of his desk. He patiently waits until I've settled myself in before speaking again, "so, your decision?"

I pause to hopefully do a convincing act of how much thought I've really put into this, "well, it was a tough call. But, after much thought into the matter, I've decided I'll take it." There we go. Have you ever heard a more professional speech in your time?

"Excellent. I thought you might," Bradley smoothly swings his swivel chair around and hops off, heading towards his impressive mountain of filing cabinets. He returns a moment later with a document. My promotion, the official document. How exciting! "Sign here, please." He taps a blank line at the bottom of the page.

               Obediently, I whisk up one of his carefully lined-up ball-point pens and scribble down my messy signature. I absently click it back off, slap it down onto the desk before looking at him and speaking, "right, so, you wanted to give me a chat about my new job description, Sir?"

               "I do," he pushes the pen back into alignment, "now, what you're about to hear is strictly confidential. It's crazy, whacky and all out unbelievable. You'll want to tell someone. The press. Your parents. Anyone. But most of all, you'll want to give your your science teacher a little phone call about the-thing-you're-about-to-hear defying all laws of physics. I know that you already signed your name down, but this, right here, right now, is your last chance of backing out."

               A nervous chuckle bubbles up from the base of my throat. Gosh, he's making it sound like it's something illegal. Maybe he's just being dramatic to get the point across? A tiny voice says inside my head. Yeah, I'm sure that's all it is. "No Sir, I'm sure about my decision. I want this position."

               He gives a tiny nod, "alright. I'm sure you're well aware of the history behind this company. How Bill invented the pofflers. How humanity was reluctant at first to use this new generation of technology, but eventually saw the sense to it. However, there's a great deal of this story that's not written in the history books. I'm about to be quite blunt with you, understood? Good. Bill didn't invent the poffler. Rather he stole one . . . from a parallel universe."

               I choke on my own spit, "What?!"

               "Do not interrupt. Please refrain from showing your shock until after you arrive to the privacy of your home. Now, as I was saying, Bill stole it from an alternate version of our reality. He stumbled upon it while he was clearing out his grandfathers attic. Just imagine that. The shock. He-he. Anyway, this portal he tripped across comes in the form of a painting. The one in the lobby, to be exact. Press the right spots on the back of the artwork and bam! The next thing you know you're in an entirely different universe.  Pretty crazy, huh? Unfortunately, their version of earth, which they've decided to name Arth, is slightly more . . . technologically advanced then we are. I stress the word slightly. After returning home with the first poffler, Bill did extensive research on it. After he was confident he could build and sell them himself quite easily, he returned the original poffler to Arth."

               I dramatically wave my hand in front of my face in a strange sort of time-out symbol. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude. Let me get this straight, Billy. As in the Billy Brooks stole the amazing poffler from a parallel universe?! After he found a portal disguised as a painting in his gramps attic?! Then he what, didn't bother to let the world in on knowing there actually is life out there? Just so he could pop a few extra pennies in his pocket?! Bro, that's just not normal. That's-that's . . . that's illegal!"

Bradley sighs deeply, clearly frustrated, "listen, bro, I realise that what you've heard does make us sound a little . . . shady. I know, because that's what I first thought too. However, after Bill carefully explained the reasons behind—"

"Wait, what?!" I interrupt him again. "Bill explained it to you? Listen boss, I hate to be the on to say this to you, but when was the last time you got a cat-scan? 'Cos, wow, you really need to book another one. Bill died ages ago! Centuries ago! Unless of course, he stole some super sonic anti-aging cream from some top secret lab. I wouldn't put anything past this man at the moment."

"Mister Phillip, do you or do you not remember me telling you not to interrupt? Please don't do it again. As I said before, the technologies of Arth a more advanced then Earth's. We've made stasis chambers here before, but the ones over there can sustain a life form pretty close to indefinitely. Bill is in one of these. He checks on this company every couple of years. As of the moment, we're meant to visit him in Arth in a weeks time, if you wish, you may be present at the time."

               I stare at him blankly again for another minute. Eventually, I sigh and rub the back of my neck. "I really don't know what to think at the moment. Permission to speak freely, sir?"

               "Like you've been doing all afternoon?" He fires back.

               "Right. Well, to be completely honest with you, you sound like a whacko. Parallel universes? Fellas that live way longer then normal? That's science fiction. At least the parallel universe bit is at the moment. Unfortunately, after six years working here, I know that you're not exactly the most creative crayon in the box. Or winning any grade 'A' report cards in the department of lying either. Which leads me to one of two conclusions; option one: you took a couple of lessons on lying over the weekends. Or, option two: you really are telling the truth. And while it is kinda cool to have a loopy boss who's actually just as loopy as the rest of us, I'm more inclined to believe that you actually are telling the truth. But don't start getting all bananas on me just yet. I have to ask you something. Have you yourself, actually been to this Arth before?"

               Bradley lays his palms down flat on the table and gives me a very serious look. "Yes. It was just the once. Much like yourself, I never believed my boss's words at the time either. I know he was tempted to let me go. Skip the promotion. Allow me to return to my usual work. Truthfully though, he knew he needed me. Needed me to fill this office one day with belongings of my own. So he took me to Arth. And boy, let me tell you, it's the sort of place you never forget. Especially when you've come to meet Bill Brooks."

               I click my tongue and study him. He's my boss. No way should I be the one acting like the top chook. But he doesn't seem to mind and I'm enjoying it. Besides, he's given me a thought. If he got his promotion by his boss needing him onboard, maybe he needs me for something too? "Alright. Say I believe you."

               "Which you do."

               "Which I might. Why'd you tell me all this? I'm the rain guy. Not the future you." Secretly I'm crossing my fingers. The distinct curve of a smile tries to leak its way onto my face, if he's offering a job, then count me in. I'd love to be the future Bradley Parks.

               "No, you're not." Okay, I admit, that's disappointing. "However you are the best in your department. And, truth be told, we need you. Only a few people here know about what you've just heard. We're currently in a bit of a . . . a pickle."

               "A pickle? This is Billies Seasonal Weather Anomalies! Billies Anomalies, the number one company globally, doesn't get pickled."

               "Well, surprise. We're bankrupt."

               "Bankrupt?" I stare at him incredulously, "as in, we're in debt?"

               "We're in a lot of debt. The specifics of how isn't important, but the fact is, if we don't get a lot of money real soon, you can send you're goodbyes to the world as we know it as today, and get ready to say your hellos to a dangerous world brimming with natural disasters, just waiting for hundreds of lives to be lost. We need those pofflers to keep working the way they are, Phillip."

               "So, money? You gave me the promotion so I can help you get more money?" I guess. I hope my destined pay wage isn't about to shrink.

               "Yes. As you know, Arth has two suns. Trust me when I say we've done extensive research on this. But one of the Suns really isn't doing much use over there. Without it, there really wouldn't be much of a difference to their planet. Their six-hour-long night might get a bit longer. Say, thirteen-hours. As you also know, there's a type of machine, much like a stasis chamber, which freezes a selected spot in time, shrinks it, then teleports it into a pressurised strong container, able of movement. It's called a frimink."

               "Well, that sounds really cool and all, but why are you telling me this?"

               "Because, Phillip, we plan to put our natural sun in this, send it far away and then artificially super-nova it. Then we'll take Arth's second sun and hook it up to our system only. The world will be forced to use our company and we'll be so rich we'll have money pouring out of our ears."