movement of the castle

“We haven’t seen Big Red since that day, Karl.”

“Yeah, last week.” Karl kept rocking and drinking. He could tell Annie was depressed. “Aww, baby doll, it’ll come around. This whole art thing.” Annie was weeping a little bit now. Karl sets down his 24 Oz Pabst Blue Ribbon on the porch railing and stands up. “Here, here, why don’t you try *me* again. Looky here, I’m already out of this shirt, hehe. The pants are next.”

“Just stop it Karl.” He knew Annie meant it. Silently, he slips his beer stained tank top back on. He understood when Annie was like this, jokes weren’t the way to go. Nor sex. Only this *art* could fill the void somehow. And it wasn’t happening yet.

A slow, rumbling noise starts in the distance. Thudding: giant, mechanical chicken legs crashing into the sand, but Annie and Karl didn’t know this part.



“As soon as we collect Gus, we’ll be ready to begin. But one of you 4 handed Librarians has to go.”

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