“I’ll never get through all these books, Chesteria A. Arthur. Conquerors draw the worse lot!”
“The whole assimilation process, yes,” speaks Grey Scale’s mate from behind. She thinks: we must get rid of this blue vase I’m leaning next to and kind of hiding, yes. And that one over there as well. Don’t have Grey Scale be reminded of her blue enemy in any way. The Big Blue Machine. Like a sleeping blue whale. So deep, so blue.
“You’ve become quiet, Chesteria my love, my dearest. Please keep talking to distract me from these confounded histories before me!”
“Okay. Just don’t turn around. I have something between my front teeth and I’m presently sucking it out. Keep at least pretending to read and I’ll move to you.”
“Alright.” She feels Chesteria’s hot, 1/2 cheetah breath against the back of her neck now. “Maybe I’ll read aloud to you. Then you will feel the weight of your eyes too. Listen: ‘In 1312 the village of Horns-on-Hatt was formed with 15 soldiers of the disbursed Copper Queen’s army. Items included 10 cows for milking, 5 golden rings, 25 standard issues of toilet paper bark, 50 bayonets, 22 rubber gloves, 14 fishing rods for the hobbit pond, 77 individually wrapped pieces of copper colored candy for the boys and girls, 88…’ well, you get the picture. Do you see what I mean?” She abruptly shuts the book without saving her place somewhere near its beginning. Dust flies from it, making golden-silvery glints in the air where the sun shines. “And, you see (she waves her arm around the table here) there’s maybe 20 more to go through. I’ve done 6 — *started* 6. I just can’t even get through the 1st chapter of most. If you can call these sections chapters. ‘Moby Prick’ did writing right. These (she waves again around her) are just ephemera, the flotsam and jetsam of dull, boring grey life. Soldiers’ lives at that in this case.” She pounds the book before her with a flat palm, as if trying to compress its three dimensional nature back into 2. “*Cartoons* would be more entertaining. *Much more*. In fact…”
Chesteria was reading her mind. She had the newspaper funnies in her back pocket, ready to whip them out to stave off breakdowns. Grey Scale Kimball eagerly pushes the “soldier book” away and flattens the funnies before her. Almost immediately she begins to smile. “Hehe. Hatfield. So funny.”