Ant suddenly stood up. “Eureka!”
“I’m right here,” protested bath mate Eureka. “No need to shout.”
“No, um. I’ve had a revelation.”
“Oh?” (suds suds suds)
“Dang. Forgot… distracted.” He watched her raise the other leg now.
“Well sit back down and I’ll suds you up this time. Come here.”
“Alright. Maybe it will (suds suds suds) come back to me.” He suddenly stood up again, backwards from the first. “Back!” he exclaimed.
It’s always fun when The Woods gives you something that directly resonates with your writing. Witness this 14.3 pound Fit For Life weight found just off a path pretty far away from any house, and an object I don’t think was there about a month ago when I first hiked it. Brings to mind both the blue ball or sphere seen in the last post, coupled with the reference of Shelley’s desire to take up weight-lifting a couple of posts before that. Now I’m convinced she needs to — bulk up her upper body to better fit into her male oriented wardrobe now. We’ll see how it goes. Thanks for continuing to read this stuff my fellow adventurers! We stay on the Orient-like Omega continent for at least the start of the next section. Let’s turn the Page again…
“What the?! — oh, hi Ben. You scared me you joker. I thought Eloise over there had come back to life!”
“Yeah, I know. You’re probably starving. Been gone for 2 days. Where’ve you been… Ben, he he?”
“Well come on in and tell me all about it, then. We’ll eat breakfast and share stories. Because *I’ve* got something to tell *you* too, something you won’t believe.”
“I don’t blame you, Ben. I don’t want to get too close to it either.”
“I know. I’m scared too.”
Stacks of rocks greeted me upon my return to Newfound Lands today, right where I park my car and cross a small stream, an out of the way place indeed at the entrance to my “secret path” up the hill (I call it the Daffodil Path). I took it as a sign someone was pleased I was doing this. Thing is, it rained really hard last night and I believe the rocks had to be stacked earlier in the day because of flooding, only several hours at best before I arrived. Yet no one was around. I donned my “I Believe” cap and headed up to the pasture…
… where I investigated the small mailbox at the top that I had found about a week or two back. I was, again, surprised when pulling the contents out and seeing New City immediately, another proper name involving new like my Newfound Lands this place is right on the border of. Beyond the mailbox: the unknown, the new. Perhaps a kind of city should be built there too. I will return to this mailbox soon for more pics.
Two golf balls down the hill in New Lands beyond the pasture, a pink one followed closely by a white one, a Wilson. I surmised these were hit from the ridge to my west where a row of houses exist, the only residences around. Wilson beyond pink: I interpreted this again to represent blog core avatar Wilson Wheeler, a male, who is better known as Wheeler Wilson, a female and thus represented by pink — my main female character since novel 2 to complement primary male character Baker Bloch. The unknown involves balancing male and female, black and white, to form a fusion, a synthesis, a *flow*. Wheeler here has taken over from earlier Baker Blinker in this aspect, although Baker Bloch vows that Baker Blinker will not be forgotten and that they are still one underneath it all. So another 1/2 and 1/2 situation that blog readers I’m sure tire of hearing about, ha. Okay (don’t do it): *1/2 and 1/2*.
Wheeler supporting herself in the role
‘There’s that *duck* again. Lemon, pheh.”
I looked down then and there. “Julius,” I decided. “Your name is Julius.”
“What was that?” Shelley was still reading the magazine featuring the chair she was rocking in, a kind of mirror world. Now was the time.
“Nothing dear. Just the baby burping.”
She didn’t even reply this time so distracted she was. She was putting herself in that place.
He turned one last time to the door before leaving.
“No more shells,” he rather commanded to Alysha in a role switcheroo, fed up with being treated like a toddler. “*I* am real (this time).”
“Okay.” But of course the holes remained. Glory could only be glimpsed, but maybe it was worth it. Afterwards his neck hurt like a mo fo, but he doesn’t think it is about what they did.
Alysha ponders afterwards: Kolya *can* get better. If he changes into Windmill, hmm. Bit older, but what can you do? And then the diagonal can be traced all the way to Maebaleia — where we are now. Self image.
“Black and *gray*?” Alysha could hear Officer Brownstone yell from outside after absorbing Officer Taylorville’s correction. “Not black and *gay*?”
She had to act fast, as they would be all over new alien intrusion like flies on, um, honey. She could, she could steal this police motorcycle to delay their cause. No, she realized. Too extreme. She could, um, set boobietraps in the catacombs so they couldn’t use the shortcuts. No: too sexist. Deep inside she was a woman after all as well as an Asian. She’d just have to use the catacombs herself to get to the Fortress quickly and warn Ruby.
She took a deep breath. All she had is 15 seconds to find Ruby, convince her that she was in danger, and then teleport the hell outta there to somewhere else, perhaps Collagesity but perhaps not. Anywhere safe for the time being. She decided any beige mountain ridge would do, because about all of it is abandoned land. Aah heck, let’s make it Collagesity, since that’s her home base. She begins dashing again, puff puff puff.
“We have (*huff*), *three* seconds to get out of here to safety. “Two… one… too late.” But Alysha stayed where she was and wasn’t ejected from the property, potentially all the way back to home base. Ruby the green tinted
gray grey nonchalantly rolled over in her sunlounge beside the heated pool and began to explain in her watery, alien voice. “We… turned off the security system as soon as we saw you run through the gate, young Alysha.”
“Young?” She couldn’t help herself. The woman deep inside demanded respect.
“The police have no power over us here. Do you even know where you are? I’ve… been searching for the Fortress for several weeks. Luckily my legs are very long and I made good time. Burt, also known as Brutus or Brut, met me at the gate, took me in. Just like we’re now taking *you* in. It’s been a long journey for you, hasn’t it? Fellow alien.”
“Okay Gee Cat,” I requested from above. “Try to figure out why one pool is restricted and the other not. From your unrestricted position of course. And try to ignore the dogs.”
“Cat,” he channeled from below in his haughty tone. “One is a cat. Like me. Dis-guised as a dog.”
We had our first big clue.
“I was sudden-ly at two more pools, un-restricted this time,” he wrote later after following an all important lead. “A dog pa-trolled the one over the fence. I was safe! I was *in*.”
“So I just took the whole kitten caboodle island, bridge and all, and drug it over through the water to the *Easties* side, saying down in my booming voice, ‘You had your turn, you Westerners, Richie Griffith and all. Now it’s their turn.’ I also declared that the island would switch sides of Bartybrat Bay each 700 years but my guess is that they’ll want to do it much sooner. So one of us should plan to return in about, say, 20 to 30 years for the chore. Are you on board with that, Jeffrey Phillips?”
Jeffrey stared at the picture of Brilliant Island’s central bay between the two sides of its twinned village, trying to figure out which direction was which and if the snapshot represents a before or after situation. “Sure, sure,” he finally uttered, knowing he didn’t have anything on the schedule past next Tuesday’s Wednesday. “I’ll even go first. Now that I know they’re on our side.”
“Okay, your turn. Tell me what happened to *you*.”
“Oh, nothing much. Really — nothing. They found me reading that book and they tied me down on the other side of the hill and left me there and finally I managed to get free and I came back home to here and wrote what happened down in my blog.”
“Hmm,” says Fern Stalin, thinking, oh, he really *did* mean “nothing much”. Certainly not as exciting and meaningful as her story of the island. She gets up to leave.
“Where’re you off to now, opposite of mine?”
“The rocket ship. Did you forget?”
Jeffrey Phillips had forgot. Sammy the Messenger Featherfloater should have returned by now to let all the others of his kind know. Fearless intrepid leader Spore had a plan. There was not one Fern but two, like Original and Extra Crispy. Now to sort them all out in separate buckets… or something.
(to be continued)