She hung up her black hat and dress and boots. She put on her blue flower jeans and rose shirt and red canvas shoes, made for a kid. Because she was a kid again, or at least closer to such. Our friendly, lovely Alysha. And where was projected mate Axis-Windmill these days? Still in Neat Town talking to Kick-ass Boos about bigfoot, locally colored green and called mossmen? Actually the last time we checked in with him, he was in Bellisaria chatting with a painter rabbit about primary colors, specifically about blue and black and how one can change into another. Perhaps he wants to know because of Hatti’s witch hat, which she just hung up. He knows about the alchemical cemetery, the alchemetery or alcemetery if you will (his coinings). He knows he has a rival and he doesn’t have much time, this White fellow.
He doesn’t yet realize he’s also staring into a mirror.
“Whitehead, Mossmen,” he mutters, waking up again, but this time not in the cabin, at least in *that* one. Instead: Reality.
Later that week Guy was finally able to steal one of the sacred letters while the others had their backs turned. The yellow one, the easiest since it was the smallest. Upon sever torture he revealed his true name to be McCoy, Rael McCoy, and became a rebel himself. He straightened up (from the perspective of the anarchists), turned more into the letter I than O, or the number 1 than zero. This was more for disguise. The Great Rebellion had begun in earnest, not too long after it actually ended.
(to be continued)
She could just make out the word “Angels” from a distance on the sign ahead. I was just *in* Angels, she thought. Must – proceed – forward. Despite the pain. Old wounds coming back/ phasing in. Must – be… close — to something!
Such a struggle, though.
“Get ready with the disinfectant, Frank. This one looks like a runner.”
George stood on 97/97 and looked at the picture of the couple and thought about All Orange. He grew maybe 6 inches overnight thinking about the thing. He was in danger of being absorbed, 13 to 10 to 13 and back and back and back, over and over. Duncan Avocado needed to keep a better eye out on him, but he had his own, rather similar problems. Tulips. How did they move that way? Why is that one red and why is that one over there purple but in the same bunch? And the rats. Don’t get him started about the rats. They make the stems, leaves and flowers move in mysterious, dark ways. He wonders if there are any rats in the Fortress — probably are, he rationalizes. And if not, maybe something else.
Markers. Must – place – markers.
“How old are you?” Duncan queried about the lateness for dinner over the phone.
“13,” George admitted, and thought about the added height. How to get rid of it? How to convince Duncan A. he was still just an innocent boy at the heart of it all.
“Get – home.” Duncan hung up. He knew George was nearby. Phone service was spotty in the countryside, and George’s voice rang clear as an Alexander Graham Bell. Probably visited that gallery, hmph, he thought. Stood on the site of the former black hole and let it have its way, dark powers still tappable. 13 to 10 to 13 and on and on, spiraling out of control. He felt his own heart, and realized that innocence lost is innocence lost. For everyone except George.
(to be continued)
“Looks like another ship is landing at Castle Town, Cpt. of mine. A trawler, just like ours.”
Cpt. Crazy (8?) looked over as well, beyond Grandpa Cliffs to the opposite shore and the town resting upon its likewise steep slopes like a demented sunset. His eyes were sharper than his 1st mate, his only mate. “Jenny,” he could just make out on the bow. “Must have repaired it over in Wallytown.”
“Good,” replies Speck. “Now, ahem… what were my lines?”
Cpt. Crazy picks up the script from between them, indicating his true seat as well.
“Says here you’re suppose to be enraged over the name. I-I don’t remember that in rehearsal.”
“Jenny,” Speck gets in the mood. “Jen-ney.” He remembers. It was the name of his old girfrield. The one stolen by… “GUMMMMMP!” Echoes all around.
Former stripper and teen tennis star Steff Graffiti needed a place to stay. Her yarn shop (Ye11ow) down the street had gone bottom up. Baker Bloch graciously allowed her to move some stuff upstairs at the Rosehaven Yarn Shop and crash on her couch up there; “yarnies” stick or at least clump together that way. “Several weeks,” she insisted about the stay. “I’ll be on my feet by then.” If it came down to stripping and backhanding again like back in the days then so be it. It would not come down to that, because…
… Steff had plans.
“Let’s get this over with, Sandman.”
“What. Are you going to try to *eat* me again? Ant-man. Man who thinks he is an Ant.”
“I might,” the man who thinks he is an ant threatened.
“You know what will happen.”
“I do.” Ant-man knows he can’t go through with it. The pictures of the merged mess simply wouldn’t show up in the blog. Copyright infringement from the future. Santman cannot be born.
“Well… what then?”
“*You’re* the one who came all the way out here to find *me*. You tell me.”
“Right… forgot. Umm, we can merge in a different, um, way.”
“I don’t swing that way, Sandman,” Ant-man says with a slight chuckle.
“No not that.” But Sandman here contemplates it might be just that. He imagines himself leaning into Ant-man for a kiss, a sweet one and not using any tongue atall. Because there’s no telling what kind of tongue that ant-head holds. He doesn’t want to know! No, no lovers in this picture. Instead:
“Ant. Man. Man of Ant.”
“Yes?” Ant-man was waiting for *something*, but he knew a big thing was about to be revealed. Bigfoot big perhaps.
“My real name… is Pickle.” A rainbow butterfly flutters by at this point. Wonder where that came from. Perhaps the Wonder Years. Before the Fire Tree.
(to be continued)
Sally and Jack celebrate the establishment of their Phantom Hill Horse Farm only 3 week prior to Halloween by dancing amongst the breedable horses, the colorful blue mare in background also being named Sally, as it turns out. Accident?
No one else is allowed on that property or I would check further. But at least Sally will return from Phantom Hill back into the land of the living a bit later in our tales. A person or entity named Nugent might be involved, but not Ted. I don’t think.
I must tell the story of of how Sally and Jack met at a fancy dress ball sometime. That’s actually how they became the ghoulish figures you see strutting their stuff in the picture above. Costumes they are. Outfits for core avatars to wear and then discard, normally after the end of October.
Nugent Mouse looks down from his castle next door, considering how he created these 2 misfits and what went so right about something that should have gone so wrong. And I think his first name is Ted. Ted Mouse. Teddy.
They were. And so was Bigfoot. The locals referred to it as Her Majesty, again for mysterious Xplicit reasons. In the winter when she became all snow covered, she was more often called a yeti. 12, up to 13 residents were lost each holiday season. Baker’s dozen; Baker never liked that kind of talk associated with his name. Because that meant he was the last one to blame, I mean, he was to blame for the last one, the thirteen. If only he’d been a better Christian as a boy. The Boy. And now he’s paying through the Dark Peak of 2. Twin Peaks. Just like Harrison Jett had. The real deal.
If only he knew what the bluebird chirped down at Blue Jay Bay he would be a head of the game.
(to be continued?)
“You’re not listed.”
Waka Wajaka turns to face me. “I know.”
A nearby green dot seemed to indicate he remained around, but I couldn’t re-find the guy.