“They just watched her disappear down into the hole,” he reported in a low, yelping voice, “like they figured she’d be okay on her own.”
“The lady in the red dress?” questioned the other, too lazy to rise up off the ground beside Fox to witness the spectacle himself. But we happen to know it’s Greg Ogden, painter of the Paper sim Monolith and some other stuff. Maybe this stuff — later on.
“No,” corrected Fox. “She’s already gone. Palace in De Skies. Or so the script says, the blue one I believe. Unless it’s red too. White? Let’s split the difference and say it’s white,” he completes, ears twitching with the possibilities. “This one was just a kid.”
Greg Ogden sighs, already tired of the new year. He knew a kid, a mere babe, would be involved but now the issue had been raised he didn’t care. “And the others,” he continued wearily, “this Marion Star Harding and Philip Strevor I’ve been told? The Well Well Well brothers.”
START “You have been told correctly. Still sitting there these two. Maybe waiting for some kind of MIRACLE, like in ’69.” But Fox then remembers he wasn’t suppose to talk about that. Not since ’96.
Night fell and everything flipped over, black becoming white and white black.The fire was burning down down down. Soon they knew she would not return. “Give me til midnight,” she requested before the descent and subsequent ascent. White Palace? We’ll see. “If I’m not back by 2022 you can give up on me. I will have failed in my mission to find Clyde.”
Philip checked the watch that wasn’t on his wrist. “11:15 — time is running out. What the f– is taking her so long, Marion? It’s like she found a newspaper up there and is reading it back to front.” Philip was oh so close with this jest. Downloading information was indeed the crux of the situation.
(to be continued)
I log out Wheeler to save memory. We can speak more freely now. “I was…” he began. “Born,” he said. “Naked.”
“Yes, we all are,” I said back, occupying the chair in front of him instead of Jennifer Lane. We would end this way, just the two of us. Man to man. “But you have a birthday hat instead of a birthday suit (now). You are acceptable.”
“Indian,” he then said. “Wells.”
“Yes, that’s your name. To some. I personally usually call you Tropp. You and me, we are different.”
“Yes.” Pause. “Studied… I am studied.” He looks down at his hands, noticing the flaws. Not on his face in this case but his hands. “Axis is here.”
“Yes, you are Axis, who is now Axis-Windmill. Should probably shorten that to something else. Any ideas?” I was tired of having to do all the thinking in this here blog and attached photo-novels, now almost 29 in number. So near the end… just around the corner…
“We’ll… see.” He takes a sip of tea. He adjusts the birthday cap on his head so it isn’t as askew to his face. Takes a minute, since he has to make it askew in the first place (see above). He realizes the scars on his hands were caused by heat. Scalding. He looks down at the smoke of the tea drifting up to his face. *And* his face. “I…. love…”
He changes. We were back to square one.
“This ditch will make the town, Danny with an extra N. Some, in the future, will just call it Ditch City, some Old Ditch City, because another will be built on top of it, another Collagesity.”
“Yes sir,” replied Danny, loyal to his new ruler for sure, past present future. “I’m ready.” The shovel in hand was now just another tool of the trade, like the plunger, mop, and bucket. He could handle it.
“I know you are, Danny.” He shuffles his feet again, points in a random direction, sometimes down the ditch but most often not. The fuzziness is still showing. “1948 where we stand now.”
“And we need to reach all the way back to 1898 to change the first Oz movie, make it the first talkie.”
“I estimate — hmm — about where the ditch passes underneath, well, your *new house*.” It was about as excited as mild mannered Man About Town could talk. Danny looked at him google eyed. Tears formed in them, even. Ones of joy. For Danny with the extra N had never had a real and proper home before. He would leave the trailer. He would… finally have a say in town meetings. How marvelous! “That’s right, Danny. You now take care of the Blue Feather itself and become my right hand man. You have a voice; 1898 has a voice. That’s what I figured out. Through the plunger.”
“Tiger,” responded Danny Rada, already practicing losing the R.
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2021 EARLY”!
Perspective has changed at De House. Mann has lost wo-Mann in a way, in a manner. A hole has been formed in the middle. Witches. Which witch is which? What is good and what is baad?
*I* am a Southerner, I realized. Have been and always will be. Yet I’ve rejected the South and its principles now. The North won the war, if not necessarily in *Maebaleia* then in Real Life. Bluefield Real Life. North, south, humm. Virginia: West Virginia. African-Americans Sweet Alice and Ben Bolt from nearby Tazewell as reported first and foremost by the “Bluefield Daily Telegraph”. It all adds up to…
A lime green space invader appeared above my head, giving me wisdom. I decided not to leave this hill for the remainder of the novel. I would dream up the rest. I have Preston Weston’s powers, after all. Since he’s kind of me in the end. His mama is my mama, so on. I have a zapper gun, he has a zapper gun. But those teeth and glasses! I realized it was due to the radiation from the bomb, decimating Chip Shot but allowing, through the shared Room, the creation of north bordering Pipersville later on. On the lip of the supposed sink which was actually a bomb crater. Sink X — the experts all knew this but hid the truth from those in power who propagate.
How many sinks were bomb craters? (Maebaleia’s largest) Finsteraahorn-Dammastock even? Some speculate about a “flat” bomb (or, on the other hand, “shallow” bomb) which formed it and perhaps others. But this is relatively unsubstantiated in comparison to the deeper Sink X. Then we have the South’s Golden Sink, former site of Golden City — retaliatory strike. *Not* rebuilt, importantly enough. My brains keep spinning. The Truth House! Truths. That’s where the novel could end, as I had been planning almost since the beginning. Or since the middle — something again. We will return to Golden Sink, then. In a dream…
They were waiting in Clownski’s for the start of filming tonight when Wheeler got the ring. Seeing who the caller was, she distanced herself from Rocky in case it was bad news.
“Uh huh,” she said, listening to Baker Bloch. “2, maybe 3 more months. Until Christmas.” She listened some more. “Uh huh.” She bit at a fingernail and spit on the floor. “Okay, I’ll tell Rocky.” The call ended.
Wheeler Wilson sat down again opposite Rocky in the booth. “Good news, Mr. Racco. Baker Bloch’s said the Bodega Supermarket and Deli can stay a while. You’re a store owner still… for now.”
Rocky rapidly clapped his hands together and jumped up and down a little, even. “What’d he say, what’d he say?”
“He said he’s going to try out a gallery upstairs. Said there was more stories to tell. I guess he meant second floor stories.” She smiled.
“Tealie,” began Rocky again. “Tealie, Tealie, Tealie.”
Wheeler stared at him blankly. “Anyway, he said filming is off tonight. His graphic novel may be completed. I was wondering how he was going to create a town set 50 years in the future full of robots. Seems he’s chickened out of all that.”
“As he should! Present is the point of power. Let’s go back and tell Terry!”
“Because a futuristic town would have been way too much to pull off.”
“Sure would have, Wheeler.”
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2017 MIDDLE”!