—–
“You are my *sister*.”
“Maybe.”
—–
Category Archives: Weird-o Islands
Triad (‘nother one)
Lavender, Poetry, (a) Sprite.
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story continues…
“So she *is* here, thought Peter Oesso from the middle of the bridge, staring over at what appears to be a picture of his beloved Poetry. A daughter? A lover? Barry X. Vampire, the author of it all, would most likely know. He’s here as well. *They* are lovers, happy together (like Turtles). He is not alone any longer with the Great Belt and such. Not alone with the Butler who sees him do it. But Poetry can turn ugly, as we’ve seen. Peter Oesso can help.
But first a little espresso. Hucka Doobie recommended this table. He’ll ask at that small cafe he spotted on the way to the table after the last drop.
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Charlie
Samantha wanted to ask a question to Miss Crumplebottom but turned the wrong way — toward the cat — to raise her hand.
Joe was distracted by an itching behind his left ear and missed the assignment. I suppose the cat ate it.
William stared and stared but didn’t understand if he was in the class or he *was* the class. Perhaps he is a member of the band Drive Shaft but probably not. We’ll go with cat again.
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umbrella dunces (i.e., all of us)
—–
“We have to get the brain back, Hucka Doobie. The Abbey can’t survive without it! I’ve seen the picture of the others. It always ends with collapse.”
Hucka takes another sip of her espresso, then: “Perhaps it has something to do with Phil. He is a good spirit aid. He believes in the Piera. He will convince the others.”
“Well — I am READing his book. Finally. I felt that he was waiting.”
“Patiently, though. Spirits are patient in general. Moreso than we are. They have — *time*.”
“It’s *good*. It should have been published.”
“It still can,” returned Hucka Doobie quickly. She takes another sip. She looks beyond Baker Bloch as Kevin A. at the red and green illuminated school in the background. Like Christmas and Santa Claus. “We better get over there. Figure out Unwrap what’s next in the story.”
—–
He looks over at the letters, most of which he doesn’t understand.
“Let’s start at the very beginning,” Miss Crumplebottom offered to Kevin E., helping him read and turn back into Kevin Orchardsity with the A B C’s and 1 2 3’s and all.
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a ouija name
“You’re not listed.”
Waka Wajaka turns to face me. “I know.”
(*poof*)
A nearby green dot seemed to indicate he remained around, but I couldn’t re-find the guy.
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turning ugly
“You can take the Great Belt away, Walter. For now.”
“Buddy, sire,” softly and politely corrected the Selenite butler to his master.
“Yeah, sure. But Poetry and I are happy, Harry. We have some stuff to work on here for a while. Right Poetry?”
“Alberta,” she whispered back to lover Barry X. Vampire.
“What’s that dear?”
“Alberta!”
“Yes, madam?”
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Abbey
“My son use to *love* going to the elephant show over in Raccoon…”
“Great, Biggie,” interrupted the male Baker, wanting to get away from the character’s origin. “But let’s stick to the topic. Tell me what you saw happen in Room 03.”
“An outbreak, like I said. A loving wife killing her husband. Stabbed him in her eye, short ‘n’ sweet. The Triad is trying to get rid of any evidence of its existence. Thus the trouble in Dallows.”
“I’m not talking about that right now.” Baker Bloch pauses in his grilling to ponder the fate of the missing town there, and the rebuild. He checked yesterday. Only a couple of houses and a small forest to ride your horse through. No progress on that possibility. He resumes. “Let’s stay with the motel. You say your pal Mark A. saw a woman slice a man’s head open down in the town hospital and remove his brain, stick it in a sealed jar, and leave the hospital with it. How did he not tell the authorities this?”
“Witchcraft,” stated Big Black Smoke plainly to the primary owner of Urqhart’s (or thereabout’s) Collagesity. “And it was *no* man. It was a *God*.”
“Ahh, yes.” From their blue table and chairs, Baker Bloch looked around at the creation and saw it was good. David A. Or B. Both probably. But now: David A.B. Normal. Mr. Everyday Ordinary. He looked directly into Biggie’s eye. “And where is that Diamond of a Brain *now*?”
Big Black Smoke peered around as well, at the noisy cockatoo to their side spouting nonsense again. He could barely think above the racket. An umbrella cockatoo. Probably had all the answers. But who could understand her?? Except…
“Did it go home?” Baker Bloch guessed in the noisy silence. He wondered how long it would take *this* creation to collapse, just like what happened over in Stranger Creek.
(to be continued?)
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Stranger Creek
I recall now. This is where I met Messed Up.
I saved her from this place. Now she must save me.
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03 01
Using his shield as a camouflaging device, David A.B. sometimes liked to mingle with the commoners, the ones far far below him on a scale of 1-10, he being a 10 or a 9.5 at the least. Nothing to see here, he says in his mind about himself while looking around. Certainly no *God*, your creator, amongst you. No, just an ordinary Joe waiting on his train. Just like the lot of you. Joe was a good name, he then thinks. I believe I’ll keep it for this part of my journey. He turns to the Ordinary reading the paper to his left. “Joe’s the name,” he spoke in as ungodly a tone as he could muster. “How about you?”
“Ted,” came the fainter answer. “Ted Johnson.”
“Just waiting on the train, hmph,” Joe states the obvious. Ted returns to his funnies. “Hatfield” — so humorous.
“Oop, there ’tis!”
Gazing Eric Gordon beside Ted exclaimed, “It’s like it just appeared — out of *nowhere*.”
Ted looked up from his cartoons. “Wow, that was super fast today. Usually I sit here for over an hour.”
Not on my watch, David A.B. says inwardly.
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Sunklands 