“So tell me how you came upon this place, Shelley the kid. We can speak freely here. We are above the fray. No one comes up here except me, I’m thinking. I enable and then disable the climbing mechanism each time I use the yarn, the thread.”
“I noticed that,” spoke the observant younger child atop the giant cupboard, indeed safe from everyone and everything else in this space.
“You got past Zero,” spoke the older girl honestly about the mouse “guarding” this whole place, this Story Room as I called it previously. “I intend to do the same heading out.”
“Leaving?” said Shelley to Marsha. “But there’s nothing out there.”
“Ah ha! So you do know where you come from. You have memories!”
Shelley knew that she could leave but Marsha couldn’t. Simply because she was living and the other, well, the other was dead. Like Tammy, who she knew before as Frankie. Frankie “Beige” Brown, *1st* best friend to Marsha because Olive and Green weren’t around as much as they were. Different set of companions here, but Brown is the constant for Pink.
Must be tied in to those brown and pink donuts at the beginning of Constance’s Heart of the Island Trail. In a way we’ve never left.
“Don’t *you* have memories?” she decided to phrase her reply as innocently as possible.
—–
Freshly arrived at her newspaper job on a table below, Tammy “Beige” Brown, brush in hand, ponders what stories to paint this morning. Don’t start with brown don’t start with brown don’t start with brown, begins her mantra while, at the same time, eyeing that precariously positioned full cup of coffee over there. But then she always does, just tips it over to fuel the inspiration; handy prop indeed. The new boss she’s so trying to impress always seems to eat those kind up. Or drink them, whatever. She’ll change directions soon and experiment with new hues (and shapes and forms) but for now… being a neophyte… well… same old same old *SPILL*.
She looks down through the stain at the articles she could produce.
Sunklands 