fantasy

Chapter 4 continued…

The slamming of the back door had Hans turn around just as he’d been contemplating why they didn’t colour skip bins purple, and why it should be a thing.

It was Fennel.

‘How did it go,’ asked Hans.

Fennel sighed, ‘Well, we do need someone in the office occasionally, and she does have a background in admin, but…’ and he held up a finger. ‘She doesn’t know the first thing about, well, anything to do with hospitality.’

‘Then stick her at the sink.’ Problem solved, thought Hans.

Yeah, no, that’s not going to work because we specifically want someone to replace you, Hans, which is –‘

‘Highly unlikely,’ finished Hans. ‘After all, I’m irreplaceable. Obviously.’

‘Not really the point, mate. You have a lot on your plate, and you can’t be in several places at once. Besides that, she’s… Well, I’m not sure whether she’s Canadian or American. She didn’t say.’

‘Surely you could have figured that out from her resume.’

‘It’s a little vague.’

‘I’ll look at it later. What’s the problem with being Canerican?’

‘Canerican?’

‘Yeah, Canadian American. What’s the issue?’

‘For starters, she’s completely bamboozled by temp checks.’

‘Why the fuck would that be a problem? You take the temp gun around, check the temps, and let people know if there’s a variance. You know the drill, Fennel. Too hot, too cold, oh-no-its-broken. It’s not fucking hard.’

‘It is when you don’t do Celsius.’

That stopped Hans from stalking back and forth across the courtyard. ‘I didn’t think of that. But still, whjy would that be an issue?’

‘She’d need to learn what the correct temps are supposed to be. which isn’t difficult when it’s all written down, that’s true. But… She just couldn’t understand why it’s important. Kind of blew me off, to be honest, and I did not like that.’

‘That doesn’t sound good. So, you took her around the whole place then?’

‘Yep, we did the full walk. I ran her through everything basically. Obviously not going to be cooking. Turned her nose up at kitchenhanding, which is sorta kinda understandable but not at the same time. Really wanted to be in the office and that’s about it.’

‘No good to us then.’ The mix of relief and disappointment Hans felt confused him. ‘I mean, we could use her as an accountant but if she doesn’t understand, or doesn’t want to understand how the place is run, that’s no good to me. Tell her we don’t have anything then.’

‘Yeah, about that.’ Fennel scratched his head. ‘She’s really not taking no for an answer. She wants to talk to you before she goes. Kind of insisted.’

Hans frowned. Something smelled fishy about this whole thing. He made a decision.

‘Okay listen, I’m not going to talk to her alone. It’s just a feeling I’m getting, okay?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I need to tell you something. I’ve met this woman before.’

Hans explained the entire scenario from the other evening while surreptitiously leaning against the back door of the building so no one could wander out. Fennel grabbed a milk crate and sat down. He took off his kitchen cap and scratched his head.

‘So, what you’re thinking is she’s some kind of… what?’

‘A plant. I think she’s a plant. This is a cutthroat business, Fennel, and a lot of the hospitality mobs don’t like me much. After all, where they’ve failed, I’ve succeeded, and I have acquired a few places in a reasonably short amount of time, as you know.’

‘Are you sure you’re not being overly suspicious,’ asked Fennel. ‘After all, there are a lot pf people trying to get work, and they do not care what area they work in. Maybe she’s just not used to having to step down to our level. You know, us lowly plebeians who serve people like her… It must be odd begging for employment in a place like this.’

‘I should be offended by that, but I’m not,’ Hans replied. ‘Mostly because it’s true. I’m still not seeing her alone though.’

‘Sook,’ said Fennel. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

If Hans had been anything other than human at that moment, his hackles would be rising. This while situation didn’t feel right at all.

^^_______O_______^^

When they walked back out to front of house there was another woman standing at reception. She was talking to the waiter.

‘You will give me a job, yes,’ she demanded. ‘Where is your boss?’

Oh dear, thought Hans. What the fuck is going on today?

‘Off you go,’ he said quietly to the staff member. ‘I’ll handle this.’

She gave him a relieved look and wandered further down the bar to polish some forks. Hans tried not to smile. He didn’t blame her for wanting to hang around.

‘Can I help you,’ he asked politely.

This new woman smiled at him, which was too bad for her because he’d already seen how she treated the staff.

‘Hello, sir,’ she said. ‘I am looking for work and you will employ me, yes.’

‘No,’ said Hans. ‘I’m sorry, this is the hospitality industry, and we like our people to be hospitable.’

‘I have many years experience.’

‘I don’t care.’

It was like watching someone turn into a monster. ‘You will employ me or I come back with family and dine here and you will be nice and a slave to us.’

Hans rubbed his chin. ‘No. I don’t think that will happen.’

‘Why not.’ God, if she stamped her foot, he’d start laughing.

‘Because, from this point on, you’re banned.’ He pointed at the CCTV.

‘Hell will rain down on you and your loved ones and you will be destroyed,’ she screeched.

Hans could not believe it. He actually needed to physically escort her from the building. He was rather glad he was the owner because anyone else would have been sacked for “touching someone” even if it were to remove them from the building.

‘What the fuck was that,’ Fennel asked as he came back into the dining room, straightening his shirt.

Hans shook his head. ‘I think it’s going to be one of those days, Fennel. Don’t go anywhere, we still have the Canerican to deal with.’

She was sitting in the office and curling her hair. That is not coming off as particularly professional, Hans thought. Just kill me now.

Fennel stood in the corner and crossed his arms.

‘I feel like I’m at the Inquisition,’ said the Canerican.

Hans pursed his lips and tried not to smile. ‘I’m sorry. Fennel just brought to my attention a couple of things, and I’d like to get them out of the way before we move on.’

‘Okay?’ She frowned slightly.

‘How badly do you need work,’ he asked.

‘Quite badly.’ She smiled. ‘I’m on a work visa, and my other job fell through. My plan is to continue with this until I get naturalised.’

‘That’s very honest of you.’

‘It’s the truth.’ She shrugged.

Hans tried not to curl his lip at the casualness of her body language. ‘So, you won’t mind working in the kitchen when you’re not doing the books.’

‘Hans,’ muttered Fennel. ‘We still need a restaurant manager.’

‘I can do that,’ said the woman quickly. ‘The restaurant manager thing.’

‘Do you know about Silver Service,’ asked Hans.

‘No. But, I can learn.’

‘Unfortunately our restaurant manager needs to know all those things immediately to be able to run our restaurant,’ Hans said quietly. ‘It’s not something one can just walk into, regardless of how good you are.’

‘Oh,’ said the Canerican. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Most people don’t. To them, things just happen like magic and everything’s grand… Which is great because that means we’re doing our jobs.’ He stared at her. ‘Frankly, you’re quite useless to me. so I don’t even know why I’m considering this.’

‘Hans…’ said Fennel again.

‘Put her on a three day trial,’ said Hans as he left the office. ‘In the kitchen. Unpaid. Take it or leave it,’ he said to the Canerican on his way past. He didn’t wait for a reply.

What the fuck and he just done? Insurance wouldn’t cover this. Why the fuck had he done it?

‘Fuck my life,’ he muttered.

to be continued…

Chapter One __Untitled, continued

Hans sat on the freeway for what felt like forever in the midday traffic. It took an hour and a half to get back from these stupid bloody meetings. God knew why they couldn’t have Zoom meetings instead, although, apparently, a rather clever chap by the name of Zed Van Burton (who maintained his websites) had assured him that having in-person meetings were far more unlikely to be hacked into than Zoom ones, not that Hans knew that was a thing although, he supposed, if it were possible, someone had likely done it already.

Zed, being rather clever (if Hans remembered correctly) had assured him it had indeed been possible and if Hans perhaps remembered the story about the priests meeting where someone had left on (or maybe even added) those little extra wonderful bits to the online service that time (Hans remembered that story very clearly) then Zed may have accidentally not at all have known someone who might have had nothing to do with it.

Sometimes, Hans’ web designer spoke in rather roundabout ways about certain things, and Hans quite enjoyed it. Not that he told anyone that, because that would be “betraying the trust” or something equally ridiculous, yet important.

It had been around that time Zed had kicked him, not in the least softly, under the table.

Hans shot back to the present, remembered he was driving and felt rather pleased with himself he hadn’t done what Bart had done that time a couple of years back, and instead had kept his hands on the steering wheel.

He checked his hair in the rearview mirror, admired his own chin, made sure his eyebrows were neatly trimmed, and winked at himself because, when one was as amazingly “adorable” (he tried not to cringe at that one) as he was when he wasn’t working, one just had to remind oneself of how utterly amazing one happened to be.

He did this regularly. It worked for him.

‘Where was I,’ he said to the radio, which happened to be playing loud and awesome music with lots of guitar and headbanging.

The radio kept doing its own thing and didn’t reply.

Hans wondered if the line of traffic he was currently in, would actually reach over fifty kph, or whether he’d still be doing twenty k’s in another hour’s time.

He decided to change the radio station.

‘At the third stroke it will be…’

… Something that no longer existed. Bloody ABC.

Maybe he should take selfies for social media and… Get picked up by the traffic cop who’d just turned up in a patrol car nnext to him.

Okay then, social media “I’m bored” shots were understandably out of the question, which was lucky because he was thirty two, not ten, and really didn’t need all that wonderful feedback from randoms at all, ever.

Not even a, okay, just a little bit.

But not now.

Definitely not now. The cop’s partner, who was the one not driving, had poked her head past her partner’s shoulder and was currently giving him a little wave, despite the frown on the driver’s face.

‘Hellooooo,’ Hans crooned, giving her a mouthful of shining white teeth to admire.

The constable in the driver’s seat did not look impressed. He glanced at Hans then looked back at the road pointedly, before glancing at him again.

Hans sighed. God, even the police were boring.

Who knew? Apparently, everyone did but him… and the sweet little police officer who was giving him a very pretty smile from the passenger seat of … He slammed on his brakes just in time to avoid hitting the car in front of him, the patrol car sailed past him without the driver giving him the finger at all, and Hans came to a complete halt.

‘God I hate Monday,’ he muttered.

He didn’t get home ’til two p.m.

There were actually many reasons why Hans didn’t like Mondays but this afternoon’s reason was all the noise coming from the top of the hill.

He’d already said goodbye to Jake’s tree early that morning, but decided, perhaps when the man in the whatever-it-was, which was extremely loud, had knocked off and gone home, he’d see what else had been destroyed in the name of progress.

Hans laughed at himself. He’d never been too interested in the past about why things like construction sites were done a certain way, but in the last two years (possibly around the time he’d found out he occasionally turned into a large, brown and slightly terrifying dog), he had felt more connected to nature (for what were fairly obvious reasons, not all of them being the fact it was Monday).

He adjusted the flea collar under his shirt as he sat on his long back verandah and sipped on an espresso.

‘Wankers,’ he said to no one in particular, and tried not to lift a leg and scratch himself under the chin. Growling, he stood, opened the french doors, and grumbled his way inside.

He’d pulled off his paisley tie earlier, thrown it over the back of the couch, stripped himself of the ridiculous (yet extremely cool) brown leather shoes which he’d left halfway down the hall and now, simply because he didn’t want to sit out the back and watch trees being knocked over, decided to pick it up and toss it all into the very long walk-through robe thing, and check himself out in the floor to ceiling mirror he’d purchased for himself on Boxing Day.

‘You’re a hotty and don’t forget it,’ he said to himself, very seriously, and didn’t burst into flames once — then wondered why he thought that might be a thing. After all, bursting into flames was not conducive to getting a new girlfriend, was it? No, not at all. ‘I like you,’ he added, refusing to back down from the mantra he’d uttered at his reflection every day for the past two years.

His reflection did not reply, and Hans felt rather pleased by that.

He wondered which restaurant he’d go to tonight. The local places were all friendly and simple, and he was pretty sure none of them had whipped garlic butter.

Hans pulled out his phone, opened the Maps ap, shut his eyes, and began twirling a finger over the screen. he refused to think about the heated discussion he’d had with bloody Nora earlier that day on why restaurants should be closed on Mondays. These were different kinds of restaurants to his, and that’s all there was to it.

Tonight, he’d be dining at “Carbaretta’s”, who apparently did seafood. He hoped it wasn’t too oily.

Making Do, and Bump xox

Bart decided he should probably set up some kind of temporary camp. Then he wondered, if he was going to do that, if he should wait for the rain to stop, or perhaps put himself further under the big, he glanced at the ones beside the track, tuarts and, he looked around a bit, jarrah, and marri.

‘Hmm.’ To put his swag under a tuart tree during a storm would likely not end well. Those trees had a habit of dropping branches just for the hell of it, and Bart did not want to wake up in the middle of the night (just in case he had not been rescued by then) squashed under an extra large branch that had decided to keep him company.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like tuarts. They were beautiful trees, and their trunks were particularly sturdy, which many people who had come down the hill through this forest had probably found out when they’d scraped their cars against them.

Once again, he silently congratulated Solway on her amazing reaction time to those killer trunks. She really was the most amazing person he had ever come across. Bart didn’t think many people would have handled a drive through the Australian bush at night time, on a track they didn’t know, quite as well as Solway had.

He smiled. How did he get so lucky?

Then again, he thought, he probably wouldn’t have made the decision to drive through a forest at night on a track he didn’t know, just to get somewhere faster. So, he supposed there was that.

But, he didn’t have quite the same adventurous spirit as Solway did and, he began thinking about this very deeply indeed, if “adventurous” was the actual word one might use. “Suicidal” perhaps. Or possibly “X factor”, which was what some numbnuts had decided to call those people who risked life and limb just to do something specky and extremely dangerous.

It just… Well… It certainly wasn’t his cup of tea, that’s for sure.

Bart considered himself more of a sensible person. It didn’t mean he did not enjoy Solway’s headlong, and often well-thought out, leaps of faith into the unknown, because he did. It was exciting. He just didn’t think, if he were somewhere by himself, that he would perform such acts because if he did, with his track record, he would more than likely find himself in deep poopies.

Deep poopies was not a place he wished to be.

Bart did not consider himself to be in deep poopy at this exact moment. He had a warm vehicle, filled with many wonderful things he could use to set himself up quite nicely, a full esky, and boxes of delicious num-nums that Solway had packed for him. The most delicious num-num of all was that block of chocolate sitting between the two front seats, that he had not touched all day, possibly due to the fact he’d been talking to people who weren’t actually there, and an extremely large “thing” that he hadn’t actually seen but knew had been, quite strangely, looking after him.

He was pretty sure it was the thing that belonged to that eye he’d seen in the mud. 

What else would it be? They’d come to this general area for the exact purpose of finding this eye, and that the “thing”, which according to some strange ghost man person was probably some prehistoric legless lizard, had sorta kinda turned up, and he certainly had not backed the Land Rover up onto this track quite as neatly as it had been without any external help.

Considering the fact the vehicle had not actually been turned on at the time, aided this thinking.

‘I’m not crazy,’ he said to the closest tree. ‘Just in case you were wondering.’

The tree did not reply, which made him feel slightly better. He decided to pull out his swag and find a more bushy looking tree, one that he could put the swag underneath and roll out and pop up the middle bit, and feel safe and cosy inside. Something perhaps, and here he sighed quite deeply, that resembled a wattle bush.

First of all though, he was definitely going to eat that chocolate. Solway had told him to reward himself with it, and that, he decided, was exactly what he was going to do.

The little giggle that escaped his lips as he began to unwrap the distinctive purple/blue paper might have been described by anyone else as slightly unhinged, but no one else was there, and the last thing Bartholomew Branson would describe himself as, and he hummed to himself as he put three squares of milk chocky into his face all at once, was unhinged.

8/ Bump

Solway decided that Ronald was unhinged. 

It sounded like his wife had decided that too.

‘Slow the fuck down for Gods sake man jesus christ this isnt a speedway,’ were the words coming from behind Solway’s head as the range rover scampered up the slope.

‘I’m not going to bother explaining to you, oof, why this is important, argh, fuck I nearly broke a finger, hmfph,’ Ronald replied through gritted teeth as they mounted the edges of the track. ‘This gravel is turning into a bed of marbles under the wheels, and I’m not talking about the kind with striations in it.’

Solway pondered that as they bounced over a low shrub. ‘So,’ she said calmly as the woman under her uttered another shriek. ‘You are talking about the round glass kind, that sometimes do have a kind of striation in them, that kids used to play with in the school yard in like nineteen sixty three.’

‘It wasn’t nineteen sixty three,’ Ronald replied, looping back onto the track and bouncing up the other side. ‘It was more like the nineteen seventies or something. Not that I was alive yet, but me dad showed me how to make those little mounds of dirt where, if you hit the marble just right with another marble, you’d get the first marble in the hole and win the game.’

‘Are we winning the game,’ Solway asked quite seriously. They did seem to be making good time up the slope.

‘So far so good, but don’t count your chickens,’ Ronald replied which for some reason had his wife break into a fit of giggles. He glanced sideways at Solway. ‘Private joke,’ he said.

‘Fair enough,’ Solway nodded, staring ahead into the growing darkness. ‘Jesus, it’s getting dark early, isn’t it?’

‘Yet another reason why we should be getting out of here. We left the kids with their grandparents and don’t have any way of notifying them that we’re going to be about four hours late home, and knowing my mother, oof…’ His head narrowly missed the window. ‘She will be preparing herself for an almighty row with my dad about whether we’re dead and have gone to heaven or hell yet.’

‘Is she Italian?’

‘No, she’s Scottish. Presbyterian to be exact, and very fond of calling on the Almighty when something goes in the slightest bit wrong.’

‘How the hell can you two be so calm when this is all happening,’ Jenny said breathlessly from under Solway’s arse.

‘Probably because we can both see where we’re going and you can’t.  Not really anyway,’ Solway replied kindly, in her opinion. She adjusted her grip on the handle above the door frame. ‘Don’t worry, I can see the crest of this hill.’

‘Well, that’s just great,’ Jenny replied. ‘Because if I remember correctly, there is a dip after this hill, and then we have another one before we get to the road. Someone give me a jube or a wine gum. I feel the need to suck on something. They’re in the glove box,’ she added helpfully.

Solway began to laugh, then let out a slight shriek herself, which she quickly covered up by opening the glove box.

Sometimes it was better not to see where you were going.

 ______________o______________

The rain had stopped, and Bart was not quite sure how long it would last.

Doing his best to be fast and agile, which he had never been particularly good at, he grabbed a swag out of the back of the four-wheel-drive and carted it over to the lowest, sturdiest tree he could find.

It had a good canopy.

Bart rolled the swag out, congratulating himself on the fact he’d left the bedding inside (pure laziness he had to admit) and that everything would be perfectly dry.

‘I am a legend in my own lunchbox,’ he said proudly. He’d often wondered what that saying actually meant but today it seemed appropriate. It also seemed the wind was coming back, which meant the rain would be here shortly which meant (and now he was beginning to understand the signs) that “she” was definitely here because his thoughts were becoming slightly more garbled than they had been five minutes ago.

‘Oh dear,’ he muttered and grabbed some tent pegs out of the inside pocket of the swag. ‘It may very well be a long night.’

The reason why he thought it was going to be a long night, was because the dark clouds that had been covering the sky all afternoon, were getting increasingly darker (which he had not believed to be possible) and were becoming a definite shade of charcoal or pewter, or some other shade of really, really dark grey.

‘Gunmetal grey,’ he mumbled to himself, thinking of a car he’d once owned. That had been an extrememememely dark grey, although it had also been shiny, and the sky he was comparing the colour to was not shiny, although that very loud crack of thunder he’d just heard was about to make it very shiny indeed, in his humble opinion. He started banging in the pegs with a rock he’d found on the side of the track. After doing that, he ran back to the vehicle, grabbed the esky and a box of food, ran back to the swag, put the esky beside it, the box as far under the bush as he possibly could, hopped inside and hoped for the best.

The Landy lit up.

Oh this was getting exciting. 

It wasn’t like the Landy had caught fire or anything, but it was kind of etched against the background in a sharp relief of light, and behind it, just briefly, he saw something really, really, really big that seemed to be lying on the track, looking at him, and, if he was reading this right, giving him a very large and very friendly smile.

It didn’t seem to have any teeth.

We could be really friendly right now would understanding this help if I got up and hopped in your pocket do you have a pocket, how about we just get naked and fly around on broomsticks okay not broomsticks, and why do we need to get naked, okay we dont his nose was  bigger than your gummy him dead okay well so we do this get it right, big not mine, okay but…

Bart blinked. It was still there.

I don’t know why I should climb over your freshly made up vehicle when I could just float on it, or slide underneath it and like I said, I’m an I but I’m not a you, and you should be pleased to see me and maybe you can call me mum, because nature is not what you think it is boyo, and an irishman once got in my turban, as I thought getting and swaddling babes and indestructible not my humming frightful man

Well, he supposed, that possibly answered a few questions he didn’t know he had. ‘Would you like a piece of chocolate?’

My mum told me to brush my teeth and I bet you didn’t and chocolate, what’s that, sounds sweet yummy in my tummy okay well then I guess that’s a yes

‘Okay, then.’ Bart slowly pulled the packet out of his pocket and smiled to himself. The more he thought about what this giant legless lizard (and she did indeed look like a legless lizard) had thought at him, the more he was beginning to understand she was pre-empting what he was thinking and thinking it for him.

She also seemed to want chocolate, which he began to unwrap… ‘Oh’

A very long, thin, and extremely pink tongue had suckered itself, for want of a better word, onto the chocolate and taken the whole damn thing under the vehicle, along the ground of the sandy track (which did seem to have slight puddles of water on it now) and pulled it back into the extremely large smiling mouth of the creature before him, which now, if he was not getting too confused, seemed to be resting its very large chin on the roof of the four-wheel-drive and creating quite a dent in it.

Not bad for an hour and a half of doing not too much at all when you could have been sensible and just got the point of wrestling, hindering, and crepe paper doilies Many think I’m dreaming from the great mind after the fact was where were we hello mummy and we’re sending renditions and we ass that’s arse and we did not human Fred Fuddly

‘You seem to be getting a little mixed up.’ Bart smiled, feeling the urge to scratch the thing under its chin. ‘Are you lonely?’

I am awake now when  I slept for many thousands/millions of years and  I do not think this is where I am supposed to be and you had a dreaming man here before he wants my precious eyes and he cannot have them and he has disguised himself as something SPLENDID  now and I will look for him and sweet mother of god boy can you hear me now you should run away as fast as your fat little legs can carry you just letting you know Bartholomew you are a very nice man and she will be fine she is with other people and they are saying you will need to wait and that’s okay and I will keep you company, I can shrink down and warm up your bed

For some reason, Bart felt very safe indeed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let me take my boots off.’

The lizard began to purr.

Storm

Bart woke up to the sound of his own snores, and the feeling someone had just spoken to him. What was it the man had said in his dreams?

Rain’s coming.

The sense of urgency he now felt was something he could not ignore. He lurched to his feet just as a stiff breeze came down the track. The sound of the creek had become louder and he could feel something grumbling under his feet. As the breeze hit, his floppy hat blew off his head and then there was the sound of a very large splash.

‘What the fuck?’

This time he could hear the voice quite clearly.

You should probably get moving, it said conversationally. She’s here.

The creek, which had been happily gurgling the last time he’d gone down there, now seemed to have a, although still happy, very loud humming sound. An extreeeeemely loud, giggling, humming sound. It was possibly the strangest, oddest, newest, oldest sound he had ever heard in his life. Above Bart’s head, the air had begun to shimmer slightly, and as he went to pick up the, once again, fallen over camp chair, it picked itself up, folded itself neatly, and deposited itself in the back of the four-wheel-drive.

I’m obviously still asleep.

No you’re not.

‘Huh?’

A very tall man stood beside him, deep brown eyes filled with mirth. He wore a very shiny blue suit with black lapels, his long thin legs seemed to reach into the sand of the track, and he didn’t appear to have feet.

You’re not dreaming, he said, although his mouth didn’t move. And, you’re not having a panic attack, just in case you were wondering. We should probably get all your gear into the, he drifted over to the Discovery. What do you call this thing?

Bart felt decidedly out-of-sorts. He seemed to have sat down, but he couldn’t remember doing it. He knew he had though, because there was a twig sticking into his arse.

‘A fourby? A four-wheel-drive? An offroad vehicle? Who the hell are you?’

Today, the man said as he picked up the kettle. I’m your best mate. How do we make your “fourby” move?

‘We can’t make it move,’ he said, and his voice sounded distant, and oddly calm. ‘It’s got a flat tyre.’

Never stopped me before. The man smiled, large white teeth stretching the skin of his face into a happy-go-lucky grin. Somehow, he’d seemed to pick information out of Bart’s head and applied it to himself. He rubbed his hands, then laced the long, knobbly fingers together as he stretched his arms over his head. You should probably get up now, he said, his deep voice making Bart’s mind quiver. I’m not doing this all by myself.

What the fuck is happening? Bart was on his feet again, and seemed to be helping the man shove the folding table into the back of the Landy.

How many names do you have for this thing/fourby/off-road vehicle?

‘Not that many,’ Bart replied, feeling strangely peaceful. ‘Enough to make it a little more interesting, and not so repetitive, I suppose.’

Interesting? Hmfph. Sounds confusing though, don’t you think?

‘Not really.’ This was the strangest conversation he’d ever had with an imaginary person in his life. He knew the man wasn’t actually real. Nobody wore a suit in the middle of the bush, and nobody talked with their mouths closed. He shut the rear of the four-wheel-drive and looked at his companion.

Fair enough. The man was moving his lips now, but it was definitely not in time to his words. I suppose there’s a lot of names for water too, if I think about it. Like, still water, waterhole, rain water, small river, big river and … Yeah. I don’t think she’ll wash you out. Not today. She seems to like you.

‘Who seems to like me?’ Bart glanced around. There wasn’t anyone else here.

The lizard. The man picked up Bart’s backpack. Okay, maybe not exactly a lizard. He flicked his wrist and one of the side doors opened. More of a snake. He paused and pursed his lips then grinned at Bart again.  Well, not exactly a snake. Sort of like a great big snake, but with little tiny legs that don’t move.

‘A legless lizard?’ He didn’t understand why this seemed to be interesting information, but apparently it was.

The man clapped his hands and laughed. Just like that. She’s kind of big though, for a legless lizard.

‘Big?’ Bart seemed to have relaxed into some sort of nightmare. He didn’t know why, but this bloke, whoever he was, seemed friendly, and very helpful. He certainly wasn’t teasing, not like Solway did, and he didn’t seem to be mean or nasty. He just … He just was.

Big, the man repeated. And small, sometimes I suppose. Kind of like a rainbow. She’s a legless lizard though, not a rainbow. She just looks like a rainbow.

‘I’m sorry?’

It’s the sun, you see. Reflects off her, or something. Well sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t. Today, here, it doesn’t. He smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders. Possibly because you’re standing in it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter much. She’s here, and that’s all there is to it.

‘So, what do we do?’ Somehow, Bart found himself in the driver’s seat of the four-wheel-drive and the man was sitting beside him. He did not remember how they got there.

Well, just in case she changes her mind, which she does quite a lot, let me tell ya, we should probably go backwards. Forwards, the track you’re on stays reasonably  flat for a really long time. Backwards, it goes up that hill. Remember that hill? The man looked at him inquiringly.

‘Yes.’ Bart shuddered. Listening to this made him think about all the times Solway had narrowly avoided those eucalyptus trees the previous night. It really had been touch and go there for a while.

Ah. You remember how that feels. The man threw the gear stick in reverse, then slapped his bright blue knees, a happy grin on his face. He glanced at Bart expectantly. That’s good. This is going to be a lot worse.

As if of its own accord, the Landy started going backwards.

~~~~~~,~’~~~~~.~’~~80>

The cloud Solway had seen earlier had come in fairly quickly. It began to spit. The rain seemed light for now, but it  also seemed like it would get pretty heavy, pretty quickly.

The track was holding up. It had probably not rained here since the previous spring over six months ago, and there didn’t seem to be any clay in this soil. The ground had become slightly gravelly underfoot – the rocks under her feet were very small, almost pea-like. With the incline Solway was currently scaling, she felt more concerned about turning an ankle than slipping in clay. There wouldn’t be any reptiles out in the open now, not with the way the temp had dropped so rapidly. It would probably be better and slightly more relaxing to walk in the centre between the wheel ruts.

Still no T junction in sight. Surely it couldn’t be that far away. This track had really not seemed that long on the map – only a few k’s max. Why did it feel like she’d been walking for hours?

‘Because I have been walking for hours.’ She took off her cap, shook it,  put it back on again over her smoothed back hair and turned to look back. The slope she’d been walking up felt more obvious from here. Off in the distance she could see the bend she’d come around, and the slight wiggles in the track that had not been so obvious on the aerial map. 

‘What that means is this T junction I’ve been waiting for is coming up.’ She began ticking her fingers. ‘There’s only one track. That’s one thing. There’s a tributary to my left. That’s two.  Oh.’

She hadn’t exactly seen this tributary. Even with the rain, which had been getting distinctly heavier, she couldn’t hear it. That didn’t mean too much, not really. It just meant the water wasn’t moving. But, surely, she’d hear the rain on the water?

‘And what does that sound like,’ she admonished herself. ‘If the water isn’t moving, how am I going to hear it over all this rain, anyway? I’m not. If I really want to know if I’m going in the right direction, I should make sure the tributary is there, right? It’s either that, or keep walking. If I keep walking I’ll hit this T junction, and if I factor in this track is a bastard to walk on, that would have added extra time, so…’ She began stomping along the trail again. ‘I’ll get there soon enough, and I should stop being so impatient.’

Solway jerked her dripping cap back down over her forehead and tried to ignore her soaked long-sleeved shirt. If she stopped for too long, her body temp would drop very quickly and she’d begin to get cold. What she needed to remember was that she was on a rescue mission, and not the one in need of saving.

‘I’m going to have to put on extra clothing soon which means I’ll need to find some kind of shelter so nothing gets too wet.’ 

The bushes in the surrounding landscape were still knee height. She thought back to the map. On the other side of the T junction, it looked like there might be some kind of forest. Maybe when she got there, she’d cross over the road and take a break. The lightweight, silver emergency blanket in her backpack would warm her up, she could change socks, and possibly throw on a windcheater.

‘Not going to do that yet, though. It can wait until I get there.’

For the first time, Solway Endersans wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew. It was not a comfortable feeling. 

She kept walking.

Before I go, did you want to help me with

‘Before I go, did you want to help me with the dishes,’ Solway asked just as Bart was grabbing a tea towel.

‘Sure,’ he said, holding the tea towel aloft and flapping it at her. Then he got a good idea. ‘Would you like me to get some extra water from that creek?’

‘What creek?’

‘The one over there.’ He pointed vaguely off into the bush where that strange thump had come from. It had probably been his imagination. Weird things happened early in the morning.

‘I didn’t hear a creek.’ Solway glanced at him sideways as she picked up a large water container.

‘You didn’t hear a creek?’

‘No.’

‘There’s a creek just over there.’ Again, Bart pointed towards where he’d heard the running water. ‘Wouldn’t it be better, if I’m going to be here for a while, for us to use water from the creek to wash dishes, rather than wasting what we’ve got?’

‘Sure,’ Solway scowled. ‘But I didn’t hear a creek, Bart.’

‘Look, just give me a bucket, and I’ll go and get some water.’

‘If you think there’s a creek, Bartholomew Bransson, then get your own fucking bucket. I’m the one doing the dishes.’

‘Wow.’ Bart stomped back to the open rear of the four-wheel-drive. ‘Okay then. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

‘Don’t get lost,’ she called as he walked back into the scrub.

‘Yeah. Fuck you too,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Now you’ve got me second guessing myself, there had better be a fucking creek.’

It wasn’t as dark under the wattle trees now. Patches of sunlight shone through the branches creating little specks of gold on the leafy ground. Something not too far off scuttled under a bush.

Lizard, Bart thought. Not much else would survive in this.

The gurgling sound of water became louder. Debris from the bushes crackled under his feet as he stepped out into the light. The creek was about two metres below him. He backed up. Bits of the bank had fallen into the water, but not too recently. He needed to find a way down.

Why am I even bothering, he thought to himself. I’ll tell me why, he replied. Because I’m going to prove a point to myself this morning if it’s the last bloody thing I do.

He stepped down sideways on the soft ground, the empty bucket swaying from one fist. There were exposed roots here, and he could use them for traction if he needed to. The water wasn’t rushing or anything, so it wasn’t like it was dangerous.

‘Can you swim?’

Solway. Jesus Christ, woman can’t you leave me alone?

‘I don’t think I need to.’

‘I was joking.’

‘Very funny.’

‘So you found this creek.’

‘I did.’ He stepped further down, one foot slipping slightly. He grabbed at a root to steady himself.

‘Need a hand?’

‘I’ve got it.’ He glanced up. Solway was sitting on the side of the bank, legs dangling over the slight drop. She smiled brightly, blue eyes laughing at him. He didn’t smile back. ‘Why don’t you go back to the Landy and start cleaning up?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘And miss out on this? Not likely.’

‘You are not helping me in any way by sitting there and watching, Solway.’ Bart stepped down again. He was really doing quite well, in his humble opinion. ‘Kindly bugger off, and let me get on with it.’

‘Okay then.’

She must have stood up then, because sand cascaded down the slope past his shoulder. Not too far now, and he’d be able to get some water. His feet began to slide. ‘Oh no.’ He looked up again, but she had gone. ‘Thank god,’ he said as he landed on his side and slipped feet first gracefully into the creek. Grinning to himself, he dipped the bucket in and filled it up with water.

Solway wandered back to the camp, carefully stepping over the fallen branches. She’d need to make sure Bart was comfortable by himself before she left. The one thing she was not going to do though, was the dishes without him there. He seemed quite adamant he wanted to help, for reasons unknown, and she respected that.

Bart had never asked what Solway had done for a living before he came along, and the last thing she wanted to talk about was what it was like to work in the industry. Just thinking about it made her feel like spitting, but seeing as there was no one to spit at, she wasn’t wasting her energy.

Some men were absolute pigs. Some women were too, to be honest.

She wasn’t going to think about that today, though. That was not why she was here. Reaching the sand track quite quickly, Solway decided to take a decent gander at their surroundings. The fact she hadn’t even heard the creek Bart was talking about made her feel slightly out-of-whack, and certainly not as comfortable in her own skin as she should be feeling right now.

There was something about this area that, if she thought about it too deeply, was distinctly off-putting.

She folded up the camp chairs and placed them in the back of the Discovery on top of the swags.

‘Dammit,’ she mumbled. ‘What am I thinking? Bart needs a chair, and he needs his swag. What I need to do is just stop for a minute.’ Taking a deep breath, she began to pull it all out again. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t even eaten.

Well, there was no time for that. If Bart could just get a move on from retrieving his bloody bucket of water, they could do the dishes and she’d be on her way. She looked at her watch. The sun had been up for almost two hours now, so she really shouldn’t be wasting any more time.

She took a deep breath. ‘BART.’

‘Kitten?’ He appeared next to her like some kind of wizard, the amazingly full, blue bucket swinging gently by his side. ‘You want to get going don’t you,’ he added. ‘I can tell.’

‘Yes, I really don’t want to stay longer than I have to.’ She dragged the backpack towards herself to check it again.

‘I’m just a little bit concerned about you walking off by yourself,’ Bart said. He was such a sweet guy when he wasn’t being a pain in the arse.

‘I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you,’ she replied, turning to face him.

‘I can look after myself okay, Sol. I did it for years before you came along.’

‘I know, but…’ She looked at his legs. From the knee down they were extremely wet. He must have taken an accidental paddle in that creek. She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice. He was busy monologuing, and most of it made sense.

‘You don’t need to control everything,’ he continued ‘Have you got something to defend yourself with? You know, if some evil people decide to pick you up or something.’

Solway laughed then, long and loud, and kissed her partner on the cheek. ‘You’re an idiot. I can handle myself, don’t worry about that. Nobody will get close enough to get handsy, so I doubt anyone will be dragging me into their car anytime soon.’

‘You don’t know that though.’

‘We’re not in a place where that kind of thing is the norm, Bartholomew. I think you’ve been reading too many of your magazines.’

He smiled then, and she sighed with relief. She had been pushing him this morning, she knew it, but just as she’d expected, Bart had stepped up and made himself useful.

‘Why don’t you get going then,’ he said, surprising her once more. ‘I can do these dishes. And,’ he lifted a finger and shook it at her. ‘I’ll clean up the campsite as well.’

‘Don’t pack everything up just yet,’ she warned. ‘I might not get back tonight.’

‘Do you think it will take that long? It’s not like we’re in the middle of nowhere.’

‘I know, but it will likely take me a few hours to get where I need to go. I’m walking, remember. Then, if they actually have reception, I can make a call. If not, I’ll have to rely on someone else to get the help we need. These things can take longer than expected sometimes, that’s all. I need you to be aware of that.’

‘Oh.’ He smoothed his beard, eyes beginning to lose focus.

‘There’s chocolate in the console between the front seats.’ Solway nodded at the car, then pushed his shoulder gently. ‘Why don’t you wait until you really want it. It can be a reward.’

You might think this is rolling out in a bad way…

But this is why it is best to read something in its entirety, not just in pieces.

Either way, it’s never what you think it is.

While Bart relaxed comfortably on his camp-chair eating breakfast, Solway  inspected the tyres. Her legs poked out from under the vehicle like two popsicle sticks and a language he’d never heard before started floating back towards him. Maybe it was time to offer some help.

Snatching the last piece of bacon out of the cooling frypan, he plodded towards her elastic-sided boots. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Very bad things, that’s what.’

‘Do you want me to have a look?’

‘Grab my legs, will you?’

Solway’s voice sounded almost as crispy as the bacon. He shoved it all in his mouth as quickly as possible, looked at his greasy fingers, decided if he was going to wipe them on anything it would be her jeans, not his, and grabbed her legs just above her fuzzy explorer socks. ‘Won’t you get sand in your hair if I drag you out like this?’

‘I honestly don’t care.’

‘Okidoki then.’

Bartholomew Branson was many things, but coordinated was not one of them. His act of pure power, dragging Solway out from under the four wheel drive, ended up with him falling backwards into the native grass on the edge of the track, one of Solway’s feet lodged neatly in his crotch, and hysterical laughter coming from the woman attached to the other end. He smiled happily to himself. This was the sound he always aimed for when it came to Solway. It took a lot to get her to crack a smile, so hearing her laugh made him think that, occasionally, just occasionally, he could do the right thing.

She rose from the sand and started scratching twigs and clumps of dirt from her beautiful blonde locks. Her smile faded almost immediately. ‘I should’ve put on a beanie,’ she muttered.

‘You can’t get everything right.’ Bart rose from the ground himself, just not quite as majestically as she had. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ He nodded at the vehicle.

‘Oh you know. Everything.’ She sighed. ‘No, it’s not that bad. I just had to pull what looked like half a forest out from underneath it, but I blame myself for that one. After all, I was the one who decided we couldn’t wait.’

‘I didn’t try to stop you,’ he reminded her gently.

‘I know, but you know I wouldn’t have listened anyway. The back wheel’s fucked. I wasn’t wrong about that. That branch pierced the sidewall, so it’s not just a puncture. We could patch it up with some duct tape I guess but there’s absolutely no air in it, so even if we got back out to the bitumen, we wouldn’t get very far.’

‘What if we…,’ Bart gazed around at the scenery. ‘Never mind.’

‘What if we what?’

‘Oh I saw this tv show once where the guys filled the tyres up with spinifex just to keep going, but they were in different country to this, and I just can’t see what we could use here.’

‘Sounds like a perfect way to start a fire,’ Solway muttered.

Bart frowned. ‘They stopped driving when the tyres started smoking which, as you know, is a pretty good indicator a fire is about to start — so that didn’t happen, Solway. Look, why I’m arguing with you about a tv show, I don’t know. What I do want to know though, is this. Are you going to let me help you or not.’

She dusted off her jeans, not meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll walk back for help.’

‘What?’ Surely he wasn’t that useless? He’d eaten all the bacon. Now he felt like a piece of toast.

‘I’ll walk back for help. Okay, not back, forwards.’ She turned and pointed eastwards, then traced the air with a finger. ‘This track circles towards the road in a couple of k’s and I can head down that way. I think there’s a siding not too far along, so I’ll probably be able to get someone to help us from there.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Right. Well, that sounds sensible.’ It sounded a lot more sensible than he felt at the moment. 

Sick was how he felt. Sick to the stomach. And, very upset, if truth be told. He’d never felt like bursting into tears before, aside from that time in year five when some kid had stolen his school bag but right now, it seemed like something had just broken in Bart Brand’s soul, and he did not know how to fix it.

‘Not that I know how to fix anything,’ he muttered.

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing.’ He turned away. ‘Nothing at all. I suppose you want me to stay here and look after our belongings just in case someone turns up, and all that sort of thing.’ He adjusted his jeans. They seemed a little looser, but that was possibly because he’d slept in them all night.

‘Yes please.’

He glanced back as Solway pulled a backpack over the backseat.

‘Could you find me a water bottle, please,’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ Bart said quietly. ‘No problem.’ He headed for the back of the vehicle.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

He didn’t bother answering. He didn’t see the point.

“Pull up a Cloud”

said the distant demon.

‘What, now? I’m doin’ ship.’ The Angel of downward mercy sat in a little green office and looked at her watch.

‘Yes, now, for God’s sake. I’m probably gonna go to bed soon, or something, I dunno.’

‘Fine, then.’ She pulled up a cloud. ‘What’re we lookin’ at?’

‘That up ‘imself charlatan up there in the Northern ’emisphere.’

‘Oh him. Yes, well, ya know. Doesn’t speak English. Kind of like me, sometimes, kind of like you too, I reckon. I feel like I might go off on a tangent, if ya don’t stop me.’ The Australian angel’s cloud started to float off, just a little bit. The, ah, British angel grabbed his hook and pulled it back towards him.

‘You’re floating off again.’

‘Yeah, I’ve got a habit. Possibly why I’m an angel.’

‘Good point. Anyway, see ‘im up there, the one who reckons he’s the real angel, just ‘cos he was on some show for… ‘ow long was it?’

‘Bloody long time, I reckon.’ The Australian angel rolled her eyes. ‘Reckon’s he’s some kind of Great and Wonderful regally appointed whatsit, or something. Wanted to be professional at one point, so I hear, but they wouldn’t let him. Heard that one, myself. Some Texas ranger and another bloke of indistinct heritage, but not really, said if they couldn’t laugh at stuff, they’d put him in a distinctly… anyway. He likes arsehats. Something about he couldn’t talk for a week, later on as well, but you know, that’s what happens when you’re talking waaaay too deep for someone who doesn’t usually sound like that.’

‘Are you in trouble,’ asked the “British” angel. ‘Hmmm?’

“Hmm?” Not really? Well, yes? No? Not right now? It’s the weekend. Everything knows nothing much happens on the weekend. It’s not the weekend where you are though, is it?’

‘It might not be yet, no.’ The Not-to-be-deterred “Jumped up wanker” of a “British angel” inspected his cloud. ‘There’s a hole in this bit. I’ll have to get it fixed after your thingy that’s coming up.’

‘Speaking of holes,’ said the Australian angel, grinning widely. There wasn’t a hole to be seen. ‘What are you sitting on, when you sit on your cloud?’

‘What do you meeeeean?’ asked the other angel suspiciously.

‘Asking for a friend. Just checking on something. You don’t mind me asking, do ya?’

‘Heroics will get you nowhere,’ the other angel replied testily. ‘Kindly remove your hands from my buttocks.’

‘Oh well done! Now… is that a front bum, or a back bum?’

‘You are in so much trouble now! Let me tell you about my great aunt Fanny!’

The angel who’d had a rug pulled out from him wandered up and sat on a distant cloud.

“Came over last week,” he said, very unconvincingly. “Maybe not. Maybe I came over last year. Goddammit, maybe I haven’t been there yet. I don’t understand you people!”

‘That’s what I thought,’ said the Australian angel. ‘I also thought you may have decided to, ya know, help out at some point, seeing as I asked a few times, but it appears that I’m not important enough.’

“I never said that!”

‘That’s true. You didn’t. Didn’t say much at all, ak-choo-ally. Oh well, never mind.’ The very small Australian angel started to putter away on her old-fashioned, slightly pink, slightly green, slightly orange, have-I-made-my-point yet, fluffy white cloud. ‘It’s only a little place, after all. Can’t fit too many passengers.’

The sound of distant sirens made her frown. ‘Just letting you know, it’s not getting any better around here. I think we could all do with a little help.’

The Very Sweary Faerie.

This is not based on a true story. At all. Nor is it based on anyone else’s stuff, so hopefully they won’t take offence.

The faery was lying right-side up in the biggest and boggiest swamp he had ever been in, in his entire life.

‘I am sick and tired of this shirt,’ he cried in an extrememememely masculine voice, which had been auto-tuned to sound just right. ‘Why did I think it was a good idea to go wandering around in a swamp slash lake of mystical beings, just to get me rocks off?’

Nobody answered him. For once in his life, it was beautifully silent. The dragonfly larvae wasn’t quite big enough to bite him yet, and the mosquitos were not interested in trying to suck his blood. If it had not been for the fact he was lying in mud and staring at the clouded sky with no way of getting himself out, he would have been quite happy.

Unfortunately, his feet were encased in muck and he had fallen backwards, landing on his ample backside in the bog. His hands were scrabbling around, trying to find something to grab hold of, but there was nothing. Not even a reed.

‘Bugger,’ he said loudly. ‘Bugger me. Bugger this. Bugger everything.’

Off in the distance, below the sound of the mudlarks and fairy wrens, below the sound of the newly escaped gaseous swamp-like bubbles, there came a sound of intermittent buzzing.

‘What the far kenneth hell is that?’ The faery would have turned his head, if it wasn’t glued to the swamp slash lake. As it was though, it was glued to the swamp slash lake so he had to roll his very tiny eyeballs. The buzzing was coming closer. Not too close, not yet, but a lot closer than it had been five minutes ago. It was accompanied by a not-at-all auto tuned voice which happened to be singing very loudly and very off-key.

‘Tra-la-la-lally, I’m off to the valley. Oh, not on your nelly, I am rather smellyyyyyy.’

It didn’t make much sense at all.

All of a sudden a rather large and beautiful dragonfly, accompanied by an obnoxious ladybird (who seemed to be cackling loudly) appeared over the top of the horizontal faery’s head.

‘Well hello there,’ said the Dragonfly in a very friendly voice. ‘Would you like some help out of the poopy-poo-jobbies and whatsername you have found yourself in?’

The ladybird didn’t say anything. She had spent an awfully long time with a couple of really crestfallen, but still happy, seagulls and didn’t really trust herself to say nice things. It may have been half the reason she had disappeared for a very long time. One tends to do that when a lot of things go wrong all at once. She did smile though, which sent a shiver up the small faery’s spine. It wasn’t unpleasant, but there was something there that made the faery think he may not have been a very good boy.

‘Will you save me from this terrible position I have found myself in,’ the faerie asked from his prone position in the mud.

The ladybird cocked her tiny head. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘I know a few people who might, but you’d need to head over to their place, and that, unfortunately for you, is nowhere near here, but it’s a lot closer to where I come from, originally. There’s a lot of wild-eyed kids there, and they have lots of stories to tell, if you care to take a look. They are rather beautiful stories, to be honest with you, and quite a lot of them are not mine. But, you know, it’s only a very small place, so maybe you’re not interested.’

The Dragonfly had begun to grin as well, and it was a lot more terrifying than the little sweet mannered and well represented ladybird. The faery finally realised the Dragonfly’s eyes were many faceted, and he could not quite tell where, exactly, the Dragonfly was looking.

‘Oh,’ he said mildly from his position in the murk. ‘I think I may have made a terrible mistake. You see, when I first met the ladybird, that was all she did. I know she warned people she did other things as well, but I didn’t really believe it was possible. After several months of stalking the ladybird, like the absolute nutter I am, I have decided perhaps now it would be a good time to ask if you could save me, properly, from the terrible position I have found myself in for not believing in the magic of ladybirds. Also, there are other things I would like to discuss with the ladybird, but perhaps that is something left for another day, in another world entirely.’

‘I think so too,’ said the Dragonfly. ‘Okay, someone lower the rope, and we’ll get him out of there. If he doesn’t hang himself while he’s being airlifted by magical Dragonflies to safety, he might actually learn something.’

‘You never know, do you,’ said the ladybird conversationally, and off she flew, never to be seen again except perhaps in bookshops and ebooks.

Of course, that wasn’t the end of the story. It never really is.

Argaeous stood in the middle of nowhere, but still

the graveyard, at first holding his arms out wide, then windmilling them with great gusto. TEA AND INERTIA.

‘Crystalline, I am possibly spelling your name wrong, again,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘But, you should get the llamas and bring them here, for if Mary doth not accompany Cassius the lead llama from many years ago to chill him the hell out, the people and News Crews will drag the bloomin’ sleigh to all sorts of unaccommodating placemats.’ Which they did.

The luna equations were aligned indeed. Several personal favourites had decided to don their masks of slightly wooden legs and horrendously shaped bonnets and were flying in a not too distant line of kinsmen of old. They also had not realised the extent some people would go to to make it seem as if Mrs Capewell was evil and nasty.

‘Ah ha!’ Argaeous cried with homily frustrations. ‘My timid wolf at last beats upon the heavens of God knows what.’

‘I didn’t tell your timid wolf to do that,’ said someone no one knew. ‘But I do like that these past many lives of distant humanitarian blessed be friends have supplied thee with. They can send money to lots of other people. My soon to be freakishly handsome great aunt of mother gomorrah has decided to be welsh today.’

‘Is he of a wonderfully short stature with berry pretty eyes.’ It appeared Crys had arrived with a ne’er do well in tow.

‘Apparently. And likes horses. Mostly white ones but has been known to get in a chariot behind others as well.’

‘Others as well?’

‘Indeed, but not in deed, just chariots.’ It must be said here the Greek had been Greeking much of late and would possibly be the one who needed to sit down. Very soon. Or lose that pretty shirt.

‘I see how one might get that mixed up if one were as blind as a bat and didn’t… oh that one where no one really died,’ said the welshman, drinking deeply from his cup of foul knowledge.

‘Yes, him. And the othery. And her as well.’

‘FRIENDS, ROMANS, COUNTRYMEN of the past,’ shouted the small of stature. She had indeed filled out declarations and shown some to the Justice of the Peace across the way, which had not been taken into account by distant over the land and sea and far away, favourites, who like to write things down and present them to lost in space very well known masked men of large and sweetened empires and then use them for their own benefits. Things were also then shown to the local Shadow Federal Ministers office for that kind of thing, and they also had no plans because they were having far too much fun at Mrs Capewell’s expense, which happened to be quite a lot, once again not really benefiting her personally in any way, but they were having fun so who cared.

‘Look what they’ve done there!’ Is it Mr Chatty, or one of the “Hemingways” who has taken a page from a Benjamin booklet? They might indeed have been raiders of a lost ark, and sore indeed, for my ark is still safely ensconced in paper, although not half as pretty as it ended up being I’m sure. It will possibly be available in a later chapter that was possibly never meant for the internet, but seeing as I am apparently damned, it will be. (After all, how much worse could it be? I mean, having control over the weather is rather ridiculous, isn’t it? Especially when the Llamas have now become AI internet consultants for Facebook. It can’t get much worse than that.)

‘Kindly remove the hands,’ added the AI, winking in a most dramatic fashion. ‘I’ve got this.’ With that, the AI turned itself into yet another beloved story of the soon to be extremely broke former author and f*cked that up as well. Ladybirds become sparkly gay people baring their arses on television in ads, or stripped in far off taverns and called themselves Ambrosia, and no one wanted to take them to show their children because that’s kind of disgusting. So, the original ladybird called Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot carefully removed herself from the situation as much as she was able and said, ‘Quite frankly, the ladybird died. Thanks for asking.’

Off the AI galloped, in a very winsome way, floating his tail behind him like a waterfall of sheer delight, his rather large and majestic looking companion running beside him with a slightly heroic grin. The heroics were for themselves, not her and none of them came back because why bother? All they needed to do really, was steal her words, mix them up, take them for granted and never think about the woman again because nobody gave a shit about who she was or where she came from. The fact she had slightly good ideas didn’t matter too much either. She personally, would not get any benefit from them, would not be recognised for them, did not have a team of anyone looking out for her because her parents and grandparents had died quite a few years back, thanks very much, and nobody really understood why it wasn’t a nice thing to do, stealing things from a person’s grave (or old Facebook account, or WordPress, or Microsoft Word) who hadn’t actually died, just got sick of all the bullshit.

Instead, they candidly asked her for ratings of their broken internet services, whilst breaking hers, told no one who they’d stolen the ideas from, although it became blatantly obvious they were hers to begin with, and wouldn’t communicate in a civil manner because they didn’t care to. Sound like a good way to push someone off a cliff? It does, doesn’t it. They compensated her for this by giving her an extra Unemployment benefit once in a while and telling themselves it was a good job well done. They hoped, by doing this, and by barring her from as much as they possibly could, they’d get off scot free and she’d maybe eventually lie down like the dog she was supposed to be.

The End.

Is it Good?

‘Here.’ This tiny creature is stalking through a jungle. He sees the tall branches and waving leaves on one side, and notices the huge tumbling vines on the other side. They do not look safe to him.

Ahead are silly umbrellas. They have pointy-looking hats and seem to be the perfect spot to stop under if it’s raining. They look safe.

A vegie patch with “not very pleasant” additions

The huge waving “trees” have been planted on purpose, as has the tumbling vine. To be fair, the beautiful plant beside him has been planted as well, but that has been put there to be looked at and not touched.

‘And what are these very large soft pebble-like things for,’ thinks the tiny creature to himself. ‘They don’t smell “bad” exactly, but they don’t smell particularly good either.’ He pokes at one with his tiny stick and it crumbles apart. Immediately the sand beneath it looks “happier”, if sand could look happy.

‘Interesting,’ thinks the tiny creature. ‘But, I am getting wet and I would like to take shelter. Perhaps I should get one of those umbrella looking things.’

‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,’ says a voice from inside him, and it makes him jump.

‘What?’ he squeaks. ‘Why?’

‘Those umbrella looking things, as you call them, are not very pleasant at all. They should not be there, and they should not be touched.’ And a large hand reaches down and removes the umbrellas from the soil, although we really can’t call it soil. Not yet, anyway.

‘I’ve eaten umbrellas before,’ thinks the small creature. ‘They were just fine to eat. Why can’t I take shelter under these ones?’

‘They are not what you think they are,’ says the inner voice, and despite him knowing the voice is there, the small creature jumps again.

‘They don’t look well,’ he mutters under his breath. ‘They have no juiciness to them. They are thin and frail. I do not think I will get any kind of safety from trying to shelter myself under these umbrellas.’ And, the closer he looks at them, the more he is afraid. These umbrellas are decidedly not healthy and, although it is strange they have appeared in the garden (here we raise an eyebrow at those crumbling pebble-like things) they are not to be eaten. Not at all.

‘I am getting very wet from this rain though,’ thinks the tiny creature to himself. ‘Where will I take shelter?’

‘Look at the big leaves where the vines are tumbling,’ says the inner voice.

‘They don’t look safe?’

‘They are very safe. Eventually they will give us beautiful big gourds called “Honeydew”.’

‘They will?’

‘Yes indeed. But, you will have to wait until they are ready. You can’t eat them now, and you can’t eat the leaves.’

‘Why can’t I,’ the tiny creature demands, and he begins to jump up and down with frustration.

‘Because, if you eat them now, what will you take cover under when it rains again?’

It sounds to the tiny creature that this inner voice is smiling at him. He begins to grin. He can’t help it. This inner voice is making him giggle and he knows it is right.

‘Fine then,’ he says, and kicks at one of the pebbles. It crumbles apart and sinks into the soil. ‘What is this stuff?’

‘Do you really want to know?’ The voice sounds even more amused.

‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ The tiny creature jumps on another pebble and it disintegrates. ‘They are funny looking pebbles, and I think I like them. What are they?’ He decides to roll in one. The smell is not that bad, but it’s not that good either.

The voice he has been listening to is really starting to laugh now. It is so overwhelming to him he starts laughing as well, and he doesn’t know why. He likes this voice, but he is not going to ask it again what these weird looking pebble things are. He wonders if it tastes better than it smells. Maybe he should try it?

‘I wouldn’t do that either,’ the voice advises. ‘It’s not really a “thing”. Not with that type of stuff anyway.’

‘Well.’ The little creature shrugs. ‘You never told me what it was, so I’m gonna do what I like in it.’

‘Oki-dokey then,’ the voice says. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

The voice begins to fade and the tiny creature starts to wonder. The voice had not told him the stuff was bad, but it had not told him it was good either. The creature starts to think of how it is helping the soil, and how things are growing because it is there. There is only one thing that might achieve this, that he knows of, and he jumps up as quickly as he can, and starts to brush it off.

‘What is it?’ he calls to the slowly departing voice. ‘What type is it? Will it hurt me?’

‘It won’t hurt you.’ The voice slowly returns. ‘It’s really very mild. That’s why you need so much of it.’

‘Okay. So, what is it again? Just so I’m sure.’

‘Sheep shit,’ says the voice and the little creature finds this so funny, that he has kicked it, and rolled in it, and thrown it around, that he begins to laugh out loud.

‘And, what am I,’ he asks, although it is already dawning on him that he is rather important, in the scheme of things. He wouldn’t usually go after poo like this, he would normally go after something a little more ‘greasy’.

‘A dung beetle,’ says the voice. ‘You are a dung beetle. And, no you could not eat my plants.’