Fiction chickens

The Fox and the Vole

2009-09-23T10:51:00.002+02:00

There was once a very shy fox who lived alone in a heap of tyres by the riverbank. He wasn't an unhappy fox, not at all, but he was very reserved around the other animals that he didn't know. And so some thought he was very lazy because he seemingly did so little on his time.

One day when the shy fox was walking his favourite walk around the birches of Ms. Rabbit, he met a vole. She was a happy and fat and round vole who lived by the orchard in an old oak. The vole completely ignored his shyness and bubbled and talked a hole in his head. Even though the fox usually would be uneasy at this approach, the fat vole simply gave him no room to be. And like probably no animal could've predicted, they clicked like a jigsaw puzzle.

And many thought it was such a shame they became friends because the vole had so much more to offer than to a quiet fox they said. But in truth the fox was way better than the vole, and took such good care of the her, that she could never imagine a life without him. Because the vole wasn't all that bubbly happiness that was on the outside, for some time she had been quite depressed and cried a lot on her own, underneath the ferns. And despite her being a stubborn vole that didn't want anyone's help - the shy fox ignored her stubborness and fought with her and kept her warm in the night even though she hadn't admitted to be cold.

The shy fox was such a delight underneath his shell, he noticed everything around him, every branch in the trees, the flowers, the leaves caught in the sizzling river and the whirring insects in the low sun. He could talk endlessly, like a waterfall, with so many thoughts and ideas, because he had an eye for things that other foxes could never see.

The vole thought about him constantly when he was not around, because even though they seldom did much, they could just lie in the grass and look at the birds and the clouds - they still felt as complete as the sky.

Draft for Soneera

2009-02-21T17:55:00.001+01:00

The golden fruit knife was both short – and after many years of eager use – also getting blunt. But in the moonlight it glistened in all its dangerous beauty as she clenched it in her hand and soundlessly made her way through the corridors. See-through drapes in light, cool colours floated up from the cold stone floor as she rushed past. The moonlight was muted and frail, coming through small windows high up by the massive domes that made up the palace’s ceiling. It glittered on mosaic of rushing rivers and fruitful groves lined with intricate patterns around the floor and the doors. A sound swished through the empty, windless passageway. She quickly took shelter in a beautifully decorated mihrab and tried to hold her breath. Her eyes sparkled with unshaped tears, her heart hammered so loud it almost exceeded every other sound. Her chest was heaving and sinking fast, she tried to brush her black hair out of her eyes with ringed, painted hands. She had removed the other expensive jewellery she usually wore – so that her mission could be carried out soundlessly. It was not a good night to commit murder, she thought. The stars were out – only veiled by a few vague brushstrokes of clouds, the Gods would see everything.

She pressed her muscular back into the golden mosaic and waited for a very long time. A weak breath of wind touched the drops of sweat and covered every patch of her bare skin with goose bumps. Everything was at stake. Her hand quavered uncontrollably, all these months now - she had only had this night on her mind, but now that it was here – now, she didn’t know if she could go through with it. She swallowed. I have to. After all these years of suffering, everything would end exactly as it had started. It was beautiful and ironic at the same time.

It had begun indeed the same cool spring night 17 years earlier. A beautiful dancer of the royal harem, though considerably thinner and weaker – had made her way through the darkness of the usually stunning palace hallways. At night everything seemed different, everything except the love in her heart. While day and night and the will of the Gods may change by the rising of the sun, the love and lust in the heart stay constant. She remembered those words. He had whispered them in her ear as he gripped her skinny arms hard. He had let his strong nails scrape her back open as tears twinkled down her cheeks. The young girl drove the prince mad with desire, and her mind was poisoned with blind, numbing love. She did whatever he told her to. Not only because it was her duty to do so, but because she loved him. She loved him so much she could not eat or drink. Just the mere thought that the prince was to marry soon almost made her split open. And all this naïve affection had made it very easy for the prince to persuade her young hands to be ones to dissect the queens heart. If she dies, Muwta. If the queen dies-- then I am the heir of the throne, and my engagement to my cousin will cease to be appropriate in the queen’s absence. I can marry you, Muwta. You can give birth to my children. She could hear his voice in her head so clearly. She no longer had to murder the unborn infants and bury them in the shade of the lime coppice.

The hairpin sunk into the queen’s eye without much effort. Muwta had made sure to mute the woman’s agonized scream with an embroidered silk pillow. Another layer of tissue behind the punctured eye gave in to the sharp pin, and the queen made a final twitch before eventually dying. The quiet felt intoxicating, the skinny girl struggled to make her way back to the harem lodgings, stumbling past the many colourful curtains and doorways as if drunk. The happiness was unexplainable. The prince was hers now.

An old house

2009-02-18T18:23:00.002+01:00

The house was the home of a big, dead family. The garden was a thin patch of unkept lawn that evolved into a high hedge that almost disguised all the windows in the first floor from the streets. Through the wrought iron gates the pathway was overgrown and ultimately empty, only beetles tread there. The front door was made of dark wood and was featureless and heavy, the hallway plastered in crumbling tapestry, the drawing room a mouldy, mushy pink, sun-bleached ghost of what it had once been. The kitchen was large with hollow cupboards and heavy cast iron pots and copper pans with burnt edges hanging from the ceiling. In the corners hung bouquets of dried herbs - only a few sad strands remained. Cracked porcelain cups filled with black dust lay strewn on the dining table, the curtains hung lopsided over the window, letting in a gash of dim light through the filthy windows. The sink was clogged and in it piled a heap of unwashed dishes that had never been cleaned. A jug was stuck to the counter, a spider had meticously woven a silky thin web that stretched all the way from the mug and to a pictureframe on the wall. The image within the frame was long since faded away from the sunlight.

Upstairs were three bedrooms. One was the master bedroom, with a big, heavy dresser - filled with the smell of age and mothballs. The doors to the dresser were carved like writhing branches stretching to the stained ceiling. In the middle of the room by the far end stood the bed. It was broad and too soft, the duvet was a dark, once noble green, but now rotten all the way through. A chandelier hung over the bed, mirrored in a black spotted floor mirror by the door. The wooden floorboards were broad and rough, and creaked alarmingly if stepped on. The other two bedrooms were quite similar. Containing a single bed, bedside tables, one small, fitted dresser with broken knobs on the drawers and dust-layered lamps that stood spindly on small end tables by the window.

The only difference was that in one of the rooms there was also a piano. The black and ebony was edged with discolour, it long since wrung out of tune by the force of time. Whenever he felt particularly lonely he liked to crawl in through the kitchen window and climb the steep stairs and sit by the piano and stare out the dirty window. He tried to play it, but it sounded terrible, and he didn't even know how to play one. But he liked to pretend like he could play it. He would sit on the moth-eaten stool and let his fingers float over the keys without touching them while pretending to be sitting in front of a giant audience, playing a heartfelt ballad. But in truth he was sitting in this empty, frightening house -without fully understanding why he came back, or why it just stood there, rotting away.

Girl sleeping

2009-02-18T17:59:00.003+01:00

She lay twirled into some patchwork blankets in the back of the gallery. Her left leg was bent and lay in a thick ray of golden sunlight that made the particles and dust in the air glitter. She had her mouth partly open, revealing the edges of a few teeth and the darkness of her throat. Strands of sand coloured hair erupted from her head like a nest, wrapping itself around one wrist and covering bits of her face. Her lashes were dark and black mascara had been smudged all the way out to her temples. She had worn expensive earrings the night before, one was still attached to her right earlobe, the other one lay twinkling underneath her foot. Her left hand was clutching a patched red and blue blanket, the other one was folded underneath her head - some of the fingers sticking up through her hair. Her chest was peacefully, almost unnoticably heaving and sinking. She curled her toes and moved a fraction, her other leg now visible too in the sunlight. One of her breasts were uncovered by the blankets, her skin was blushing and covered in goosebumps. She moved again, and her feet retracted into the warmth of the blanket - she pulled the red and blue blanket subconciously up over the rest of her upper body and pressed her face harder into the cheap matress.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Napkins

2009-02-04T17:15:00.004+01:00

She had no idea that her ultimate faith was to create the motives on napkins. That her entire existence focused around whether or not she was able to finish the drawing of five, blue twirling leaves for a wedding series - before bus n. 56 would leave at 4:45.

Well of course she knew now. She knew very well, in fact. She dreamt about napkins, thought about them, endlessly. Her apartment was filled with them, she had no matress, she slept on napkins. She had cupboards and shelves packed, every colour and style. Whether it was fabric or silk, or maybe just regular cotton. Embroidered or printed, maybe with a hint of metallic - they all lay in confusing heaps around her home, even though she had now started to hate them.

It had happened quite suddenly. Just, everything. She had wanted to be a renowned artist, do exhibitions and soarees, serve trendy fingermeals from trendy porcelain - wear black and talk about art all day. She had been recruited straight out of art school and into the kitchen and home retail business. It had started out softly with the decor on china and cutlery. It had then moved on to tablecloths and curtains. At some point; sofas. But her boss never seemed happy with her work. She kept sending her poorly disguised agonizing smiles.

It was not until she was given a shot at napkins that her boss ultimately smiled out of true content. She had a talent. But then that was also the problem. Being able to work with something she handled too well every day, made her so productive, innovative and fantastic on the napkin-front - that she was possibly the best in the business. But even the respect she earned from this, the price she had to pay was inhuman. If she had known that napkins were her calling- she would have lived her life differently. She would have avoided napkins at all costs, every job that involved napkins. Jobs as a waitress, printer, weaver, embroiderer, as a shop clerk at a napkin shop -- or a napkin designer. She would've steered clear of those professions and created her fortune otherwise. So that maybe she could be wealthy and collect them instead, or something. Anything. Because napkins were not a hobby now. Just a time-pass that she got paid for while she was waiting to die. She had nothing else to live for. Napkins now controlled her life. She couldn't breathe without having them in mind. Every shape and colour, every sound and emotion - they were all just ultimately potential napkins to her.

it was weird but, in a way the napkins had... They had ruined everything.

Nerve tonic

2009-01-30T00:19:00.005+01:00

Her wide grey eyes were his nerve tonic.

They were the refreshing springs of light and calm that enveloped him and kept him safe and warm, no matter what.

Like crushing waves they came at him at first --her eyes, then they soothed into a confiding stare. She could never have realised what power they held, her eyes -- big, expanding and devastating.

Her dark lashes blinked, the eyelids shut, her eyes seemed shinier as she opened them again. Deep down he felt a sense of purpose uncurl within, like he never had to stress again.

"Please don't stop looking at me." He said.

"Never go away."

P Lot

2008-12-02T21:38:00.001+01:00

Eve worked in a large shopping mart. Every single morning, when the sun was still a pinkish haze through the pollution -she drove the short route through the concrete maze and parked in front of the neon-flashing chaos that was the liquor store. With the click of worn, cheap shoes she strode over the vast parking lot and around to the back of the mart, where it smelled rotten and fishy. The following bit she never remembered, because she was usually too tired. But before she knew it she was seated beneath the penetrating ceiling lights of Shop Smart Super Mart, bipping groceries past the cashier and watching people fumble for their wallets.

In addition to getting half an hour for lunch, five minutes for smokes and special offers on Shop Smart Super Mart’s own brand products (like the “Smart Shopping Super Easy Chicken Pastry Pasties 0.79$” and such) – she also got to wear their striped, red uniform. And she had been particularly lucky to get one that was at least two sizes too big, and a little stiff. So when she sat down by the cashier it looked like she was wearing a striped, red tent with “It Makes Sense to Be Smart - Choose Super Mart™” printed on the back.

At least her co-workers weren’t too bad. She even had a friend of sorts, she was named Ty – it was an abbreviation for something, but to be honest she had forgotten what for. And seeing they had worked together for three years – it just didn’t seem appropriate to ask her now. Ty mostly ate frozen peas. Not in their frozen state, but cooked or stewed or fried or anything. She never had a meal without spicing it up with frozen peas. It gave her a greenish tint. Or maybe it was the lighting at Shop Smart Super Mart. But either way, it made Ty look like a giant asparagus. She even had that odd bend in her neck, and had short, fuzzy hair. It all made sense. That’s if asparaguses wore striped, red shirts and red trousers.

A beard with a man was trying to pay for a load of peanuts. Unlike all the other workers at Shop Smart Super Mart – Eve had never stopped trying to figure out why on earth people would buy ten lbs of Goldenhill Farms Roasted Round Peanuts for 0.69$ per lb, or why someone would insist on paying the appropriate sum of 6,90$, in cents. The beard was 26 cents short, and she found that she simply chipped him in from her breast pocket, without blinking. Let him have his damn peanuts. Her pay was so bad that those 26 cents really wouldn’t make any difference anyway. She was still going to eat Smart Shopping Super Easy Chicken Pastry Pasties for dinner tonight as well. Or maybe she was having just one, and she could drink some Super Easy Juice. It tasted just like flying.

Before going out for her fifth smoke that morning she passed Otto by the dairy section, he was crying again. His limp shoulders were heaving for oxygen as he couldn’t breathe properly between the sobs. He looked up to see her looking at him, she pointed at the packet of Super Easy Nicotine Explosion in her other hand. Without a word he followed her outside, she lit them both in silence, trailed off to different thoughts. Otto’s eyes bore a red edge, and he inhaled so deeply the curly spark on the end blazed. She decided not to rip it up again, they had been over it so many times, and she could tell by his face that he couldn’t sleep at night. Again.

And that was when she crossed the street by the Fancy Nails Salon. Eve didn’t react fast enough, because Otto had already seen her. His eyes refilled with tears, it looked like walls of glass protruding from beneath his eyelid. And she had the guts to come anywhere near Shop Smart Super Mart. Eve pulled the now frighteningly short stump out of his mouth, dropped hers too to the ground and rubbed them into the concrete. She took a hold of his stiff, striped shirt and dragged him inside to the break room and pushed him down into a chair. Eve then loaded a box of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream marked with a post-it saying “EMERGENCIES ONLY” on it out of the freezer. She didn’t have the guts to sort this out right now. She couldn’t look into Otto’s bloodshot eyes for a second longer. Before hurling out the door she tossed Otto a spoon and pushed the ice cream across the linoleum table. The spoon hit him straight in the face, but he didn’t budge.

When walking away from the Super Smart Shopping Mart it was just like sounds slipped back into focus again, because all you could hear when standing outside the backdoor while having a smoke was the shadowy, mellow “Whirrrrrrh” of the air shafts shooting the sweet, locked up scents of SSSMart out over the small stock-delivery area. Eve was rolling up her sleeves menacingly as she stampeded across the street and past the Fancy Nails Salon, that -even though she had no intentions of kicking the shit out of the woman. With a small, sharp fist on the end of a sticky wrist - Eve grasped a hold of Jill’s collar and shoved her into the walls of Cooke’s Drug Megastore. For a split second Jill looked terrified, then Eve let her go and looked her up and down furiously.

“How DARE you fecking come here now?!”
- “W-what? Eve? – Come he- It’s been nine bloody months! Get off my back, will you?” Jill retorted, looking offended.
“Isn’t this city big enough for both of us? Nine months!” she continued harshly.
- “You KNOW that doesn’t make any difference. Feck it, Jill. He ain’t letting you go, aight? So just get your shopping done in some other street – is it so fecking difficult, is it? Holy fecking shit, Jill. You’re killing him, eh? Couldn’t you at least show some decency in doin’ it by staying the feck away. It just fecking gets to me, aight. It pisses me off”.

Eve didn’t even know why she defended Otto, it had to be the way he tried to hide how depressed he was all the time. But then, it wasn’t working the least bit. He was, facing it – totally useless at hiding it. So bad you could almost suspect he wasn’t trying to hide it. But she knew he was, and she knew she didn’t want to see him hurt any longer. His sadness was as pointless as everything else at the SSSMart. She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled, either.

Mr. Cubeleck – her boss, was putting the Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream away when Eve re-entered the break room. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with long, worn fingers. She noticed he was in his very best tie.

“Ehm. How is he?” Eve asked.
- “I sent him home.” Mr. Cubeleck replied.
“Yeah. Em. Thanks, I’ll- I’ll take his shift or, - something”. She said, and couldn’t leave the break room fast enough. To get back in to the shop one had to walk through the cool, packed stockroom that was filled with groceries of all shapes and sizes. Eve stopped to catch her breath and straighten her face. He had been wearing his very best tie. He had even been trying to hide it.

Suddenly Ty came rushing through the stockroom, she had makeup on. Her long, weary face looked even more like something out of a different dimension now. Eve pretended not to notice, but Ty had already stopped in front of her with an apologetic look on her face. But before Ty had time to speak, Eve had raised her hand to silence her.
“Look. ‘Key. It REALLY doesn’t matter. Have fun, Ty.”
And while trying not to get eye contact with her, Eve left the stockroom.

The sun was setting in an array of golden bronze between the green and orange cars. From through the glass exterior of SSSMart, Eve at the cashier could see how the golden brassiness of sunlight licked its way over the parked station wagons, over the shopping carts, over the working mothers with their nagging children and over the loaded plastic bags. An old man was buying some more soap, some more Quick It Clean Super Wash for 0.39$ a bar. That was the third time he was in this week. His hands were wrinkly and bright red, like someone had been scrubbing at them for hours. Eve wondered what he needed all that soap for, and if she could legally deny to sell him any more soap, just like a bartender could make an assessment that he’d had enough. Mr. Cubeleck was crossing the parking lot together with Ty. She let the man have the soap, it wasn’t any of her business.

Someone had once done the strangest thing to the parking lot outside the SSSMart, Liquor Store and Imogene’s Pets & Fish. Dark scars in the asphalt marked where a positive soul had once in a desperate attempt to brighten the place - planted trees in a straight row across the lot. It had been done in the hope that some trees maybe could shade the cars on hot days, or provide with some fresh air and perhaps even add some green charm to the utterly charmless stretch of p lots. They had died within a few months, one couldn’t safely say why though. Trees can thrive almost anywhere.

An old woman once walked up to Eve while she was stacking milk cartons in the dairy section, and talked about the trees. The old woman had said that those trees were rare and that they had no business at a parking lot – they should’ve been in a lovely garden somewhere, to be taken care of. Eve had said that it was exactly the same with everyone else. Nobody had any business in a parking lot. Wouldn’t it be nice to be in a lovely garden somewhere, and be taken care of?

Tyla. That was her name, Eve suddenly recalled. Her name was Tyla. It was only four letters, why would someone bother to shorten four letters down to two? It didn’t make much difference. Eve was smoking out her car window, waiting for the light to go green. It was chilly, her stereo was playing some depressing tune that she liked a lot. She studied one of her tattoos intently, it was of some peach tree blossoms crawling up from her elbow and twirling around her wrist. The light flashed green, the traffic swished beside her as she stepped on it and geared on in to the night. Eve’s flashy stereo was probably the only thing she owned that actually mattered to her. Well she did have the fish tank with all the fish in it, Uncle Thomas, Auntie Gertrude, Miss Maple, Little Rudy and Uncle Albert. But they were all fish, they didn’t even know Eve from the next human. She knew them though. Maybe that’s what mattered.

When Eve was leaving her rusty, steel blue Desoto (with those appealing tail fins) she was as always carrying her heavy baseball bat. It wasn’t that her neighbourhood was all that dodgy, it was just that it looked dodgy – and that to a human, could be enough to get into that mindset. So she took her bat with her, and locked herself in to the shady apartment block. The elevator was rickety, but she was never bothered to take the stairs, they had once sorted out an agreement, but it was usually never washed anyway. At least she never did it. Eve’s apartment was in the block of Guemanns Ave. and 47^th Street 59b, apartment 119a. That was the eighth floor, top floor, door to the left. One of the wonderful things about her home at Guemanns Ave. was that it had once been the office of a software engineering company called Walrick Solutions. It had Walrick Solutions slogans visible underneath the paint everywhere. Like in the fourth floor it said “Every problem was meant to be solve...” then the rest disappeared behind someone’s fridge. Not that those slogans were so wonderful, but the architecture of the place had provided everyone with apartments in quite decent sizes. Eve’s Apartment, number 119a had incidentally been the office of the head engineer or whatever one would call the man that was probably the only one in Walrick Solutions that had had any charisma. This meant that her apartment was a little smaller than the others, and with an odd shape. It had though one giant round window on one wall. It made the building look totally crazy from the outside, but provided Eve with an extraordinary view over the sparkling city. The big, round window looked so weird from the outside – most people called the building “The Eye”.

The reason everything had changed so much was that Eve had fallen in love with her teacher. They all called him just “Mister C.” He had sideburns and a contagious laugh – and was probably also the only one who was ever able to teach Eve anything. She’d been only sixteen when she started in Mister C’s history class. She had got in to the school despite it having a maxed Asian quota. Her mother had talked Eve in as being British, because Eve was practically a Brit. She had lived there all her life. It was just that her family had noticeably migrated from Sinuiju, North Korea to northern England a generation back – before spending their very last money to move to Memphis. They had moved to Tennessee for a fresh start.

To be fair, it hadn’t been a fresh start at all. It had been a horrible start. Eve’s brother and father worked around the clock at a laundry service, Eve’s mother worked in a Thai restaurant. It was only Eve that was allowed an education. Her brother Ha-Neul never even got the chance because he was a good worker and not a fast learner- he was good at those repetitive, vegetative tasks. Back in England their family could afford to send them both to school. But in Memphis, Ha-Neul had to work. It had been very different in England, in many ways it had been a good place for them to grow up. Eve’s parents thrived in their little business, the dingy corner shop that sold imported groceries. But Eve’s mother’s brother had other plans for their family. He had set up a very successful Laundry service in Memphis (at least so it was, according to his letters), but the truth was that he whitewashed money for the mob. When Eve’s family sold everything to start over in her uncle’s successful business in Memphis – they arrived to the surprise of finding him in shackles, shot. Her father and brother continued working at the laundry, but the mob wouldn’t trust them to whitewash any money for them anymore. They buried Eve’s uncle behind their house, underneath the unkempt, greyish shrubbery.

Mister C Had a lot of desirable features. For one he was very wise, he knew lots of things – and he never stopped teaching everyone the things he knew. She had been so scared those years, everybody talked differently than from back home in Chester, which meant that she spoke differently than all the other students. They made sure to remind her of that as often as possible – so she never had the time to forget how different she was. And as far as she could recall, Mister C never really did much to prevent them. But that didn’t matter, he wouldn’t have been able to – even if he had tried. They would always have found a way to get at her, especially if she had been the teacher’s pet.

It was at random how they met outside of class one Thursday night. For some odd reason Eve found him crying on a bench outside Ramses Shadow Ink Tattoos, by the bus stop. Eve made a little money from letting the young tattooist Otis, using her as a test subject, and tattooing away at her milky skin. It was a desperate measure, and her mother hated it. But it was still money, and her father accepted them when Eve’s mother wasn’t looking. Because they direly needed it, they had a rent to pay.

Mister C was staring out in front of him with blank, runny eyes, and he didn’t recognise her at all as she sat down on the bench beside him, arms all plastered up in cotton and tape to heal Otis’ fresh works. For some reason she felt like helping, because she recognised him immediately. And it didn’t make much sense to her that the only person in the world she looked up to – and was happy every time she saw him, now sat here and cried his heart out. It disturbed the balance of things. So without thinking she touched his arm, and he – definitely without thinking, wrapped his arms around her, squeezed and continued to sniff and sob. They sat like that, cars sporadically bumping past with tasteless stereos, and the growl and orange glow of the city their only company. When the bus eventually stopped in front of them with a relieving “Pschhhh”, he let go, and she took his hand and led him aboard. And they sat on 77 West Memphis-Local in the odd, kind of light yellow light from the clinically ugly ceiling with all the insects in it. And her arms were throbbing and aching, and his face swollen and unrecognisable, and they sat there and didn’t have anything to say or do. So when he went off at Balfour, they waved to each other as the bus took off again. He from the outside, her from the inside – and that was all there was to it.

Mister C recognised her the next day, when he was once again in character as the charming, appealing and happy teacher – presenting history like it actually made a difference to anything. At first they both pretended like nothing had ever happened, but the day after that again Mister C held Eve back after class. And he looked her in the eyes and he looked important, and she got worried that maybe she had done something wrong. But all he said was
“Thank you, Eve.” And then with a motion of a hand, told her to go after the others. And she did.

It was odd how it developed over the next weeks, they passed the classes by occasionally, and unnoticeably sending each other looks – and later Eve thought it might have been longing. So he sat there and waited for her outside Ramses Shadow Ink Tattoo one Thursday night, completely without warning. And she had tape and cotton all over her left ankle, and she sat down next to him like they had some weeks before. And still they couldn’t think of anything to say to each other. Mister C looked lost, like he couldn’t find the right amount of breath to have in his lungs to speak. But his face gave off that it he was attempting to explain his utterly strange behaviour. Without thinking he suddenly blurted it all out. How he had seen his girlfriend walking out of the Woman’s Care Clinic from across the street. That she had worn such a stern face. And that he had noticed how her cheeks had hollowed the following weeks. And that she hadn’t told him about any of it, but then suddenly yelled it out during an argument and told him that she had killed his unborn child, and that she did it because she couldn’t see a future for them together.

Eve looked at him the entire time while he spoke. He looked bewildered, tried to get himself together. Then apologized
–“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to load all of this on to you, but it’s just, I used to talk to her about things like this, but now she is the one I need to talk about, so I can’t. I feel lost. I- I – oh, sorry.”
-“Don’t mention it.” Eve said quietly. The street was noisy even this late, the cars swishing by – but he could hear her so clearly, it seemed almost unnatural. Eve reached out to touch his arm, it had worked the last time, she just wanted him to hold her in his arms again. She wanted it badly. But he didn’t hug her, he did something worse – he took her hand into his and pressed it softly. Then he started crying again. It was worse this time. She whispered “I am so sorry too. I am sorry about your baby.” but in recollection she don’t think he ever heard that.

They continued to meet casually like that, outside Ramses Shadow Ink Tattoo. And he told her stories about his unborn child – how it would’ve been. Eve told him how her life was, her dead uncle, the bullying, her desperate mother, her brother that had to work every hour of the day. Her short comments always made Mister C knock his worries into perspective, seeing he could at least expect to find himself with a home every night after school – unlike Eve. Her life was as unbalanced and unpredictable as it could be. Mister C was just about the only one who held it in place – him, and probably Otis and his cotton and tape, ink and cigarettes. These Thursday nights got them both into smoking, it gave them a sense of purpose while sitting there underneath the lamp post. They could pretend they met up for some other reason than for the fact that they wanted to be there, together, every minute the entire rest of the week. They met to have a smoke, right?

-“How much’re these?” a girl chewed. Pinkish bubble gum bobbed inside her half open jaw.
-“25 cents each” Eve said automatically. The girl grabbed a handful and dropped them all on the little tray placed above the cashier.

It was a truly odd sensation, because Eve couldn’t remember having dinner or feeding Uncle Thomas, or brushing her teeth in the rusty sink. She couldn’t remember falling asleep to the comforting bubbles of the fish tank with a cigarette still glowing in the ashtray by the window. But still she knew it had happened, and she couldn’t help but jotting those details in to her memory so that she didn’t have to worry that parts of the day kept getting wiped out all the time. She couldn’t even remember getting in that morning. Though maybe she remembered what she had listened to on her way to work, some song. It felt familiar. On the other hand, she couldn’t be too sure.

Ty was sitting in the cashier opposite of her. She kept smiling kind of half worriedly to Eve every now and then, but Eve pretended like it didn’t happen. It was frustrating how she was so eager to get Eve’s “blessing”, or – what did she want her to say exactly? What did she want? She usually kept out of other people’s business, why did Ty and Mr. Cubeleck have to be any of Eve’s concern at all? Let them have their damn excursions to the cinema. It didn’t make any difference to her what they did to fill their spare time. It made a difference to SSSMart, that was for sure, it brightened the place up a little. Just a little bit.

At lunch break Eve sat on the huge recycle bin outside the break room and smoked another Nicotine Explosion while watching a hobo trying to cross the street without losing all his possessions out of his SSSMart trolley. Eve had even seen him steal it from the little discoloured shed on the parking lot, but hadn’t done anything about it. Let him have his damn trolley. What difference does it make?
Ty came out from the break room, she had a bowl of Laurel Meadow’s Delicious Home Grown Frozen Organic Green Peas ($1.98) ready for the microwave in her hand.
- “How are you?” Ty said.
-“Bony, tattooed, dark haired, still consisting of 80% cigarette ashes” Eve said.
-“Better than being 80% frozen peas” Ty replied with a sad undertone
“Eugh, I’m so sick of them. I would’ve stopped eating them ages ago if it wasn’t for my condition, you know”.

Yeah, that’s right. Tyla actually believed her nails would fall off if she stopped eating peas. It was some lie her parents had told her to make her eat her greens, but then they had forgotten to tell her it was a lie. Or maybe Ty’s parents own parents had told them the same – and now they all believed it was true. Either way, Ty got damn serious about it. Sometimes Eve caught her attempting to stick Ultra Hold Extra Strong Superglue ($1.90) underneath her nails. But frozen peas were just about as sweet and flavourless as a vegetable could get – so hating every other green, Ty had no choice but to stick to the peas. Unless she wanted to be without nails, of course.

Something was up in aisle seven. Two boys were licking the sugar off all the Everlasting Sweet n’ Crunchy Sticky Strawberry Lozenges. Eve sneaked up on them and suddenly appeared in front of them from behind the Butter Popcorn Toffee Lollipop stand. The youngest boy gave a little shriek out of sheer surprise. To Eve’s astonishment they didn’t attempt to run away from her. From the look of the older one, he knew it would only make matters worse. In desperate self defence he nudged the younger one – and with staggering speed they produced a little stream of salty tears each. Eve ignored them and got them to gather all the “used” lozenges in a little cup. Then she made them stack all the butter into the shelf in the dairy section while surveying them closely. At first they made no effort at it, but after a while they started to measure the space in-between the margarine and the butter to make sure they were stacked neatly enough. When they had finished the youngest (whose name was Philip the Freckle (that was at least what he had introduced himself as)) asked Eve in a real pleading tone if they could come back and stack the butter some other time. She let them have the cup with the half-eaten lozenges and said that this was their pay in advance if they could come back next week to help her with the soup shelf. Philip the Freckle lit up like a little beacon, even Scamp, the oldest, brightened to this idea. On their way out of SSSMart, Eve overheard him saying how all of this had been his idea, and that he had let them be caught on purpose. Philips eyes were widening in admiration as his little voice trailed off.

Mister C’s girlfriend moved out some weeks later, and it was a sigh of relief. It was like both Mister C and Eve could exhale properly again. They had met up ever so more often those weeks, talking shit, talking seriously, sitting together in silence, smoking. One night she had fresh tattoos done, as usual on late Thursdays– and he looked so calmed and mild that night. So free. She tried to catch his eyes, and for a while he didn’t notice, but then he turned to face her – and they sat with their eyes locked for a moment. He looked so comforted and tranquil so when she leant over to embrace him – she didn’t expect him to kiss her. But he did. It was a soft peck, it made her body jolt, but she kissed him back. Because when they were as close as that, she realised that that was what she had wanted all along. He was a good kisser, she thought, or – she wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t make any difference.

-“We can’t tell anyone”. He said blankly as they were sitting on the bus home.
-“I won’t tell, who would I tell? Nobody cares what I do” Eve replied.
-“I would lose my job, you know, if somebody finds out”.
-“I know”. She said, and she really did.

The Loop

2008-10-08T19:44:00.000+02:00

Below them the lands unwrapped in the sunlight. From underneath the misty clouds stretched lumpy, green fields, crooked, pointy forests and deep, dark waters. The mountains ripped through the layer of clouds and bathed coolly in the agonizingly sharp sun.

From the back of the giant bird, they could see everything. All they could hear was the sound of its wings beating heavily against the howling winds, all they could feel was the cold whipping against their faces, the soft warmth of the bird’s feathers and the intensity of each other’s firm grasps. The bird was soaring high, its eyes slits in the bright light.

Then suddenly the world ended, and all they could see was the ocean. The last terrifying cliffs disappeared behind them as a foamy, azure carpet stretched indefinitely ahead of them, ready to devour them if they were to lose their grip.

And that was the world around them. To great to understand, so they understood each other instead, because as far as feelings and physique – at least a human could be described. The dramatic features of the planet’s worn surface were to extreme to put into words.

The bird dived towards the licking, lush lips of the cold waves below them. She could feel how he dug his fingertips harder into her clothes, and the dampness of his breath against her ear – then they hit it. The water smacked her in the face, her lungs flattened – everything lost focus. All around her was bubbles and rushing water – then she felt a faint, sucking sensation slowly, but determinedly pulling her downwards.

It was interesting how the bird had known exactly where to disappear into the ocean, because the ocean looked exactly the same all over. The waves were a little different from each other, but apart from that, there was no way one could know where to find the right spot. The bird however, definitely had.

Suddenly the wetness was all gone. It was like the pressing force against her airways and the intense cold had all been an illusion. Because they were both still safely seated on the bird’s back, still clinging on to each other too hard, and the sound of the bird’s wings monotone beat was the only thing to be heard. She waited for a long time to open her eyes. Just in case the sight that awaited her would throw her into the rushing water again. When silently parting her lashes, revealing the pearlescent orb of her eye with her massive, dark pupil in the middle – she nearly lost her grip, on everything. Even reality.

Because below them were once again the mountains ripping through the layer of clouds and glowing coolly in an agonizingly sharp sun. Between the dark tops were patches of crispy snow and the surging forces of partly frozen waterfalls.

Suddenly the world ended again, and all they could see was ocean. The last cliffs of land disappeared behind them, an azure carpet stretched ahead of them, ready to devour them.

The bird dived towards the cold waves. She could feel his fingertips, and the dampness of his breath – then they hit it. The water smacked her in the face, her lungs– everything lost focus. Bubbles and rushing water – then she felt a faint sensation pulling her downwards.

Suddenly the wetness was all gone.

Exotic

2008-07-10T13:55:00.003+02:00

She smelled exotic and mysterious. Spices, fruits and exotic herbs, dark chocolate, tea and sweet flowers. Her hair was long and her outfits flairy. As if she was going to fly away any minute - and dressed accordingly. Her perfumed scent followed her like a damp cloud. Where she had been it lingered in the heat and seduced everyone for a transfixed moment.

She also smoked. Much like a machine. She inhaled her black, spicy tobacco at any available occasion. Her skin was dark, like her teeth had become - and she wore her murky shades even when it rained. One couldn't be 100% sure of what she sold in her minuscule shop. The window display was filled with small whirring objects and artifacts that'd glitter and sporadically go "ding!" or "tink!". And only rarely were people seen in it or around it.

During opening hours she'd take her fluffy and giant, cherry-coloured armchair outside, and she'd sit in the sun and puff away on her cigarettes like a steam engine. In a ravishly overdone glass goblet she'd sip something pearly and transluscent with such a powerful scent that all insects within immediate range would die.

Only newcomers to the area found her fascinating, as most of the locals had grown tired of speculating on her oddness. They had grown no wiser from it. Even her curious landlord on the second floor had stopped caring. She didn't keep pets or make noises - and mysteriously - always paid her rent on time.

Ae Ou Oey Situation - Top of the City pt. 2

2008-05-20T13:17:00.000+02:00

Top of the City Pt. 1

After a while, rushing as fast as he could through the forest, he had forgotten everything about cold or pain. She coughed occasionally and a little later he could feel new, warm streams of blood drip down his wrists. He focused on her heartbeat and tried to make it synchronize with his. Overcome with exhaust his whole body was now throbbing from the force of his heart – hers was but a mere faint beat, but he kept his mind intently on it. Maybe if he paid attention to it constantly, it wouldn’t ever fade out and disappear. Maybe if he could just move a little quicker. Maybe if he kept checking she was alive, she couldn’t die.

Her ribcage rose convulsively as if she was hiccupping, but he realized she was trying to say something. There was no time to stop and listen. Speak up, he begged her, between his gasps for air to his fleshy lungs. Twitching, she inhaled again “It’ll be fine, really” she said, her faced pinched up on the last word. The pain was tormenting her. –“Y-es” he started. “Yes, of course i-it will!” he said. “Don’t stop b-breathing” he commanded firmly. For a split second he saw her smile, then her eyes rolled up in their sockets and she fainted. The body became even limper than before.

He didn’t admit that he was lost in the woods, the light of the city still shone brightly over the treetops, and he was walking towards it – at least he thought so. The snow and pain made it all a fine haze before his eyes; he had no idea where he was. For a moment he stood confused, but then he heard the bellowing sound of a truck horn, and never had he been more delighted to hear it. It had to be the highway.

From nowhere he gained energy to run against the penetrating sound, and the familiar whoosh of cars rushing past met him as he emerged from the forests edge. With no time to lose he climbed wearily up the steep ditch and shifted her weight over to one arm while waving frantically for help. Incidentally, a car stopped almost immediately, which he hadn’t expected, but he didn’t bother to question.

“The-there’s been, an, an, a-n, acci-dent!” he hollered above the noise of cars as a woman came out from the drivers side. Her husband appeared from the passenger seat, he said something and gasped while reaching for his mouth. Without questioning much, the husband quickly took over the load of the child and pointed for Kai to get in the car. Swiftly, he eased the girl in after him, and laid her head in his lap – ordering him to wake her, and make her stay conscious. But all Kai could hear was the loud bangs of the car doors and the suspense in the warm, enveloping car as they geared and sped up towards the city.

He awoke as the couple was helping the girl and he out of the vehicle, there was blood all over. As he dazed and cold made his way into the sharp lights of the hospital, he too lost grip of the world around him, and he felt that it was so nice to die. Had he ever imagined such mild, comforting rest, he would have died many years before. Voices snapped him back in to the room, but then lost him again – and he felt like he was sinking down into the depths of – something he wasn’t sure of. And then it was quiet. Finally.

Ae ou Oey situation - "Hallway" version II

2007-12-28T01:46:00.000+01:00

Her eyes were set inside her face, full cheekbones and the bones under her eyebrows made her eyes seem like they came crawling out under the shadows of her face. These deep eyes were so dark brown, they were almost black. Her eyebrows were lean, innocent, and expressionless. Her lips were small, square, pink – forming a very small ‘o’. She had beautiful and heavy, thick curls that bounced and fought vigorously around her face. It curled in under her chin, because it wasn’t much longer than that. It was long enough to be tucked behind her ears when she laughed, short enough to flow out of the way – so you could see her closed eyes when she was dancing. She wasn’t at all pointy, all her edges were soft and round, there was nothing sharp, and nothing hostile about her slim, warm appearance. Her legs were way longer than her upper body, and she had long, disproportionate arms hanging softly down the sides of her. Though still she had this particular air around her, as if she was royalty; she was a queen, not a mere princess – and there was nothing about her that would suggest otherwise.

She was wearing a sea in the middle of a tempest. It was storm black, wrapped around her very heavily, big and expensive. It was a looming black-gray dress, flowing around her ankles with vague hints of thunder dark blue along the highlights. It was silky and smooth – revealing one of her milk coloured shoulders, partly hidden beneath its darkness. She was posing with her toes curled in under her feet, and her legs folded underneath the dress. Her heels were pointing out from the hem of her dress, like foam on top of the tempest waves. Her eyes were determined, maybe even a little sad. If you tried looking into her eyes, she would stare right past you, unable to catch her gaze she would focus somewhere else - right through you.

With both hands, Madeleine grabbed the porcelain and lifted it from the pedestal. But the figurine was heavier than she thought, so her elbows dropped to her knees, still holding the statue in her freckled, pink fingers. She’d let out a little gasp, but then with some difficulty lifted the figure up above her head to smash it against the floor with all her might.

He walked in to the room, because he had heard her enter the house. With a puzzled, calm expression, he questioned her with the motion of his eyes. And he said; what are you doing? But he said it without saying anything at all. He took the statuette from her envious clutch and put it back up on the pedestal. With two fingers he dusted her milk coloured porcelain shoulders, and slowly traced her breastbones and the gentle sloping of her white neck. He followed the dark depths of her eyes and the bounce in her curls, her pink lips and the thunder coloured dress with his attentive, blank eyes. Suddenly he awoke from this trance, and seemingly transfixed with a new thought; he let his hand fall back down to his side, and left the room again.

She was left there alone in the empty room with the tempest queen. He had left her there alone with this porcelain girl that had the face and body of a disproportionate sixteen year old. She was standing there alone, together with a lump of porcelain symbolizing something bigger and more significant to him than herself.

The room suddenly felt emptier, the cold tiles of the grand, silent hallway seemed to surround her as if ready to devour her.

Tears were building up behind her eyes, it felt painful as they pressed on under her brows. She was still wearing her coat, and she had not even had time to take her shoes off. With a mild sob her eyes had filled to the brim, a wall of warm glass blurred her vision. She dropped to the floor quietly, limp as a doll. And she lay on the cold, tiled ground and listened to her heartbeats, counting the warm tears that now let go of her eyes and drizzled down her worn face.

The eyes of the tempest queen now suddenly looked straight at her. They were dark and menacing now that she could see them clearly through the depths, there was nothing calm and contemplative about them. The tempest queen was looking at her with hatred, Madeleine thought. Frightened and angry, Madeleine quickly got up on her feet again – and enraged she grabbed the porcelain and watched it drop from her fingertips, crashing to the floor. A million bits of porcelain shot along the floor to the furthest corners of the hall. And sobbing wildly she collapsed into the ocean of broken shards, her skin slicing open by the touch of the razor sharp debris. Her blood blended with the stormy waves of porcelain as she smeared her throbbing arms over the floor. Her mouth was full with the flavour of salt, her runny nose, her dark blood – her heartfelt tears. But she didn’t scream, she just curled up quietly in the warm puddle, muttering questions to herself.

Why did he not love her? Why did he love the tempest queen? Why had he brought this figure with him? Was the pain not tangible enough as it was – for him to go on and bring her this incarnation of the truth? Why had she not stopped him when she realized he had fallen for this girl?

And the wounds of her skin hurt nothing compared to the fleshy cut in her heart. And her tears tasted nothing as bitter as the image of the tempest queen, glued to the inside of her eyelids.

And she didn’t stop crying, even when he came running out to the hall and lifted her from the blood-stained ocean, trying to make her say something sane. Even when he was trying to make her wake up from her haze of madness, and trying to stop the blood from bleeding her dry – she still cried and muttered.

When she woke up she felt calmer. Then only to look across the sanitary and white, hospital room and meet his warm face – everything calm was disrupted. Her heart made a swoop right down to her toes, and tears started popping up in her vision uncontrollably. The split second of happiness she had awoken with – had now disappeared without a trace.

She turned her face away from him on the pillow as he tried talking to her. He had probably said something that could make her feel better, but she was too angry to listen, her ears had blocked shut – she wanted him to leave. Yet she could not seem to find the words he always could, she wished he understood why she’d broken the tempest queen. Maybe he did, she pondered – though in all likelihood, he probably didn’t. He would act innocent until the opposite was proved; and THEN he’d start defending himself, making up excuses as he’d go along. Why was he so transparent?

It felt easier to hate him, so she didn’t have to feel betrayed.

Maybe she could just hand him the wedding ring and tell him to get lost, hit the road, and never come back again. Though she didn’t want to lose him, TP suggested she pretend like she had just wanted to take a closer look at the tempest queen and then dropped it by accident. Maybe he would keep going to see the tempest queen, maybe he wouldn’t – let’s always pretend like the latter, TP suggested. She nodded calmly. She could live on a lie, she had no problem living on a lie. He would never see the tempest queen again; they could be happy.

“I feel dizzy” She said woozily, stepping in to the role, painting a few lies, preparing for the Academy Award.

Only for each other

2007-12-26T22:56:00.000+01:00

They had never been seen together before, and nobody knew who they were.

One day they just came walking down the street together, with one anothers fingers wrapped in the other. The fact that it was raining horribly did not seem to affect them the least. People went looking for their spaceship some time later, as few in town had seen happiness in years. In fact they all thought of their behaviour to be so strange that they believed them to come from somewhere far far out in outer space.

And though they were alienated and somehow outkasts from the little town society - they had eyes for only each other, and inspired many a soul to never give up on love again. In their skin and in their eyes they carried all the love and the hope of a lifetime, it was indeed a strange thing to witness.

The rain and the wind pressed heavily against them, but their love was like love is - rock steady and inpenetrable by such weak forces. They sung and laughed together, what had nature to fight that?

In many ways they remained different, but they seemed more whole when they were together. Like a little part of them was missing when the other one was not there, clicheed as this may sound - it was true. Whenever they were apart they thought about the other constantly, at least it seemed like it; because their eyes became glass-like and distant, and they never really opened them properly until they saw each other again.

Their feet splashed against the wet ground, love gleaming off their eyes, raindrops sparkling off their faces. And the others thought of them as ridiculous, and nobody had experienced such love - but they had, surely. And they made sure to live it out to the fullest. Because unlike most people, they had understood that in all these pitiful, pathetic words lay one truth.

The truth about what really matters in life; the difference between the importance of what people think of you, and what the important people think of you. That whatever way you may live you must know that it is not always about pleasing others, because you live only for yourself and the ones you feel it's worth living for. Life is about the small things. Collecting the moments one by one and create the future!

Ae Ou Oey Situation - Hallway

2007-12-11T00:53:00.000+01:00

Her eyes were set inside her face, full cheekbones and the bones under her eyebrows made her eyes seem like they came crawling out from deep under the shadows of her face. The eyes were so dark brown, they were almost black. Her eyebrows were lean, innocent, and expressionless. Her lips were small, square, pink – forming a very small ‘o’. She had beautiful and heavy, thick curls that bounced and fought vigorously around her face. It curled in under her chin, because it wasn’t much longer than that. It was long enough to be tucked behind her ears when she laughed, short enough to flow out of the way – so you could see her closed eyes when she was dancing. She wasn’t at all pointy, all her edges were soft and round, there was nothing sharp, and nothing hostile about her slim, warm appearance. Her legs were way longer than her upper body, and she had long, disproportionate arms hanging softly down the sides of her. Though still she had this particular air around her, as if she was royalty; she was a queen, not a mere princess – and there was nothing about her posture that would suggest otherwise.

She was wearing a sea in the middle of a tempest. It was storm black, wrapped around her very heavily, big and expensive. It was a looming black-gray dress, flowing around her ankles with vague hints of thunder dark blue along the highlights. It was silky and smooth – revealing one of her milk coloured shoulders, partly hidden beneath its darkness. She was posing with her toes curled in under her feet, and her legs folded underneath the dress. Her heels were pointing out from the hem of her dress, like foam on top of the tempest waves. Her eyes were determined, maybe even a little sad. Even if you looked straight into them, she would look right past you, right through you, drenched in thought and melancholy.

With both hands, Madeleine grabbed the porcelain. But it was heavier than she’d thought, so her elbows dropped to her knees, still holding the statue in her freckled, pink fingers. She’d let out a little gasp from the effort, and prepared to smash the figure against the floor with all her might. He walked in to the room, because he had heard her enter. With a puzzled, calm expression, he questioned her with the motion of his eyes. And he said; what are you doing? But he said it without saying anything at all. He took the statue from her envious clutch and lifted it back up on the pedestal. With two fingers he dusted her porcelain shoulders, slowly tracing her breastbones and the gentle, sloping of her neck. He awoke suddenly, and seemingly transfixed with a new thought; he let his hand fall back down to his side, and left the room.

She was left there alone, with the tempest queen.
She was left there alone with the porcelain girl that had the face and body of a disproportionate sixteen year old.
She was left there alone, with a lump of porcelain symbolizing something bigger and more significant to him than herself.

The room suddenly felt emptier, the cold tiles of the grand hallway seemed to surround her as if ready to devour her. It was obscurely empty and silent, the air was dense and dim – she could make nothing of it.

Tears were building up behind her eyes, it was painful and her nose twitched. She was still wearing her coat, and she still had her shoes on. So she dropped to the floor quietly, limp as a doll. And she lay there, listening to the beats of her heart, counting the warm tears that drizzled down her worn face.

The eyes of the tempest queen now suddenly looked straight at her. Frightened and angry, Madeleine quickly got up on her feet – enraged she grabbed the porcelain and watched it drop from her fingertips, crashing to the floor. A million pieces of a black and white porcelain sea were shot along the floor to the furthest corners of the hall. And sobbing wildly she collapsed into the ocean of broken shards, her skin cutting open, her blood blending with the stormy waves. Her mouth was full with the flavour of salt, her runny nose, her dark blood – her heartfelt tears. But she didn’t scream, she just curled up quietly, and she muttered questions to herself. Why did he not love her? Why did he love the tempest queen? And the wounds of her skin hurt nothing compared to the fleshy cut in her heart. And her tears tasted nothing as bitter as the prickling in her fingertips.

And she didn’t stop crying, even when he came running out to the hall and lifted her from the blood-stained ocean, trying to make her say something sane. Even when he was trying to make her wake up from her haze of madness, and trying to stop the blood from bleeding her dry – she still screamed, still cried.

Ae ou oey situation - On top of the city

2007-12-09T23:26:00.000+01:00

He pressed her bird-like skeleton hard against him, her cold, white, shivering skin against his coat. The mute snowflakes rained slowly down on her hair, her chapped lips muttered, and even though it was silent – he could not hear what she said. Underneath her swollen eyelids he could see her dark eyes, tears emitting from them like walls of hot glass. And he could hear her now, with her dark hair wet and messy, clinging to her face, frozen lips saying his name.

She was shaking, her heart beat slower than he remembered, maybe because she had grown, maybe because she was dying.

He too –now shaking, whispered her name, squeezed her tight, tucked her wet hair behind her ears, held on to her small, freezing hands. The snow was as white as her, like porcelain. And he knew he would always love her. And no matter how long he would have to wait for help – he would not give up waiting this time. He would wait until they came, even though the blizzard would take his life, he would wait. And he would find no rest until they came for her. Came and helped her, warmed her up, made her laugh again. And at that point he refused to let go, so he stood up – with her shivering body in his arms. And on what was left of his exhausted feet; he started walking towards the city.

It was so strange because he could see the lights of the thousands of people that lived there.
But he knew none of the thousand people were looking at them, where they stood, even though she shone as the brightest light of them all.

Ae ou oey (working title)

2007-12-06T22:24:00.001+01:00

I'm currently working on a new story, it's more emotional, and I suppose also, a lot less fun than the ones I have made previously. My plans are huge for this one, and I'm afraid it might just turn out too 'easy'. Therefore I am now working hard with learning how to restrain myself from explaining things, and try to make things more subtle instead. After all, it's half the fun trying to figure out a book without having it spelled out for you. At least I think so, and I promised myself to only write things I'd like to read myself.

A lot of the story really depends on the truth in my characters, so if there's anything you think should be noted as a flaw, or a shortcoming which appears not to be realistic to you - don't hesitate to let me know!

So - here goes!

He had been waiting endlessly, even though it would reach an end – it didn’t seem likely to end in the near future. He’d slowly been pacing the room, steadily, like a locomotive, it wasn’t much like him. Even though he was patient and didn’t mind waiting, this was waiting with a capital W, and he didn’t know if he was ready for it, and he couldn’t stand all the commas. The problem was that he didn’t know what he was waiting for, a hand perhaps, or a shoulder, but not a whole person, he knew a new, whole, entire person couldn’t fit in his heart as it was. His heart was the blood-filled gap left after a felt tooth, a soft, moist dent in the gums. Full of flavour and loss. And even though he hated it, he couldn’t help but to reach back for it, touching it, feeling it widen from the pressure of his thoughts, emitting dark, red blood from around the edges. He could feel the throbbing of his wounded heart, the grasp of his fingernails pulling his hair, digging into his white scalp.

Then again he was just waiting, just thinking, just hoping, just slowly disappearing. Slowly dissolving into something so thin it was hardly visible, he tried to think of something so thin. Maybe like rice paper, he thought. He was becoming rice paper from all this waiting. And even though the parchment dryness in his lungs suffocated him, it couldn’t absorb the blood he pushed from his heart with his thoughts.

There were plenty of girls he wanted, and he charmed them and smiled at them, and at least most was polite- or sincere enough to like him. Obviously, like every one else, they all thought he was crazy. But to be honest, he thought, still pacing, still despising the commas; he liked that. He enjoyed being different, unpredictable, weird and not always groomed to an almost intolerable extent.

He knew he could be loud and funny, he knew he could last hours without having to speak, he knew he could say as much with his eyes as with his voice, and – what he thought was most important – he knew when to say something, and when not to say something. On occasion he even said the right things, but he wouldn’t flatter himself by saying he always did that. On the contrary, he said lots of dumb things; it was as if -if he wouldn’t regret it later, it wasn’t worth saying. This wasn’t a motto he lived by, but sometimes when he replayed the days in his mind during the afternoon – he found that he just as might ought to have done so.

Most of the time he didn’t mind where he paced, but right that moment he knew where he was – it was just that he didn’t know what time it was, and so he found it difficult to wait. He always wanted to know what time it was, he was clock-omanic. Not even a rare case, most people are addicted to checking their watches, the problem is that they do, and then they forget about it immediately after, so there’s no reason to bother asking what time it is at all, chances are that you’d forgotten in a heartbeat.

Point was, he didn’t know what he was waiting for, or why – and, more importantly – for how long? There were plenty of people around him on a daily basis that he could talk to, he practically shared his skin with his best friend… it was just that, sometimes, he would break down. And he would fall apart completely, he would sit and cry openly on the bus, or at work, in secret when he came home, and the least little thing would trigger him again (if he ever found a way out of it). It would take an idiot to not understand that he was crying because he was lonely, that he felt weighed down by forces uncontrollable by anyone, and that whenever he thought too much – he thought about the wrong things, and ended up crying himself to sleep. Not a particularly charming attribute, but one he was willing to keep, until he found a way of getting rid of it for good.

There were the good weeks, and the bad weeks, sometimes these were months, sometimes days – maybe even hours. But mostly, they were weeks, as I said. And he thought a little about that in the shower that night, but there was no real conclusion, why was his mood split up in weeks? Was he really that mental? Like a calendar? As usual he had been waiting in vain, because nobody came. Not that he really wanted anyone to, but maybe if he didn’t think too much about it, someone would show up and he would like it. To prevent getting very disappointed he always convinced himself that nobody was going to come into his life and make it all better, wasn’t very likely anyway, seeing he was waiting in his own kitchen.

*

She was much different, she had everything, both what he had – including everything he didn’t have, and all the things anyone would ever want to have. She had a career, she had good looks, a little, but handsome selection of girlfriends – and she had laughter, and joy. Her hair was strawberry blonde, and she had very marked, worn features – that made her look older than she really was. But though her face had depth and shadows, with unusual curves, it suited her very well. Across her cheekbones and her very distinct nose were sprinkled a selection of freckles, and her ears were set very close to her head, almost invisible. Between thin, pink lips she had almost frighteningly white and even teeth. And on her left hand was an impressive engagement ring.

The thing she always brought with her in her bag was her planner. A little black, leather bound book that contained her life. Not her thoughts or her opinions - her dreams or what she consisted of, just her plans. Actually she loved to make plans, and she was never spontaneous. She could be funny – but not without thinking it through first, not without planning it in beforehand. Her planner looked like something out of his very worst nightmares, and he hated it. Everything was written with the correct pen, so that it was colour coordinated, chronological and even numbered after priority. It contained details like “06:04 – Brush hair”. When she wasn’t watching he scowled at it, threw it nasty looks from across the table and wishing it hadn’t been such a grand part of her personality. If it wasn’t for the book they never would have met either, he guessed – but still he could find it within himself to hate it – despite his sustainable gratefulness towards it.

According to The Planner, known henceforth as ‘TP’ – she was to get engaged before March 5th, it was coordinated with her promotion and her sister’s birthday. Her age, her social status and everything had been taken into consideration as TP had set her faith before her, there was only one slight problem. Very, very few things had been written in TP and not been followed up, but the few things that hadn’t, gnawed on her conscience, on her bones and on her mind most part of the year. One of these very, very few things was by incident also one very important thing; to get a boyfriend. Actually the cause of the very, very few un-ticked boxes inside TP was that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Anything along the lines of: “Walking in the park, kiss under a tree. See a dog, love it, and buy a puppy together” would be impossible to follow up. And she realized this, but now it was getting late and time was running out. March 5th was disgustingly near.

It was mere coincidence – something she didn’t like much – that they ran into each other at the supermarket and he had proposed to her next to the onions and the red peppers. Ironically, he had meant it as a joke, he was even drunk, he’d found the golden ring under the stairs when looking for toilet paper, but she had said yes with tears in her eyes – and he couldn’t find a way to explain that it was meant as a joke. The reason why she said yes was probably because her blondest friend, Sally – had made all the girls smoke crack that same morning when lighting a box of what she thought had been incense. So stoned, stressed, deprived of sleep and also terribly eager to find a husband – she’d thought of it as a perfect event, and rewrote it in her head, so she could tell it to her friends and convince them it had been both romantic, and not surprising – because they had been ready for the next step, or something like that.

A strong soup, a strong moustache

2007-05-30T23:55:00.000+02:00

"Catfish fin soup?" he questioned, and his eyes were so quizzical he went crosseyed for a moment. He lifted the heavy spoon and tipped it carefully to one side, watching as the opalescent, milky contents drizzled back in to the cup.
-"it is good for your health, you have a strong cold, sir" she said firmly, her words could cut paper. She threw him a rock-steady look, still ferociously continuing to rub the teapot clean.
Slightly intimidated by this, both her tone and overarm, he began to sip from the mellow mixture. In addition to wearing his very small hat today, the hat so small it squeezed his head until it became all wrinkly at the top - he also had a thin tie tied loosely around his fat neck. In big gulps he swallowed the lumpy contents of the cup, keeping his eyes firmly shut. He didn't know why closing ones eyes could possibly limit the taste to any extent, but at least he would then - not need to look at her moustache. After collecting his empty cup, she left, her broom, her bucket, her rich soap and her moustache with her.
And as the room now lay silent, and a rather bitter aftertaste was making its way up from the bottom of his system

he missed her.

Better Jelly

2007-05-21T22:18:00.001+02:00

Yes, I think you are too complicated
Most of the time I don’t understand you at all
Perhaps if we spoke the same tongue, maybe
I’d understand you somehow remotely better

But I am sure it will be better
Oh, lovely, so much better
In the morning when we have some jelly.

The unconditional sweet, the true servant by your feet
You know that he will worship you, and he will serve you well
His eyes are lost in the words you say, his ears are just about to yell
If his affection grew any stronger now, think of something better

But I am sure it will be better
Oh, lovely, so much better
In the morning when we have some jelly.

if I could ever deserve your eye, then life would be a price to high
With the colours in the depths of pens, what could make me comply?
Moss green acres, and free round ponds, like a helpless baby – clinging to the fronds

I really wish you could stop thinking so much,
Because all the thoughts mash up and make you clogged
Whenever I’m trying to reach you, you are still too busy
Trying too hard to work the clogging cloggier clogs out,
And I hate that, it gives me nothing – just hope it will be better

But I am sure it will be better
Oh, lovely, so much better
In the morning when we have some jelly.

Message

2007-05-14T00:45:00.000+02:00

Easy as peas, wild as the seas,
great as the sun, sweet as a bun,
as caring as mum, as drugging as rum.
You are so easy, you make Bob's hair look greasy.

4 hours? :( baaby :(

Now it works, but then it doesn't.

've spoken to other people, but they're not as fun. I realise now how much I miss you when you're not around.

hell is loose, better start cuddling.

Stay close.

what are you playing at? you know how much I like you already, and then you go and talk to me and make everything so much worse!

Wish I could have woken up next to you this morning.

you had already made your mind up befre I gave you my point of view

if it weren't for you.

Yes, if I died next week, I'd regret not meeting you :( I would if I died today, anyday, until I've met you.. Then I'll most likely regret not getting to spend every remaining second of my life with you.. Right now that seems like what I want, but I know that's just really, really stupid, and I need to think, and now I don't know what to think, and there are so many things I have to do, and think about.

I know it sounds clichéd, but I care about you more than you can imagine, and I'm right here for you whenever you need me.

I woke up his morning, turning over in my bed, opening my eyes and expecting you to be there. I was so disappointed :(

Birds in a tree, sing a song for me, about being young and foolish and naïve.

Call it off, you're insane to have even started this, you're insane for falling for her in the first place!

you are aware that you can never, ever go anywhere, I wont be able to fall asleep without a decent dose of you, just a smile, puts me to comfortable rest.

BUT, we, shouldn't talk love, because I could sit here all night

Well, it's up to you, I'll be here for a little while yet.

this is why i love you. you're awesome!

So feel free to bother me lots love, I really want to be bothered, especially.. Actually, only by you.

Now come give me some love before I have to kick your ass.

My mind is working against me. It tries to convince me to call it all off, to end all that I have with you. But it won't let me do that, because it loves your mind too much, and it would kill me to say goodbye.

Right now, I'm lost in you, you are amazing and I love you.
never, never forget that.

You should shut up. I don't want you to ever shut up, but sometimes other people might want you to shut up. so shut up.

The most wonderful thing about us, and the only thing that makes it actually liveable (it still just barely is) is that I can picture everything so vividly and real inside my head, as if it happens.

I can't help but being nuts about you, the way you make me feel is abolutely amazing, and every day I think of you, every minute, every thing I do or say I think whether I'd do the same if you were there..

What hit me most is when you said "it's wrong, it's sick". you're completely right.

You can NOT fuck your life up because of me, and you should NEVER get hurt because of me. I said the other night that if someone tried to hurt you, I'd be in there so fast.. Well, I'm the one that's doing it. That's the problem.

You did it again!
I did *what* again?? :)
i don't know
But I like it!

My Dear Lucille

2007-05-07T01:09:00.000+02:00

I am treading back and forth on the creaking wooden planks,
trying to think of a way to send you my deepest thanks.
Every room is empty, every bed feels cold,
not a corner friendly, not a sunbeam gold.

- and I miss you so deeply, so much it really hurts,
tears of pain, and sorrow now stains my shirts.
The gloomy morning is dry as parchment in this vicious air,
my thoughts are with you, my Lucy - not a piece of me here.

There is no longer any softness in my existense,
darkness and fear is now thick with persistence.
I am now so lonely, so horribly alone,
that every petal on my flowers - feels like stone.

I just wish to thank you, for every moment spent,
you probably don't realise, how quickly it all went.
The world I view now is different, sadder, in a way
I wish I had last summer - found an excuse to stay.

Find it in you to forgive me, as you recieve this note,
every word inside it, said with a lump in my throat.
Do not throw away the paper in your hand, and do not cry,
I will always be yours, Lucy - for you I'd bleed myself dry.

Row

2007-04-17T20:23:00.000+02:00

"Who do you think you are? Barging in here like that! I can't believe it! You don't live here anymore Patrick, no more than any of your disgusting friends!"
- "Miss Bay, you are overreacting! The door was open, and I know you hate it when people knock on wood!"
- "What a poor excuse! How dare you? You know bloody well I don't like people coming uninvited either. Now if you please, you are not welcome here, and you will not be, not for a good while. Hear that, Patrick? Do you hear that? Do you?"
- "Oh please, save me from your anger, Miss Bay, I am here on a professional ground only, ignore the fact that you already know me... That you betrayed me..."
- "That was so uncalled for! You bastard! How do you get the nerves to say such a thing to me? After all that I've done for you, and all that's left is your pathetic obsession with one little incident. You scoundrel!"
- "ah hahaha! Expanded your vocabulary, have you, honeypumpkins?"
- "Don't call me that. Get out of my house. Right now!"
- "No seriously, I'm sorry. You are right - after all this time I should be past the stage of just wanting to get back at you, it's primal, I'm sorry - I just can't help myself. But please, listen. This is actually important,"
- "Hah! Compared to all the things you have said before, I have a strong doubt about this being even remotely fascinating. But go on, I feel like laughing at peoples misery."

sigh

2007-04-15T22:34:00.000+02:00

And you can just sit there, rant all these things. Not minding nothing, not the world, not the ... not the mind in itself, and rather just split your brain open like a sugar snap pea - letting little round thoughts of irrelevance pour out on the audience.

It's not the same if anyone else do it, if you do it, it's different. It is different because sometimes it hurt when you do - not like what your mind spills is offensive for everyone, and you say it like you mean it as a joke. It quite simply hurts because it never changes, there's nothing surprising about it - what you say is not exactly the same - but that makes no difference. There's still absolutely nothing nice about it, and you do it to hide your incompetence.

But why is there never a different rant? Not because you don't know any better, you spend a lot of time thinking, but you never dare say spot on what turned out to be your conclusion. I suppose that is why you always have to sit and rant like that.

Lately you have gained the habit of starting every conversation with a little puddle of insignificant words.

And they give me nothing.

Considering paradise

2007-03-26T20:22:00.000+02:00

The landscape was close to flawless, the constitutional green hills topped with trees were in place, so were carpets of red and yellow flowers, all this sparkly fresh summerness - draped in a thin veil of twinkling morning dew. The perfectly blue river cut through the sun-bathed landscape like a sharpened snake. They all subtedly agreed that this had to be the place, seeing it was all looking real nice - especially from a distance. And they all supposed 'nice' was the word that would cover it best, none of them expected it to be, or had expected it to be, even remotely like the opposite, which I suppose would be 'bad'.

And he swelled like a muffin, his face in a range varying from plum to apple, slapping the papers on the desk with the utmost fury, snorting undignified. He was shaking with self-control, though he was hardly able to control anything.
"Please, Marcus" the man sitting on the other side of the desk said calmly, his fingertips tapping lightly against each other. "Put the scissors down and sit, for crying out loud". His voice was like velvet, and this annoyed the other person further. His bum did no such thing as to touch the chair behind him, but remained standing out awkwardly as he leant a bit further over the oak desk. When he spoke his words were like stapled to the atmosphere.
- "If you have any idea how much of my time I have spent thinking, plotting and working this out, Elliot" he said, spitting the name as it was venom. "I strongly doubt that you would call it such as you did, it was, it was crude, crude and careless, I dare say. Careless and unprofessional".

The silence was struck with a heavy punch as Elliot let out a sarcastic row of dry laughter, he shook his head and looked at Marcus. There was nothing else, all which was heard was a scream muffled through the walls, and Marcus' heart thumping away like wheels against railroad spikes. The awkwardness was dried out as Elliot continued his little laugh by adding crisply:
- "This is hardly pofessional Marc, honestly, stick-figures? You can do better. You told me specificly to tell you exactly what I thought of it, and so I did. If it is so that you can't handle the honesty, Marc - then ask me to lie to you the next time". The room suddenly felt a bit more damp as Marcus slowly deflated, still quivering though, but his heartbeat on a more healthy pace than previously. "We should have had a clock in here" Elliot said as much to the desk as to Marcus. "It gets painfully silent when there's nothing ticking away on the wall". Marcus opened his mouth to reply rudely, but was cut in by three sharp knocks of ladyfingers on the thin office door - the kind which actually just exist in poor romantic comedies and soap operas, but it had been cheap, so. (Most of the poor romantic comedies and all soap operas would end up outside that door anyway, so perhaps it was appropriate, considering.)

The transformation of the square office was as always a fabulous sight. The loose, soporific white collars and senile ties on the two men were instantaneously exchanged with long, black cloaks, their careless bed-heads with delicate horns, the unflattering 5 o' clock shade with enticing goatees and the desk made a silent 'shloop' sound, melting itself into the shape of being made of human skulls. The laptop on the now quite intimidating desk made a formidable 'pop' and became a most fractious silver ashtray held up with the help of ladies gifted with generous female curves. Next to it, the dried up Club-sandwich made a sound like a balloon emptying out it's air, gently morphing into a large plate made of some kind of gloomy dark vulcanic-mineral displaying all kinds of nauseating squirming things topped with cream - as if they were to be eaten.

A devilishly (literally) attractive young woman entered, she had a clip-board under her left arm, and was wearing that leather suit jacket with the matching short and tight skirt you will never actually see a secretary wear, ever. Her eyes were a bold yellow, her stilettoes had heels sharp as needles. Stepping aside as the filing cabinet (now a fuming pit of lava) spat a tongue of flames at her, she looked the two gentledevils in the eye before handing Marcus the clip-board. Without a word from her mesmeric blood-coloured pout, she turned on one heel - her tail swaying - before leaving the office and closing the door with a gentle 'snap'.

Elliot let his belly as discreet as possible puff out again and it hung a fair bit over his large, heavy belt covered with sharp and bad looking spikes. - "All these formalities are really becoming a bore" Marcus said, sighing. "It is the most twisted masquerade I have ever witnessed since ... ever". Elliot let out a thoughtful giggle. -"Eternity" he added, musingly, snapping the clipboard out of Marcus' hands. It was silent again, only the constant whisking of screams could be heard in the distance. "And I am hating the goatee" Marcus added, dryly.

- "W e l c o m e!" a voice said attentively, it was the voice of someone sounding just a tad to positive. They all turned around from the view of the fantastic valley, seemingly enchanted by all the glitter they had to squint to get the person into proper focus. The man was short, and also considerably bald, he had a tempting, enthusiastic and lively face. One could tell right away that this was a man of good quality, which had made his way in the world with wits and people skills and not necessarily his technical competence or ability in his trade. No, this was a man who knew upside from down, and used it wisely. He threw his arms out all excitedly and by incident happened to whack his hand right into a tree as he did. But instead of the sound of torn skin against bark emitting from the happy collision, there was the empty 'toc' of someone tapping on a piece of cardboard.

-"Cardboard stalactites? How does that even save money? It probably cost more to have the real ones removed! What's the use of stalactites made of stiff paper? - And what in the flying fluttering flop did they do to the real ones?" Marcus said, having read over Elliot's shoulder, now yelling partially out the window of the office.
-"I believe you will find that your matress has been replaced" Elliot replied, sounding pessimistic. There was a small grunt as Marcus continued to read, and the next line only infuriated him further.
-"The Steps of Pain Equal to Nine Million Rounds Through IKEA™ is being replaced by an escalator?! What will become of this place?! It is a hell for shirt-lifters n' old ladies! That's what it is! Next you know it they will make the coffee machine make exclusively de-caf! Who do they think they are?!" Outraged, Marcus stretched out for a cigar - but before his eyes the decorative Cuban box became a little tin of B-Vitamins. His ears emitted little dots of annoyed smoke.

"oh, p l e a s e, d o n o t m i n d t h e s c e n e r y! I t i s u n d e r g o i n g a b i t o f m a i n t e n a n c e. D o e s e v e r y b o d y h e r e s p e a k E - N - G - L - I - S - H?" He said, clearly trying hard to make sure he was understood, but only making it more difficult for himself. The little crowd let out muted little 'yes'es and someone nodded in a reserved fashion. "Splendid!" He said, shining with vivacity. "Right this way then, hop along - please! This way! No madam - do not - okay, okay you can do that - no sir! - this - yes, this way, thank you - right this way, watch your step, please. Thank you, yes, please do, okay". The little crowd, must've been about six or eight people, humbly walked forwards, around their feet was a thick blanket of white smoke, like they were walking on a road made of clouds, and the fog around their ankles was so thick they could not see their toes. Being a bit careful, they moved very slowly, the enthusiastic man, already starting to get annoying, was hopping around them saying 'please' and 'thank you' all over until the words stopped making sense.

They had now reached the last part of the report, the one stating, blood on paper, that a recycling cooperation was being made with Heaven© - for the first time in
twentyfour thou... well actually... it was
for the first time,
ever.

The cut in salary and reduced pension after a job for eternity did not seem all that bad compared to all the other restrictions. Most of the very vivid landscape was being reduced to an advanced Virtual Reality (VR) computer-generated world. As a part of the process, the original place was being temporarily replaced with details made at the local kindergarten. Real dragon-skin cloaks exchanged with polyester, and dead-sexy horns with a bit of plaster and candlewax. Everybody had to hand in nails, glue and toffee with immediate action so that the items could be made back into what they are originally made of, pure magic. Magic is, not surprisingly, a whole lot cheaper than buying real things, and naturally this had been taken into consideration when evaluating how to fight the long since bankruptcy of Heaven© and Hell©. Everything in-between would be made of plastic - including the whip with spikes used to force people back into their chairs when suffering through another sitting of Dungeons & Dragons vs. High School Musical.

-"Ooh! Look! We are getting a High-definition screen!" Elliot evinced, pointing a nail-less finger down to the middle of the page, in another desperate attempt of making the glass half-full. Marcus looked sourly down at where he was pointing. -"Yes" he replied, darkly. "But it will be playing solely Phil Collins music videos". He paused. "It is actually turning into hell now, isn't it? They are actually serious about making people suffer in other ways than the old-fashioned way. It is the real hell, unconditionally pain all around. What a shame". Elliot looked at the desk, it looked depressingly like a Warhammer-fanatic had painted a lot of plastic to make it look like a desk made entirely of human skulls. He had done a good job, but it still looked like a Warhammer fanatic had painted a lot of plastic to make it look like a desk made entirely of human skulls - which meant - it resembled nothing that it was not. Putting his head in his hands for a bit, he watched as the buttons on the coffee machine fainted until they all said: "De-Caf".

persnickety.

Log:
[Mon. March 26th 20:22]
[Mon. March 26th 23:32]

Intersection Work Objection

2007-02-28T17:52:00.000+01:00

The red light is glowing intently. The red man is standing completely still, both his luminous feet are firmly placed upon the black box in which he is signalling from.

"Best part of working in a pedestrian crossing is definitely not the people" says the red man stiffly. "The worst part is that I have to work, and that I have to work with.... 'that'..." The red man continues, and he does not even bother to point discreetly at the green man in the box underneath him, he rather throws a dull glance down at the currently dimmed light. The green man - though dark - is examining his own shoes with deep suspicion, occasionally kicking his left foot, awaiting a reaction.
Suddenly the red man goes black, and the green man flashes awake, beaming with upmost satisfaction.
-"I love my job" he exclaims excitedly. "I think there are so many nice things to see, and so many new things that happen all the time, I feel like I get noticed at work and that people do as I say, and that's great". The green man is looking extremely pleased, he lifts a cup of tea and winks at me.
"Notice that people will not cross the street until a few seconds after I start" the green man says with interest, and eyes the busy, grey men and women as they slowly lean forwards for a split second, before they at the same time start to scurry across the street. And he blinks, first once, then twice, then four more times, until he is dimmed out again.
The red man flashes on again, he looks even less enthusiastic than before.
-"I just wish I could work somewhere with a less noisy environment, sometimes I feel like my job doesn't really allow me to 'shine' if y'know-whad-Imean? I feel like other people really have their moments, while I'm not allowed to have them as often. I always have to wait before I'm allowed to speak up, yeah? In addition, my co-workers are all a bit dim. I wish they weren't so dim all the time." The red man finishes, he is once again frozen - glowing red, letting the cars rush past, clutching his head in his hands, looking gloom.

A Story for December nights

2007-02-28T17:45:00.000+01:00

She stood by the window and her hair was shimmering white in the light reflecting off the snow outside. He could not see that her cheeks were blushing, he could not see that she had dressed up nicely today - just for him. His eyes simply passed her, just like they had passed the desk, the fireplace, the bookshelves and the comfortable chair placed facing the desk. It was as if she was not even there.

He greeted her dryly, his eyes still glaring through a pair of spectacles and focusing on completely different things than her. He was in fact, completely oblivious of her presence for other matters than for business. She hid that she was disappointed, it was not the first time he had let her down, and it was nearly becoming a habit for her. Very carefully she had twirled her hair up in a top and had fastened it with pearly pins that morning, thinking of him. Standing before him now, she constantly brushed her skirt and blazer suit with her very thin hands, straightening creases to look her very best for him. Still he took no notice.

Gently she put the folders and the alphabetically sorted paperwork on his desk, she'd spent the entire night preparing his morning - a bit jittery she hoped he could not see the bags underneath her eyes. She had tried very hard to hide them, but we all know that that never works. Suddenly he looked up at her, his rough hand had grabbed the papers, and she had not let go of them, because she had been thinking about other things. Now blushing more clearly, like a pale apple bursting in to colour, she attempted to hide her face in her shirt's collar.
"You look very tired" he said crisply. Her knees made a little swoop, though she managed to stand up straight.
-"I was working very late with these folders sir" she said, not realising that she had sounded a bit bitter, but her voice was still soft and clear. And he still took no notice of her.

Even at lunch, when she brought him croissants and coffee, he did not look up at her. The only times he did, he would lean a bit to the right before criticizing something, it could be about her, about her work, about the potted plants in the hallway, about traffic, or about anything else which he could complain about. She loved it so when he did, because then she could hear his voice a little. She'd tip her head very gently, and she'd listen with every cell in her body, every bone and straw of hair would listen intently to what was on his heart.

Her friends found her a fool, telling her to stop spending her time working so hard and trying to make herself noticed by him. "He doesn't give you a damn!" her friend had said. "He is more like 'I acknowledge your existence', but there is nothing more than that honey, he is using you". She smiled, he looked so adorable when reading something he liked to read, you'd had to be really good to actually tell, the difference from when he was reading something he did not like, was simply that he was frowning a little bit less when enjoying what he was reading.

It was nearly seven, she wanted to leave the office a bit earlier than usual, because it was one of her friend's birthday that day. With high heels put on just for the sake of him, she limped through the hallways, every other office was empty, people had left long ago. With blistered toes and swollen heels, she rounded the last corner, knocked once; and entered. Across his desk leant a woman, blonde, cheap curls leaning over his paperwork, a large cleavage revealed to his spectacles. Without thinking at the sight of this, she simply stepped backwards out the door and closed it. She thought that she'd start to cry when something like this happened, but for some strange reason she felt no different. It was obvious that she had not yet realised what she had just seen. Even when driving the company car, even when eating cake and handing over presents, even when drinking wine and talking to her friends, even when laughing, even when walking home, she could not get her brain to process the images now tattooed to the inside of her eyelids.

The following morning she went to work wearing a pair of lazy jeans. Her hair was tangled up with itself, and her face was looking very miserable and tired. There was no alphabetically sorted folders in her suitcase, and there were no stilettoes on her feet, there was not a professional smile to be seen, and there was not, not a beating heart inside her ribcage. Without passion she whacked the starbucks on to her boss' desk, she slammed the folders so hard, they nearly hit his face. Before leaving his office, she made a little grunt as a 'good morning'. She sat surfing the web all day, she did not stop by with lunch for him either, at five, she left along with all her other co-workers. When she came home she ate take-away, and she fell asleep, a pale face drooling over her kitchen counter. No heart beating in her chest, fine white light from the open fridge made her hair shimmer in white.

Description of Cake

2007-02-28T17:44:00.000+01:00

You could hear the rusten ricketing of the pan as it was carefully taken out of the old wooden stove.
Instantly the sensation of rich, flowing and full scents filled the air. The kitchen itself was damp, and the chefs stood around the cake, slowly easing it out of its pan and on to a round, shiny glass plate.

With stupefying expertise and adroitness one of them grabbed a whisk, and started to beat and cudgel a large portion of golden, luscious and rich caramel fudge. The velvety frosting was folded over and over, leaving small traces of where it before had been folded, and ever so slowly - going paler. Every now and then he lifted the whisk and the flowing, silky contents of the bowl slowly let go of the whisk and formed white, sharp tops, like a chain of snowy mountains.

Another chef rushed through the damp kitchen and grabbed hold of the bowl filled with wondrous little mountains and carried it over to the cake. With a spatula a third chef started to spread and unfold the meringued and heavy cream over the golden brown cake, parts of the tantalizing and appealing frosting partly melting into the cake.

As the savory and delicious cake was tucked away under the angelic cream, another three chefs were pouring a shiny and generous portion of melted dark chocolate on to a marble cutting board. Quickly they cut out shapes of leaves and branches, even tiny little berries, and flowers that looked so real, you would nearly lean over and try to smell them if you were there.
Once again a flow of scents gently caressed the nostrils of the present as candied lemon and strawberry was taken out from the blazing and flickering oven.
At another corner, a tray of muffins was being covered in a thin layer of coconut icing, the exotic flavour seemingly creating a different atmosphere.

A last, fat chef took hold of the cooled chocolate foliage and arranged it around on the cake, filling in any gaps with candied lemon and sugar-covered strawberries.
They all knew very well, because things went to a sudden still, steam stopped to fume, water stopped to foam, glowing embers stopped to smoke, and the kitchen stopped to clatter. The sensation of rich and attractive cake slowly filled the silenced room, like a carpet of pure perfection.

they had in fact made, this very indefectible, faultless, pure, paradisiacal, absolute and perfect cake.

Call me a Taxi!

2007-02-28T17:41:00.000+01:00

Soundtrack: Virginia Moon by Foo Fighters

They were standing quite peacefully on either side of the double glass door, their hats on their foreheads, long red coats with double rows of golden buttons touched the tip of their polished shoes. He stood on the left side, and he could not help but feeling incredibly smug in a uniform.

A woman came barging out the door, she was so covered in bags and packages, it was a miracle that she could even stand up straight. A little purple, furry bag fell to the ground, and he felt obliged to pick it up. He snapped it from the ground and reached it out to give it to her, but she looked offended and suddenly said: "Can't you see I am not able to carry that?! Could someone call me a taxi?". He was perplexed, and stood there with the purple purse in his hand, hesitating. -"Well?" Robert hissed, standing inpatiently on the other side of the glass door.

He didn't know what to say, rain was splattering down outside the little baldakin, and people were rushing by with great velocity. Robert gave him another inpatient hiss and he shrugged helplessly back. "Do you really suppose that is necessary?" he tried, Robert giving him a look like the planet just turned over, and the lady opening her mouth until it shaped a perfect little "o".

*fshhhhhh* the rain splashed angrily. "Well, if you insist" he said after another second of thinking.

"You're a taxi".

mmmmmmhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

2007-01-03T18:16:00.000+01:00

-"Who? Oh, oh yes, she is here, right here. Just hold on, please". Manicured nails tapped elegantly away at a pearly white keyboard. "You will be transferred right away sir, yes, thank you sir. Have a good day".
With a last polite *click*, the conversation ended. For a second or two, the female incarnation of perfected beauty let her sparkling brown eyes rest on the telephone, with a very nice and professional expression she turned to face me.
"And how may I help you?" she said sweetly, gifting me with 100% of her undivided attention. At first I could not speak. I just looked at her, she sure was a very beautiful woman, and her voice sounded so nice it made me all happy inside.
- "I am here to see Mr. Thompson" I said, and I hoped it would take her ages to look him up to give me the directions and to phone him to tell him I was here. But she simply pointed a long, slim finger to the left and said - "Right down the hall sir, fifth door to the right". Disappointed I parted with her, stumping along down the corridor, counting the doors that passed me.

My long coat was soaking wet, and there was no wonder my leather shoes were making *slooowp, slworp, schlop* noises while I was crossing the doorstep, because heavy showers had drowned the city for days. Mr. Thompson greeted me as usual, with his tempting, enthusiastic and lively face. One could tell right away that this was a man of good quality, which had made his way in the world with wits and people skills and not necessarily his technical competence or ability in his trade. No, this was a man who knew upside from down, and used it wisely. We were old friends, Mr. Thompson and I, and so it was a pleasure to meet him again after all this time. We had gone off to do different things, him and me, neither of us were though married, and either had children. So as we were much alike, we were also very different. A friend we both had back in the days, said that we were a puzzle, and that we fit together perfectly.

- "Christopher! You bony old carcass, why do I have the pleasure, eh? Sit down, sit down!" Mr. Thompson said happily, and motioned for me to take a seat in the chair opposite of him and his desk.

Version # 4

2006-10-29T23:34:00.000+01:00

1.

“Do you really think that trains rattle to attempt to break free?” the doctor said, pushing his head back a little, as to create distance between them.
- “There is a fault in that theory?” Mr. Llabeye said, but did not seem offended.
“You seem to have ignored the obvious importance of their urge to start dialogue” the doctor said and put his glasses on. “If the inventory of a train is interested in demonstrating freedom, break loose from their chains and organise strikes, it seems logical to me that these items would – in other words – want to communicate” He paused for the effect.
They were passing an exceptionally ugly area of forest where all the trees seemed bent or wrong in a way. The doctors eyes skipped back and forth in his eye-sockets as he was tossing glances at the passing trees, following them for the slight second possible before looking at a new tree. He met Mr. Llabeye’s eyes before continuing. “Doesn’t it sound like a language to you?” He raised his voice a notch and added – with a hint of excitement in his old eyes – “Listen!” he said imperatively, and raised a hand to cut Mr. Llabeye silent as he had drawn his breath to speak. The door at the far end of the carriage was rattling as if urging someone to open it. A wave of excitement spread across the old doctor’s face as the seat in front of them, now, in an odd way, seemed to be replying to what the door had just rattled. Mr. Llabeye thought for a little moment, he could’ve thought for longer, because the doctor was in his own little world. His bulgy old body was attempting to tap the beat of the door and seat with pointy, black shoes. The doctor was lost in his own rhythm and his bowler hat was slowly tipping more and more over to one side.
– “Well I can’t see why not” Mr. Llabeye said finally, settling with the Doctors linguistic hypothesis, he leant back into his seat, the train wiggling him back and forth a long with the rhythm of the passenger heads in front of him.

Tedvard Llabeye, otherwise known as Ted, Tedvard, Mr. Llabeye or Teddy (the nickname he preferred the least) was not a very important person. His late father, Oliver Llabeye, had left Ted a rather enjoyable amount of money when he passed away a few years ago. But Ted was hardly very important anyway, his job as olive-milker being one of the less important jobs in his country’s society. Still Ted loved his job, and his Olive farm in Otsep Valley was in his opinion the very best place in the world. Ted was a married man and so he had been for nearly five years. Those had been nearly five very happy years because he loved his wife very much and Ted was a very lucky man to have her. Together they had a little son and Ted cared for his wife and son very much. Mr. Llabeye was on a train to Gimpsmock-Fillings, looking through a window, getting unavoidably wiggled from side to side. Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling was clapping a continuously disorientated beat in the seat facing Mr. Llabeye. It all seemed like a rather usual thing to take place, two men on a train, minding their business. Yes, a very usual thing to take place, except from the fact that it was not. Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were not going to the city of Gimpsmock-Fillings with an ordinary purpose. People who went to Gimpsmock-Fillings usually went there to get laid with something they didn’t care what looked like, to hide something particularly nasty, something in-between, or sometimes even both. You could also visit Gimpsmock-Fillings if you had no reason to live or if you had an urge to get rid of all your money as quick as possible.
As you might already have realised, neither of these were the reason why Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were going to Gimpsmock-Fillings, they hardly do seem like that kind of people, do they? A slightly squint academic and an olive-milker often do give the impression of being rather harmless, especially in the company of each other, like these two. Their business in Gimpsmock-Fillings was in fact, also quite harmless; they had been given special invitations to the annual Gimpsmock-Fillings Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival, and what kind of dumb idiot would ever let go of a VIP-pass to the Fudge n’ Fondue Tent at the Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival? Certainly not these two gentlemen. In Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suitcase there was a jar of the Doctors very own, homemade, pickled strawberries with liquorice. This very special treat he had brought along to attend the highly respected Alternative-Tea-Treats Competition. Ted had brought a delicate little box of Olive-milk chocolate covered almonds for the Best Home-Grown Speciality Competition. They were sitting, thinking about trophies and prizes. They could live off the money prize for a year if they wanted to and eventual sponsors could see to the rest. Both the Doctor and the milker were ambitious and bloated with confidence, they were determined to return home with large trophies in their laps, as men often do. Blind for reason they had quarrelled their way out of their houses this same morning, their wives were swinging saucepans menacingly at them, but it did not help. The men had grabbed their usual lunches and darted for the door, meeting up at Market Square in Otsep valley (the little ditch where people would meet up with cattle and nod appreciatively at comments about the weather).
Running away to attend a festival was not the most mature thing the two of them had ever done together, but as usual they had currently forgotten that there would be a decent round of beating for them both when they got home. After all, it was not often that the two of them ever got out of their boring valley, and they were both sure that a helping of big city life would do them both very good.
But, oh -they were so dreadfully wrong.

As the train made a final, annoyed hoot, it chuffed away from platform 54 at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. In fact, the sign dangling above their head actually said

Platform 54 – Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station (Your Last Stop)

The unwelcome sensation of having done something incredibly stupid crawled up Mr. Llabeye’s back. Leaving safety, leaving home, leaving everything he knew and leaving all the things he had learnt to befriend! How could he have come up with something as brain-dead as that? Going for an adventure had, though, admittedly sounded alluring the moment he boarded the train. It didn’t quite seem as tempting now however, as the smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings was polluting his lungs. Even though this entire journey-thing had seemed like a first-class idea in the morning, it didn’t even seem the slightest good now that afternoon was approaching. The trip had only taken them about four hours and a glance over at the blood-splattered board told Mr. Llabeye that there was a train going back to Otsep Valley in forty-five minutes. His hand reached for the elbow of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suit, but ended up trying to grasp thin air as the Doctor was no longer standing beside him. It took a bit above four seconds before Ted realised, and by the time he did, he also noticed that he had been ribbed down to his flowery underwear. Suddenly awakened by the cool breeze around his knees he turned around every direction at once, searching for Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s bowler hat that ought to be easily spotted along the masses. But even though he turned around and round, Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was completely gone and Ted then became aware of his inappropriate outfit again.

There was little Tedvard Llabeye could do, standing at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station one late autumn afternoon wearing nothing but his flowery underwear and his new black top-hat. Also, his travelling companion Doctor J. A. W. Chopling had been missing for about six minutes and thirty-nine seconds, evaporated without a trace to an unknown location. After another two minutes had passed, Ted’s forehead was so covered in deep, worried wrinkles that his eyes were about to be buried under an avalanche of skin. His flowery underwear had caught little attention, except from by a little Fompfer that had now repeatedly attempted to stick its fuzzy head up the left leg of Ted’s shorts. Ted took another annoyed step to the side, the Fompfer following playfully making little squinting noises of delight as it got even closer to the leg this time. With this hairy little creature hopping about around his skinny calves, Ted tried to get his way to platform 3 that was now spouting a last call to Otsep Valley. The message was carried over some dodgy speakers that looked poorly hotwired to the network, sparks flew from the audio-system.
You might think that platform 3 is very far away from platform number 54 where Ted currently was, but in fact these two platforms were positioned right next to each other. Most Gimpsmock-Fillingers couldn’t count anyway, so it was therefore not important if the numbers descended or ascended in the right way. The important thing was that every platform had a number (they had, however, managed to give two platforms the same number, three times). Ted was made conscious of the fact that the train for Otsep Valley was leaving over twenty-five minutes early, he could though, not blame the poor train. He for one, was certainly sure that he had had more than enough of Gimpsmock-Fillings already.

2.

Meanwhile Doctor J. A. W. Chopling awoke as he heard a screeching noise.
The Doctor could not recall that he had fallen asleep in the first place, or that everything except his respectable underwear (God bless his wife) and his socks had in fact been removed. It seemed, however, more likely that he had been knocked unconscious and mugged. There were few things that the Gimpsmock-fillingers actually did properly as most of the things he had seen of the city had been fastened with duct tape, but mugging they seemed to be able to manage, very smoothly.
A soaring pain appeared in the back of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s head and for the first time in thirty-nine years, the doctor could not blame alcoholic beverages or his blessed wife.
He carefully propped himself up with his arms and led one hand to the back of his head. He stroked the painful spot carefully and felt the bump swelling under his thin white hair. He put his hand back down and tried to look around a bit. He found himself being in a very dark place filled with the rests of ancient chewing gums and cigarette stumps. Judging from the smell there was also rotten food nearby. The sudden screeching sound that had awakened him had to be a train. All around him he could also recognise old train tickets which made him draw the conclusion that he had to be underneath the train station.
His eyes were getting more and more accustomed to the dark, only small stripes of afternoon sun coming through slits in the platform above him lit the miserable state of himself and his surroundings. As he untied his legs he suddenly heard a woman’s voice, it was a lot clearer than the muffled conversations coming from above, and so he looked around to see where it came from. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was still feeling rather delicate so he had been unable to hear what she said the first time. The second time, on the other hand, nobody in the world could get it wrong.
-“I said – Where am I?!” the voice repeated, this time so sharp it could cut steel. He hesitated for a moment, but then heard an annoyed snort (which he recognised as something his wife did too) and gathered himself enough to answer.
-“I d-don’t know m-madam” The doctor stuttered, and looked around anxiously.
-“Miss” the voice corrected stiffly. “And who are you?!”
That was a rather rude approach, the doctor thought, now thinking as she was a “miss” she was probably part of today’s youth which he apparently was supposed to dislike and pass judgment on.
-“I am Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling” he retorted briskly, putting extra weight on the word doctor.
-“I see” she said, with obvious careless-ness in her voice. The doctor sat back with his arms crossed, still unable to see the rude young woman in the dark and intended not to speak to her anymore.
There was silence, only the usual hooting, chuffing and puffing of a train broke the quiet.
“Soooooo” she said finally, after the longest and most awkward death of a conversation she had ever lived to experience. “Are you not going to ask my name?”
The doctor still sat with his arms crossed, looking like a large, insulted baby seal with a moustached pout and a displeased look on his face. He figured it would be to rude to say no – after all, he was a gentleman and he had to pretend like he had a little bit of dignity and politeness left, even though he was ribbed to his underwear. His bowler hat was also missing he realised and started to look around for it as he said:
- “Oh, my dear lady, I sure hope you please do find it within yourself to forgive me, I seem to have completely lost all of my manners since getting to this city. I do apologize for that miss, let’s try it again, shall we? Erhm... So what is your name miss?”
Sounding pleased and softening her voice a bit she said something along the lines of
-“Laurel Lilac Sir, the name is Laurel Lilac”. The tone of her voice indicated that she was blushing. The doctor didn’t really care and just kept crawling around on his knees to find his hat, he was also getting uncomfortably aware of the evening chill that was setting in.
- “so, sir…” Laurel Lilac started, but was cut off.
-“Doctor, if you could be so kind” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I actually did not spend seven years in a cramped university to be called sir afterwards” in the dark you could barely make out that he smiled and there was no menace in his voice, but Miss Lilac seemed to have taken it all the wrong way.
-“Sorry then, doctor” she said sourly “I was just going to ask you where we are”.
-“oh dear, I did not mean it like that Miss Lilac, I was simply correcting for future reference, also, I believe that unfortunately we are at the Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. Well, we are more like underneath it actually” the doctor said – and had after getting some old candy wrappers stuck to his hand stopped the search for his hat for now.
-“Gimpsmock-Fillings!” Miss Lilac exclaimed happily “well then at least I am still home, this is not bad at all, that’s wonderful. Puh! I am rather relieved” she giggled nervously. “I was scared just then”. The doctor didn’t reply.
“Are you okay doctor?” she said after breathing normally for a while.
-“No actually. No, no I’m not” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I seem to be in a city that is new to me, robbed, no clothes, and to make it worse…” –“you are stuck here with me” Miss Lilac said. –“oh, no, not at all Miss Lilac, on the contrary, I am very pleased to have company in this hour of distress, but you see, my lady, my good friend and travelling companion Mr. Llabeye seems to have been separated from me”.
He looked down at his hands, feeling a bit lost.
-“Oh don’t you worry Doctor Chopling” Miss Lilac said cheerfully. “I will get both of us out of here, we will get something to wear and something to eat, and we will find your good friend, oh no, don’t you worry about that doctor, don’t you worry at all”.

3.

-“I say it only one more time, sir. You are not boarding this train without clothes and especially not without a ticket or any money”.
The conductor blew his whistle and waved numerous colourful flags, threw his shoe in the opposite direction and put a trashcan on fire to signal the train to leave. The train hooted impatiently as it started puffing away from the station. The conductor grabbed a handle and swung himself on board the train elegantly. Before he disappeared inside he tipped his hat at Mr. Llabeye. Poor Mr. Llabeye was standing cold and frightened on platform number 3, a Fompfer was sticking its head up the left leg of his flowery knickers letting out satisfied little sighs now and then. The conductor was right of course, he was doomed without any money and he did not have a place to stay either. The only thing he had was his spotless new top hat –oh, wait, no. –It appeared he only had his flowery knickers and a slightly fruity Fompfer up his shorts, completely new to the scariest city on the planet. Obviously Ted felt lonely and scared, he was a grown man, responsible, quick of mind and experienced, but this was the kind of place where you would rather not be half-naked, broke, alone, or worse; all three of them. Night was draping its way across the city, it was still as noisy and smelly as ever, just darker now. Ted realised he had no choice but to find a place to sleep, if things got really bad, he could sell the fompfer for a little bit of money. He threw a momentary look at the fompfer that was now examining his legs closer with its giant black eyes. For a moment the fompfer stopped looking at Ted’s leg and instead looked up at him, tipped its head a little and purred loyally. Ted didn’t know why, because even though it was all looking more than just “rather hopeless” (which would have been his usual approach to the situation) he smiled affectionately at the fompfer as he started walking towards the exit.
The train station was considerably emptier now and since he had no pockets or no apparent wallet, he could walk unnoticed through the masses of people on the street outside.

Everywhere around him the night was lit by colours, by torches and candles, the air was filled with thick scents and fumes, noises, music, explosions and languages. Ted thought that maybe in all of this, even though it was all very bad, the pulse of the city seemed to give life and energy to him. He found himself being pushed and squeezed like olive bread dough as he walked through the crowd of people, his eyes like plates trying to suck all the impressions in at once. Really he had no place to go, so he thought he might as well explore. The street he was on now, that was named Sees-Smack, seemed to go on forever. In the middle of it there was heavy traffic. There were wagons, horses, cattle, and carriages of different sorts, trolleys, chicken, and sometimes the occasional person attempting not to get run over. Along what people had declared as sidewalk on this road (even though there was no clear line between the two) there were tons and tons of shops. There were people, lots and lots of them, there were stores, stands, booths and restaurants. There were pubs and bars, the occasional drunken fights continuing out on the sidewalk to the local’s enormous amusement.

Everywhere on this long road there were people attempting to sell fake golden watches, or exchanging 50 gold pieces for 15 gold pieces, openly pick-pocketing someone, or robbing someone by casually pointing a knife to their throat. Some people were dressed up as clowns and minstrels to master their mischief with a bit more show about it, as others just looked like the regular unreliable scoundrel, which seemed to work quite well too. So, they were simply crooks the whole lot of them then, Ted decided and made a mental note of never to trust anyone ever again. Ted was actually quite happy that he was not balancing two suitcases on top of his best suit through this street this very moment, it could never work out, never in a million years. Gently, a smell filled Ted’s nostrils, caressing his nasal hair and pleased it with utmost satisfaction. It smelled like open-fire barbecued, carefully crisp on the outside, soft and warm on the inside, cheese-filled, smoked, scolding hot sausages. The ones that were spiced so amazingly and every bite seemed to fill his heart with love and give his life meaning. The stand immediately unveiled itself in front of him, there was a rather pudgy man selling them, he had a large beaming smile that did not even attempt to reflect honesty. Ted walked over to the stand, half-hidden behind a giant that was ordering a cheese-sausage with extra onion on it. Ted reached his knuckled hand out over the sausage selection teasingly, testing the reactions of the salesman. After sprawling his fingers above them for a second, he let his hand swoop down on to the barbeque and snapped up a sausage between two fingers.

The heat scolded with crushing intensity and he had to pinch up his face to not scream. As quick as he could Ted wrapped the sausage in the bottom seam of his knickers, licking his fingers excessively to remove the pain. Having to walk rather strangely now and hot grease dripping from his hands and thigh, Ted found it a lot more challenging to make progress down the street. Sees-Smack was still packed with people of course, but moving about had been easier when he could stand up straight. The fompfer was frolicking about around his ankles as well, making the walk a bit more difficult than any normal walking with a disadvantage walk. He bent down and snapped up a flat-trampled paper bag, it was crumpled and had footprints on it, but anything could’ve done right then. With haste Ted wrapped the sausage in it and could walk normally again – well, as normal as one can walk with a fompfer bouncing at one’s feet. Gnawing happily at his food, Mr. Llabeye made his way down the main street, feeling high on the crime and very pleased about his cunning self.

She was very young Ted reckoned, and she had long flowing curls of blonde hair. Yes she was an exceptionally beautiful young woman, but what really amazed him was the man standing beside her. It was none other than Doctor J. A. W. Chopling –who would’ve thought they would ever meet again?
The Doctor J. A. W. Chopling and the young woman were standing outside a very smelly gate, it had to be an exit from the city sewers, Mr. Llabeye thought.
-“Doctor!” he bellowed (yes in fact, it was proper bellowing because Ted Llabeye had a very deep voice). “Doctor Woodchop-Chopling!” He yelled, waving his arms frantically. In response the keg-shaped Doctor J. A. W. Chopling grinned broadly and yelled back, relief curling its way across his face: -“Mr. Llabeye! I was sure I would never see you again! My, my am I happy to see you, how wonderful! Come here and meet Miss. Lilac!”

And what happened to the excitement of the story? Why didn’t it take longer for the two of them to meet up? Well, something even bigger than the danger of the city is about to come up against them, way bigger, and I thought it would be better for them if they were together against that, all four of them.

They all tried the very best they could to settle inside Miss. Lilac’s little residence. It was a small two floor house along one of the side-roads to Sees-Smack. All the houses in Gimpsmock-Fillings had been built so close together they had gone all crooked and bent, leaning over the roads and alleys as if they were going to topple over any minute. On the ground floor in their current home there was a minuscule kitchen in one corner, a set of chairs around a square table, a little fireplace, a broken piano, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in theatre posters and a little shelf on one wall was filled with ties. There was only one room on the ground floor and all these things were pressed tightly into it. To make matters worse, a massive amount of dirty dishes were stacked around the room so it was hard to find places to sleep. Little flies zoomed around above their heads as they entered, and loud music from some kind of event a few houses down made flakes of paint drop from the ceiling. Even though the first impression of the house seemed less than convincing, the first floor turned out to be a lot better.
A large double bed, a giant bookcase, a dresser packed with clothes, shelves crowded with girly things, two chairs, a soft toy giraffe, a massive mirror, dirty garments, a box filled with Christmas decorations, eight carpets overlapping each other and the worlds most diminutive sofa had been squeezed into the room. It gave the room a somehow claustrophobic, yet charming appeal, in a way only a young woman could make a mess and still make it seem delightful.
Miss Lilac moved about her belongings, she had lifted her upper lip up, clearly showing she was disgusted by her own mess and apologizing at the same time. The smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings had faded once they had stepped into her home, so both J. A. W. Chopling and Mr. Llabeye seemed only relieved about getting inside. The two of them were currently dressed in some old sheets, wearing them like togas, this had not drawn any immediate attention, so it was all good. The moment they got upstairs, Miss Lilac instantaneously started to dig through her possessions to find some clothes for them. Seeing neither of the three now had any money at all, it was hopeless to try to buy anything.
After waving away at least fifty different flowery, feathered and sparkly pieces of clothing, Miss Lilac admitted her defeat against her own wardrobe and she had to give up. Outside darkness had caught its full embrace of the night, but there was still tons of life outside. The fompfer had made itself comfortable in an old cauldron with burnt porridge scraps along the edges. An old pillowcase with a baroque pattern remarkably similar to the flowery pattern on Mr Llabeye’s underwear had been crammed into the cauldron, which was probably why Philip had settled so nicely in it.
Mr Llabeye attempted to get some shut-eye on the carpet in front of the fireplace on the ground floor, however whatever direction he rolled over he seemed to noisily hit pots and pans. Dr J. A. W. Chopling had fallen to sleep immediately and was snoring generously on the undersized sofa on the first floor. Miss Lilac was drooling munificently in her own double bed, against all odds earlier the same day, it seemed to approach a relaxing night after all.

4.

-“Where is it?!” he demanded, smacking his paperwork about on his desk. He was twitchily walking back and forth in his round office and his head was pulsating with a luminous red. Across the room from him there were three people seated. At least one of them was still seated, the other two had got up so they could bend their necks and look ashamed.
“Well?!” He boomed “None of you seem to be keen to explain this intricate and unfortunate situation to me, or rather, how it could possibly become intricate and unfortunate. Because it was so damn simple, so simple. How could it have gone wrong?! You had a very simple task to do for me, but you screwed up. I want to know what happened and I want to know where the object is, and I want to know now!”
The silence that followed this time was something completely different from what anyone in the room had ever experienced. It was the kind of silences when you don’t know what is loud and what is silent. The sound of your heart pumping blood around your body seems to dominate the use of your eardrums while shouting, screaming and loud noises in general seem to be coming from underwater somewhere.
One of the men that were standing, his name was Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet, drew his breath as if to speak, but instead of any words coming out of his mouth it was merely a peeping, weak sound of air passing through a pipe. The man at the desk seemed to have lost his patience, the smile curling its way across his exceptionally revolting face gave away that he was planning to do something very mean. Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet saw this immediately, because he was no dumb man, so Sir Joshua instantly drew his breath again and this time the words coming out of his mouth seemed to never stop.
-“Well you see the thing that happened sir, a case which is obviously horribly regrettable and also pathetic if I may say so myself, is that your consignment – on which you have been waiting ever so unwearyingly for- did not turn up as premeditated. There was difficulty with the train and the crate in which your treasured cargo was kept throughout the journey was not found until after a full search of the entire train sir. The problem was that when the crate finally turned up, it was also empty. There was absolutely nothing we could do but to search the station, it was unfeasible to search every person present though, which I would believe you comprehend, it was rush hour sir. So many people, so much luggage and so much traffic sir. We got a written admission of guilt from the train-driver, but we fully intend to get your cargo back as planned. A written apology and a few gold pieces can not return the treasure which has been lost now, sir. We all understand that, though we do not intend to take full responsibility of the misplaced cargo as it had gone astray way before we even arrived and before it even came into the possession of any of us, sir”. He stood still and waited for an answer in painful anticipation. When the person at the desk finally moved, the two men standing up both winced at the same time.
-“he he” The man at the desk grinned cruelly.
“Your words are as always chosen with care as you are very well articulated my friend Sir Sherbet”. The room was thick with tension, you know the way that you’d rather like somebody to be properly angry, instead of this false content on the outside that could suddenly reveal a fuming inside completely unpredicted.
“Of course neither of you two is forgiven in any way nor will you be before this is over and done with. You will not be forgiven until what I want is on my desk right here. You two are on the job, and you have one week. You’ve got one week gentlemen. Perceive that I have invited a third person into my office today. Gentlemen, let me present to you Miss Marion Eow, better known as Miss M. Eow.”
When the lady in the chair got up, the light from the window behind the desk lit her face. The other two men gasped as they saw her large, green eyes placed beautifully in the face of a cat. She was a woman with a cat face, tall and slender, sexy in a way, having this dangerous attitude about her. “She will be like your parole officer, let’s just say – she’s there to look after you, so if you screw up, I will know – it is the most suitable solution for all of us”. He looked down at his desk. “Lord Melon, since you have not spoken I assume you take a complete side with Sir Sherbet here, which leaves you in the same fully responsible position as him. You three are on this task for now on, I do not care how many people dies, how many Christmases cancelled, how many baby otters have to suffer or how many latte’s you have to drink. The expenses of your personal pleasure during your mission to obtain the objective will be paid for by yours truly. I do this only because I feel very strongly about this particular case, so gold should not be of your concern. You do of course understand that this generosity has a reasonable limit, yes gentlemen, I believe we are done here. You too my lady, so if you would be so kind to get lost, get on with it and leave me alone would you? Thank you”. Sir Sherbet and Lord Melon bowed and scurried hurriedly out of the room, while Miss M. Eow merely nodded before she strode elegantly out of the office. The door closed and the room was only lit by the light from the lively nightlife of Gimpsmock-Fillings coming from through the window. The curtains closed, and alone in the darkness sat Kaptain Kill.

5.

Doctor J. A. W. Chopling stirred the mixture, watched the butter melt and crackle in the pan before he poured the batter in, letting out satisfying "f-shhhhhs’es”. He licked his fingers and hummed with pleasure. Rearranging of cutlery, kettles and general kitchen accessories had noisily filled the house all morning. Ted had managed quite well to remain asleep by shielding his ears underneath a casserole, but after the doctor had removed this, Ted was forced awake. Large bubbles and foam flooded the entire ground floor, the doctor was standing in the middle of it all and scrubbing plates like a madman. The prosperity of dishes had decreased with about half and pancakes were going golden in a hot pan. Miss Lilac had already gone to work, so the two men were left alone in her house. Why a woman that had grown up in Gimpsmock-Fillings would ever leave two strangers alone in her house would simply be because she was a woman that had grown up in Gimpsmock-Fillings. This young woman had been through more than anyone you know yourself, and at this current point in her life, she realized she just had to let go of everything and stop being precautious. She had nothing to win, nothing to lose, no reason to win, no reason to lose. Cutting it short, Laurel Lilac lived every day like it was her last (which it very well could be too). Ted set the table for two, and dusted the shelf with ties properly, folding the ties neatly before putting them back. After a couple of minutes of hard work, they were getting increasingly prepared for breakfast, this they were going to satisfy this need by eating the plentitude of pancakes they had cooked. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was in a very good mood, because he had been gifted with a minor concussion the day before and could not remember anything about his wife, his daughter, his son in law or his scrawny little clinic in Otsep Valley. Mr. Llabeye had not become aware of this yet, so he was very happy too, because he didn’t know that his best friend had lost major parts of his memory. Besides, Ted had slept very well and couldn’t wait to go out of the house again to see more of this fascinating city. The things he could remember from last night made him question his own wish of ever wanting to leave the marvelous place.
-“It is actually quite funny, that” Ted said, chewing and waving his fork absent-mindedly.
-“What is?” replied Doctor J. A.W. Chopling, being half-present in the morning papers, half present at the breakfast table.
-“I think I spent less than the better part of an hour in this city before I was as much of a crook as a hanger. This place is… Amazing” Ted sipped his milk, chewed and attempted to talk at the same time. Amplifying when he swallowed his food so that people present would know he was going back on topic the moment after he was done chewing. (Of course there was no necessity to do this, because the doctor wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to Ted’s little theatrical moment at all).
“You know, I have never stolen a single thing in my life before, nothing! Never!” Ted mused for a bit, smiling satisfied for himself. “Never in my entire life, ever”. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling nodded bemusedly, adding politely (because Ted had stopped talking for a moment):
-“Is that so?” Then he turned a page and left his breakfast getting colder on his fork.
-“Yes!” Ted exclaimed happily and grinned like a fool, his plate was cleared and his glass was empty, his buttocks itching to leave the house.
“oh, and you don’t happen to know anything about Miss Lilac do you? I feel bad about living in her house and living off her hospitality when I hardly know a thing about her. Actually I don’t know a thing, well I know her name and where she lives, though I guess that is two things and not: ‘not a thing’, but you do get my point, don’t you, doctor?” For the first time that morning Ted’s sanctified-expression was removed from his face. “Doctor J. A. W. Chopling?”

“Don’t you get very annoyed at people who don’t listen to you when you talk though?”
-“of course I do Mr. Llabeye!” said Doctor J. A. W. Chopling, jogging alongside with Ted that was walking with unnecessary haste. “But I just do not see why that means you could empty my breakfast over the morning papers!”
They had been arguing for a good while when they finally reached the end of that alley where Miss Lilac’s home was positioned, escaping into the busy on goings of midday sees-smack. As the day before, they were wearing these old sheets as togas, but like the day before, nobody seemed to really care. Here and there in the crowd, they could of course spot the sporadic high-class person dressed in the same strange glad rags as the exceptionally skinny women in those magazines. You know the ones. Yes, and those, they were the only ones who seemed to care. But, as I said, there were not many of those, besides, they were usually trying to focus on avoiding to be mugged and not always wrinkling noses at unfashionable day wear. Seeing the main street in daylight was at first glance a lot different from what it was at night time. If you kept your eyes steady for a moment on the other hand, you would find that the filthy business that took place at night happened in broad daylight as well, just that now it was wearing more clothes, smiling broader and wearing several capes, not just the usual one for the golden watches. Note that the golden watches being sold at daytime was usually a better purchase than the ones sold at night, people do not eat enough carrots or fish in sees-smack, so their night-vision is at an average quite bad.
The fompfer was, as the day before, tagging along with Ted, even though Ted’s flowery underwear was not as visible as the day before. The fompfer knew that the magniloquent underwear was under there somewhere, (also, whenever Ted got a little excited, he would do a little hop, and from a fompfer’s angle; that usually brought you quite a view).
The three of them bustled down sees-smack with no particular purpose. Ted just wanted to see as much as possible at once, Doctor J. A. W. Chopling didn’t really know what he wanted, but was getting increasingly worried about his sudden need to rub something anesthetic in Ted’s face. Suddenly the three gentlemen were put to a standstill as no other than Miss Lilac herself stood before them. She was wearing a giant dress (which did, they agreed on later; enhance her rather well-proportioned bosom) and a white curly wig with a crown on it, hung dangerously on one side of her head. Beside her stood another woman, dressed in black with an artistic pose and non-matching earrings, her ginger hair stood out in every direction, making her look like she was wearing an agitated red cat on her head.
–“Gentlemen!” Miss Lilac exclaimed, as she smiled, the thick layer of make-up on her face formerly cracked open like an earthquake about to swallow parts of the planet. “What a coincidence! I was just going to pop by at home for lunch and say hi, and I was bringing you this” she said and held up the bag she had in one hand. They gave her the usual brain-dead and male, average quizzical look, and she sighed appropriately with her eyes far up her skull, looking all female and inpatient. The silence remained, and she put her hands to her sides, looking stern. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling and Mr. Llabeye continued to look lost at her, until she pointed at the bag saying “Clothes!” with the female, obvious “you should’ve known” look on her face. They both gave her the regular “aaaah, right” look before they gathered themselves enough to question her rather unusual daywear. That means, they would point randomly up and down, forming mouthwords that does not exist.
“oh! Where are my manners?” she said, smacking her forehead.
“Welcome to the theatre! This is where I work” She stepped aside, even though she didn’t really have to, because the architectural monster was very visible no matter if she stood in front of it or not.
-“So that is what you do?” Mr. Llabeye said interested. While clapping his hands together and then rubbing them, he added a little too quickly:
“I’ve always loved the theatre”. There were obvious flaws in his acting, and one look from Miss Lilac made him realize that she knew that he knew that she knew that he didn’t really enjoy theatre very much. He smiled apologetically as they followed her inside.

6.

The entrance hall of the theatre was a great dome made of old, yellowing glass. Everywhere there were people, and the floor laid with stone tiles was reflecting the constant stirring of voices and heels making it roam with life and noises. Laurel had just opened her mouth to tell the story of the theatre and how it had blown its original budget completely off the hinges – nearly causing it to be torn down at a certain point. A part of the theatre was never finished, which explained the giant gap backstage. If you would be so unlucky to during your performance trip backwards into the drapes behind you, rumors had it you would never get out of the pit alive. Gimpsmock-Fillings National Zoo still used this convenient pit to store crocodiles in, nobody considered this to be the reason why it was lethal to work backstage.
Anyway, the moment Laurel was about to tell them of all this, an important looking man came running towards her and grabbed her arm. His eyes were so open and intense that Ted wondered if they were going to fall out of his face.
-“Miss Lilac! Thank God I found you, I’ve been looking everywhere!” his gesticulations shrunk the term of everywhere to somewhere between the toilet and the lobby. “We have a problem.”

-“It was right there! I swear!” Lord Melon said, his voice was of a very high-pitched nature. Sir Sherbet patted his shoulder fatherly and nodded reassuringly while rolling his eyes. Sees-Smack was packed with people as usual and of course there would be a few fompfers around.
-“yes, yes Lord Melon, I am completely doubtless about the fact that you saw it, but it is gone now, and you can surely stop whimpering. I am sure if the scroungers of our commodity are witless enough to wander Sees-smack in broad daylight, they will most likely reappear”.
Sweat drops were drizzling as Lord Melon ungentlemanly shook his furry head. His characteristic large ears made a flapping sound, giving him a strong resemblance to a person in denial of being a human and not a golden retriever.
Some people actually said that Lord Melon undoubtedly had inherited some kind of wolf-genes, -must’ve been from his mother’s side of course,- since his father (Lord Melon Senior) was the most elegant corporate genius in Gimpsmock-Fillings. Considerably, this mother-wolf-mutant had to have had blonde hair, an albino mother-wolf-mutant or something like that.
Yes, anyway.
Lord Melon shook the curled blonde beard and mane of his, his pale blue eyes proceeding to look out over the busy street. Meanwhile, Sir Sherbet picked up a little orange glass ball from one of his many black pockets, this ball was known among the ones that knew what it was, as a “Twimplett”. This very rare and mystical tool, was worth a great deal of money, its use could be just about anything: A golf ball, a glass-eye (though it would grant you little vision except from a slightly distortional orange glow to most things) or, its original purpose; a looking glass into the present. Back in the days of ancient Gimpsmock-Fillings, a rich monarch was said to have bought Twimplettes for all his fourteen daughters so they could use them as mirrors. (This particular monarch was also known as a total perverted bastard and a deranged idiot, but that is a whole other story, which does not include Sir Sherbet or his numerous black pockets). Sir Sherbet lifted the Twimplett up in front of his face, at level with his nose, and whispered determined at it: “Show me Kaptain Kill’s missing Fompfer”.
A looking glass into the present, a Twimplett, would provide you vision into anything you wanted to see that was happening at the current. A handy tool this was of course. The problem was that when so many things happen at the same time, and unavoidably, so many SIMILAR things would happen at the same time, a Twimplett (or for that sake, any other tool of the same use) would have severe trouble choosing the exact thing you would want to see. I don’t know if you have ever been in that kind of a situation, but sometimes when you are given too many options in life, you might find it better to think of a new option.
Mango or strawberry? I’d rather have banana-nougat, thank you.
Left or backwards? How about straight forward instead?
Well, in its own twisted way, all this made sense in my head, just like it made sense to a Twimplett. In other words, if a Twimplett could not choose from all these different kinds of situations, it would make one up all by itself. That was why Sir Sherbet repeatedly swore badly before stuffing the Twimplett away. The problem, he was later to discover, was that the Twimplett was in this case NOT making up an answer, it was displaying exactly what Sir Sherbet had requested. It was just that what he had behest did in his mind not include two men in a toga and a woman in a baroque dress climbing on what appeared to be the fire station.

(Mhm, today an explanation to the deeds of the strange Lord Melon and his companion Sir Sherbet have been added. An in-depth description of what a "Twimplett" is and also an introduction to the theatre and where Miss Lilac works. So, seems that is what I will add this time around. Zing!)

Version # 3

2006-10-27T21:25:00.000+02:00

Chapter 1.

“Do you really think that trains rattle to attempt to break free?” the doctor said, pushing his head back a little, as to create distance between them.
- “There is a fault in that theory?” Mr. Llabeye said, but did not seem offended.
“You seem to have ignored the obvious importance of their urge to start dialogue” the doctor said and put his glasses on. “If the inventory of a train is interested in demonstrating freedom, break loose from their chains and organise strikes, it seems logical to me that these items would – in other words – want to communicate” He paused for the effect.
They were passing an exceptionally ugly area of forest where all the trees seemed bent or wrong in a way. The doctors eyes skipped back and forth in his eye-sockets as he was tossing glances at the passing trees, following them for the slight second possible before looking at a new tree. He met Mr. Llabeye’s eyes before continuing. “Doesn’t it sound like a language to you?” He raised his voice a notch and added – with a hint of excitement in his old eyes – “Listen!” he said imperatively, and raised a hand to cut Mr. Llabeye silent as he had drawn his breath to speak. The door at the far end of the carriage was rattling as if urging someone to open it. A wave of excitement spread across the old doctor’s face as the seat in front of them, now, in an odd way, seemed to be replying to what the door had just rattled. Mr. Llabeye thought for a little moment, he could’ve thought for longer, because the doctor was in his own little world. His bulgy old body was attempting to tap the beat of the door and seat with pointy, black shoes. The doctor was lost in his own rhythm and his bowler hat was slowly tipping more and more over to one side.
– “Well I can’t see why not” Mr. Llabeye said finally, settling with the Doctors linguistic hypothesis, he leant back into his seat, the train wiggling him back and forth a long with the rhythm of the passenger heads in front of him.

Tedvard Llabeye, otherwise known as Ted, Tedvard, Mr. Llabeye or Teddy (the nickname he preferred the least) was not a very important person. His late father, Oliver Llabeye, had left Ted a rather enjoyable amount of money when he passed away a few years ago. But Ted was hardly very important anyway, his job as olive-milker being one of the less important jobs in his country’s society. Still Ted loved his job, and his Olive farm in Otsep Valley was in his opinion the very best place in the world. Ted was a married man and so he had been for nearly five years. Those had been nearly five very happy years because he loved his wife very much and Ted was a very lucky man to have her. Together they had a little son and Ted cared for his wife and son very much. Mr. Llabeye was on a train to Gimpsmock-Fillings, looking through a window, getting unavoidably wiggled from side to side. Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling was clapping a continuously disorientated beat in the seat facing Mr. Llabeye. It all seemed like a rather usual thing to take place, two men on a train, minding their business. Yes, a very usual thing to take place, except from the fact that it was not. Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were not going to the city of Gimpsmock-Fillings with an ordinary purpose. People who went to Gimpsmock-Fillings usually went there to get laid with something they didn’t care what looked like, to hide something particularly nasty, something in-between, or sometimes even both. You could also visit Gimpsmock-Fillings if you had no reason to live or if you had an urge to get rid of all your money as quick as possible.
As you might already have realised, neither of these were the reason why Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were going to Gimpsmock-Fillings, they hardly do seem like that kind of people, do they? A slightly squint academic and an olive-milker often do give the impression of being rather harmless, especially in the company of each other, like these two. Their business in Gimpsmock-Fillings was in fact, also quite harmless; they had been given special invitations to the annual Gimpsmock-Fillings Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival, and what kind of dumb idiot would ever let go of a VIP-pass to the Fudge n’ Fondue Tent at the Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival? Certainly not these two gentlemen. In Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suitcase there was a jar of the Doctors very own, homemade, pickled strawberries with liquorice. This very special treat he had brought along to attend the highly respected Alternative-Tea-Treats Competition. Ted had brought a delicate little box of Olive-milk chocolate covered almonds for the Best Home-Grown Speciality Competition. They were sitting, thinking about trophies and prizes. They could live off the money prize for a year if they wanted to and eventual sponsors could see to the rest. Both the Doctor and the milker were ambitious and bloated with confidence, they were determined to return home with large trophies in their laps, as men often do. Blind for reason they had quarrelled their way out of their houses this same morning, their wives were swinging saucepans menacingly at them, but it did not help. The men had grabbed their usual lunches and darted for the door, meeting up at Market Square in Otsep valley (the little ditch where people would meet up with cattle and nod appreciatively at comments about the weather).
Running away to attend a festival was not the most mature thing the two of them had ever done together, but as usual they had currently forgotten that there would be a decent round of beating for them both when they got home. After all, it was not often that the two of them ever got out of their boring valley, and they were both sure that a helping of big city life would do them both very good.
But, oh -they were so dreadfully wrong.

As the train made a final, annoyed hoot, it chuffed away from platform 54 at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. In fact, the sign dangling above their head actually said

Platform 54 – Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station (Your Last Stop)

The unwelcome sensation of having done something incredibly stupid crawled up Mr. Llabeye’s back. Leaving safety, leaving home, leaving everything he knew and leaving all the things he had learnt to befriend! How could he have come up with something as brain-dead as that? Going for an adventure had, though, admittedly sounded alluring the moment he boarded the train. It didn’t quite seem as tempting now however, as the smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings was polluting his lungs. Even though this entire journey-thing had seemed like a first-class idea in the morning, it didn’t even seem the slightest good now that afternoon was approaching. The trip had only taken them about four hours and a glance over at the blood-splattered board told Mr. Llabeye that there was a train going back to Otsep Valley in forty-five minutes. His hand reached for the elbow of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suit, but ended up trying to grasp thin air as the Doctor was no longer standing beside him. It took a bit above four seconds before Ted realised, and by the time he did, he also noticed that he had been ribbed down to his flowery underwear. Suddenly awakened by the cool breeze around his knees he turned around every direction at once, searching for Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s bowler hat that ought to be easily spotted along the masses. But even though he turned around and round, Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was completely gone and Ted then became aware of his inappropriate outfit again.

There was little Tedvard Llabeye could do, standing at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station one late autumn afternoon wearing nothing but his flowery underwear and his new black top-hat. Also, his travelling companion Doctor J. A. W. Chopling had been missing for about six minutes and thirty-nine seconds, evaporated without a trace to an unknown location. After another two minutes had passed, Ted’s forehead was so covered in deep, worried wrinkles that his eyes were about to be buried under an avalanche of skin. His flowery underwear had caught little attention, except from by a little Fompfer that had now repeatedly attempted to stick its fuzzy head up the left leg of Ted’s shorts. Ted took another annoyed step to the side, the Fompfer following playfully making little squinting noises of delight as it got even closer to the leg this time. With this hairy little creature hopping about around his skinny calves, Ted tried to get his way to platform 3 that was now spouting a last call to Otsep Valley. The message was carried over some dodgy speakers that looked poorly hotwired to the network, sparks flew from the audio-system.
You might think that platform 3 is very far away from platform number 54 where Ted currently was, but in fact these two platforms were positioned right next to each other. Most Gimpsmock-Fillingers couldn’t count anyway, so it was therefore not important if the numbers descended or ascended in the right way. The important thing was that every platform had a number (they had, however, managed to give two platforms the same number, three times). Ted was made conscious of the fact that the train for Otsep Valley was leaving over twenty-five minutes early, he could though, not blame the poor train. He for one, was certainly sure that he had had more than enough of Gimpsmock-Fillings already.

2.

Meanwhile Doctor J. A. W. Chopling awoke as he heard a screeching noise.
The Doctor could not recall that he had fallen asleep in the first place, or that everything except his respectable underwear (God bless his wife) and his socks had in fact been removed. It seemed, however, more likely that he had been knocked unconscious and mugged. There were few things that the Gimpsmock-fillingers actually did properly as most of the things he had seen of the city had been fastened with duct tape, but mugging they seemed to be able to manage, very smoothly.
A soaring pain appeared in the back of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s head and for the first time in thirty-nine years, the doctor could not blame alcoholic beverages or his blessed wife.
He carefully propped himself up with his arms and led one hand to the back of his head. He stroked the painful spot carefully and felt the bump swelling under his thin white hair. He put his hand back down and tried to look around a bit. He found himself being in a very dark place filled with the rests of ancient chewing gums and cigarette stumps. Judging from the smell there was also rotten food nearby. The sudden screeching sound that had awakened him had to be a train. All around him he could also recognise old train tickets which made him draw the conclusion that he had to be underneath the train station.
His eyes were getting more and more accustomed to the dark, only small stripes of afternoon sun coming through slits in the platform above him lit the miserable state of himself and his surroundings. As he untied his legs he suddenly heard a woman’s voice, it was a lot clearer than the muffled conversations coming from above, and so he looked around to see where it came from. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was still feeling rather delicate so he had been unable to hear what she said the first time. The second time, on the other hand, nobody in the world could get it wrong.
-“I said – Where am I?!” the voice repeated, this time so sharp it could cut steel. He hesitated for a moment, but then heard an annoyed snort (which he recognised as something his wife did too) and gathered himself enough to answer.
-“I d-don’t know m-madam” The doctor stuttered, and looked around anxiously.
-“Miss” the voice corrected stiffly. “And who are you?!”
That was a rather rude approach, the doctor thought, now thinking as she was a “miss” she was probably part of today’s youth which he apparently was supposed to dislike and pass judgment on.
-“I am Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling” he retorted briskly, putting extra weight on the word doctor.
-“I see” she said, with obvious careless-ness in her voice. The doctor sat back with his arms crossed, still unable to see the rude young woman in the dark and intended not to speak to her anymore.
There was silence, only the usual hooting, chuffing and puffing of a train broke the quiet.
“Soooooo” she said finally, after the longest and most awkward death of a conversation she had ever lived to experience. “Are you not going to ask my name?”
The doctor still sat with his arms crossed, looking like a large, insulted baby seal with a moustached pout and a displeased look on his face. He figured it would be to rude to say no – after all, he was a gentleman and he had to pretend like he had a little bit of dignity and politeness left, even though he was ribbed to his underwear. His bowler hat was also missing he realised and started to look around for it as he said:
- “Oh, my dear lady, I sure hope you please do find it within yourself to forgive me, I seem to have completely lost all of my manners since getting to this city. I do apologize for that miss, let’s try it again, shall we? Erhm... So what is your name miss?”
Sounding pleased and softening her voice a bit she said something along the lines of
-“Laurel Lilac Sir, the name is Laurel Lilac”. The tone of her voice indicated that she was blushing. The doctor didn’t really care and just kept crawling around on his knees to find his hat, he was also getting uncomfortably aware of the evening chill that was setting in.
- “so, sir…” Laurel Lilac started, but was cut off.
-“Doctor, if you could be so kind” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I actually did not spend seven years in a cramped university to be called sir afterwards” in the dark you could barely make out that he smiled and there was no menace in his voice, but Miss Lilac seemed to have taken it all the wrong way.
-“Sorry then, doctor” she said sourly “I was just going to ask you where we are”.
-“oh dear, I did not mean it like that Miss Lilac, I was simply correcting for future reference, also, I believe that unfortunately we are at the Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. Well, we are more like underneath it actually” the doctor said – and had after getting some old candy wrappers stuck to his hand stopped the search for his hat for now.
-“Gimpsmock-Fillings!” Miss Lilac exclaimed happily “well then at least I am still home, this is not bad at all, that’s wonderful. Puh! I am rather relieved” she giggled nervously. “I was scared just then”. The doctor didn’t reply.
“Are you okay doctor?” she said after breathing normally for a while.
-“No actually. No, no I’m not” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I seem to be in a city that is new to me, robbed, no clothes, and to make it worse…” –“you are stuck here with me” Miss Lilac said. –“oh, no, not at all Miss Lilac, on the contrary, I am very pleased to have company in this hour of distress, but you see, my lady, my good friend and travelling companion Mr. Llabeye seems to have been separated from me”.
He looked down at his hands, feeling a bit lost.
-“Oh don’t you worry Doctor Chopling” Miss Lilac said cheerfully. “I will get both of us out of here, we will get something to wear and something to eat, and we will find your good friend, oh no, don’t you worry about that doctor, don’t you worry at all”.

3.

-“I say it only one more time, sir. You are not boarding this train without clothes and especially not without a ticket or any money”.
The conductor blew his whistle and waved numerous colourful flags, threw his shoe in the opposite direction and put a trashcan on fire to signal the train to leave. The train hooted impatiently as it started puffing away from the station. The conductor grabbed a handle and swung himself on board the train elegantly. Before he disappeared inside he tipped his hat at Mr. Llabeye. Poor Mr. Llabeye was standing cold and frightened on platform number 3, a Fompfer was sticking its head up the left leg of his flowery knickers letting out satisfied little sighs now and then. The conductor was right of course, he was doomed without any money and he did not have a place to stay either. The only thing he had was his spotless new top hat –oh, wait, no. –It appeared he only had his flowery knickers and a slightly fruity Fompfer up his shorts, completely new to the scariest city on the planet. Obviously Ted felt lonely and scared, he was a grown man, responsible, quick of mind and experienced, but this was the kind of place where you would rather not be half-naked, broke, alone, or worse; all three of them. Night was draping its way across the city, it was still as noisy and smelly as ever, just darker now. Ted realised he had no choice but to find a place to sleep, if things got really bad, he could sell the fompfer for a little bit of money. He threw a momentary look at the fompfer that was now examining his legs closer with its giant black eyes. For a moment the fompfer stopped looking at Ted’s leg and instead looked up at him, tipped its head a little and purred loyally. Ted didn’t know why, because even though it was all looking more than just “rather hopeless” (which would have been his usual approach to the situation) he smiled affectionately at the fompfer as he started walking towards the exit.
The train station was considerably emptier now and since he had no pockets or no apparent wallet, he could walk unnoticed through the masses of people on the street outside.

Everywhere around him the night was lit by colours, by torches and candles, the air was filled with thick scents and fumes, noises, music, explosions and languages. Ted thought that maybe in all of this, even though it was all very bad, the pulse of the city seemed to give life and energy to him. He found himself being pushed and squeezed like olive bread dough as he walked through the crowd of people, his eyes like plates trying to suck all the impressions in at once. Really he had no place to go, so he thought he might as well explore. The street he was on now, that was named Sees-Smack, seemed to go on forever. In the middle of it there was heavy traffic. There were wagons, horses, cattle, and carriages of different sorts, trolleys, chicken, and sometimes the occasional person attempting not to get run over. Along what people had declared as sidewalk on this road (even though there was no clear line between the two) there were tons and tons of shops. There were people, lots and lots of them, there were stores, stands, booths and restaurants. There were pubs and bars, the occasional drunken fights continuing out on the sidewalk to the local’s enormous amusement.

Everywhere on this long road there were people attempting to sell fake golden watches, or exchanging 50 gold pieces for 15 gold pieces, openly pick-pocketing someone, or robbing someone by casually pointing a knife to their throat. Some people were dressed up as clowns and minstrels to master their mischief with a bit more show about it, as others just looked like the regular unreliable scoundrel, which seemed to work quite well too. So, they were simply crooks the whole lot of them then, Ted decided and made a mental note of never to trust anyone ever again. Ted was actually quite happy that he was not balancing two suitcases on top of his best suit through this street this very moment, it could never work out, never in a million years. Gently, a smell filled Ted’s nostrils, caressing his nasal hair and pleased it with utmost satisfaction. It smelled like open-fire barbecued, carefully crisp on the outside, soft and warm on the inside, cheese-filled, smoked, scolding hot sausages. The ones that were spiced so amazingly and every bite seemed to fill his heart with love and give his life meaning. The stand immediately unveiled itself in front of him, there was a rather pudgy man selling them, he had a large beaming smile that did not even attempt to reflect honesty. Ted walked over to the stand, half-hidden behind a giant that was ordering a cheese-sausage with extra onion on it. Ted reached his knuckled hand out over the sausage selection teasingly, testing the reactions of the salesman. After sprawling his fingers above them for a second, he let his hand swoop down on to the barbeque and snapped up a sausage between two fingers.

The heat scolded with crushing intensity and he had to pinch up his face to not scream. As quick as he could Ted wrapped the sausage in the bottom seam of his knickers, licking his fingers excessively to remove the pain. Having to walk rather strangely now and hot grease dripping from his hands and thigh, Ted found it a lot more challenging to make progress down the street. Sees-Smack was still packed with people of course, but moving about had been easier when he could stand up straight. The fompfer was frolicking about around his ankles as well, making the walk a bit more difficult than any normal walking with a disadvantage walk. He bent down and snapped up a flat-trampled paper bag, it was crumpled and had footprints on it, but anything could’ve done right then. With haste Ted wrapped the sausage in it and could walk normally again – well, as normal as one can walk with a fompfer bouncing at one’s feet. Gnawing happily at his food, Mr. Llabeye made his way down the main street, feeling high on the crime and very pleased about his cunning self.

She was very young Ted reckoned, and she had long flowing curls of blonde hair. Yes she was an exceptionally beautiful young woman, but what really amazed him was the man standing beside her. It was none other than Doctor J. A. W. Chopling –who would’ve thought they would ever meet again?
The Doctor J. A. W. Chopling and the young woman were standing outside a very smelly gate, it had to be an exit from the city sewers, Mr. Llabeye thought.
-“Doctor!” he bellowed (yes in fact, it was proper bellowing because Ted Llabeye had a very deep voice). “Doctor Woodchop-Chopling!” He yelled, waving his arms frantically. In response the keg-shaped Doctor J. A. W. Chopling grinned broadly and yelled back, relief curling its way across his face: -“Mr. Llabeye! I was sure I would never see you again! My, my am I happy to see you, how wonderful! Come here and meet Miss. Lilac!”

And what happened to the excitement of the story? Why didn’t it take longer for the two of them to meet up? Well, something even bigger than the danger of the city is about to come up against them, way bigger, and I thought it would be better for them if they were together against that, all four of them.

They all tried the very best they could to settle inside Miss. Lilac’s little residence. It was a small two floor house along one of the side-roads to Sees-Smack. All the houses in Gimpsmock-Fillings had been built so close together they had gone all crooked and bent, leaning over the roads and alleys as if they were going to topple over any minute. On the ground floor in their current home there was a minuscule kitchen in one corner, a set of chairs around a square table, a little fireplace, a broken piano, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in theatre posters and a little shelf on one wall was filled with ties. There was only one room on the ground floor and all these things were pressed tightly into it. To make matters worse, a massive amount of dirty dishes were stacked around the room so it was hard to find places to sleep. Little flies zoomed around above their heads as they entered, and loud music from some kind of event a few houses down made flakes of paint drop from the ceiling. Even though the first impression of the house seemed less than convincing, the first floor turned out to be a lot better.
A large double bed, a giant bookcase, a dresser packed with clothes, shelves crowded with girly things, two chairs, a soft toy giraffe, a massive mirror, dirty garments, a box filled with Christmas decorations, eight carpets overlapping each other and the worlds most diminutive sofa had been squeezed into the room. It gave the room a somehow claustrophobic, yet charming appeal, in a way only a young woman could make a mess and still make it seem delightful.
Miss Lilac moved about her belongings, she had lifted her upper lip up, clearly showing she was disgusted by her own mess and apologizing at the same time. The smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings had faded once they had stepped into her home, so both J. A. W. Chopling and Mr. Llabeye seemed only relieved about getting inside. The two of them were currently dressed in some old sheets, wearing them like togas, this had not drawn any immediate attention, so it was all good. The moment they got upstairs, Miss Lilac instantaneously started to dig through her possessions to find some clothes for them. Seeing neither of the three now had any money at all, it was hopeless to try to buy anything.
After waving away at least fifty different flowery, feathered and sparkly pieces of clothing, Miss Lilac admitted her defeat against her own wardrobe and she had to give up. Outside darkness had caught its full embrace of the night, but there was still tons of life outside. The fompfer had made itself comfortable in an old cauldron with burnt porridge scraps along the edges. An old pillowcase with a baroque pattern remarkably similar to the flowery pattern on Mr Llabeye’s underwear had been crammed into the cauldron, which was probably why Philip had settled so nicely in it.
Mr Llabeye attempted to get some shut-eye on the carpet in front of the fireplace on the ground floor, however whatever direction he rolled over he seemed to noisily hit pots and pans. Dr J. A. W. Chopling had fallen to sleep immediately and was snoring generously on the undersized sofa on the first floor. Miss Lilac was drooling munificently in her own double bed, against all odds earlier the same day, it seemed to approach a relaxing night after all.

4.

-“Where is it?!” he demanded, smacking his paperwork about on his desk. He was twitchily walking back and forth in his round office and his head was pulsating with a luminous red. Across the room from him there were three people seated. At least one of them was still seated, the other two had got up so they could bend their necks and look ashamed.
“Well?!” He boomed “None of you seem to be keen to explain this intricate and unfortunate situation to me, or rather, how it could possibly become intricate and unfortunate. Because it was so damn simple, so simple. How could it have gone wrong?! You had a very simple task to do for me, but you screwed up. I want to know what happened and I want to know where the object is, and I want to know now!”
The silence that followed this time was something completely different from what anyone in the room had ever experienced. It was the kind of silences when you don’t know what is loud and what is silent. The sound of your heart pumping blood around your body seems to dominate the use of your eardrums while shouting, screaming and loud noises in general seem to be coming from underwater somewhere.
One of the men that were standing, his name was Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet, drew his breath as if to speak, but instead of any words coming out of his mouth it was merely a peeping, weak sound of air passing through a pipe. The man at the desk seemed to have lost his patience, the smile curling its way across his exceptionally revolting face gave away that he was planning to do something very mean. Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet saw this immediately, because he was no dumb man, so Sir Joshua instantly drew his breath again and this time the words coming out of his mouth seemed to never stop.
-“Well you see the thing that happened sir, a case which is obviously horribly regrettable and also pathetic if I may say so myself, is that your consignment – on which you have been waiting ever so unwearyingly for- did not turn up as premeditated. There was difficulty with the train and the crate in which your treasured cargo was kept throughout the journey was not found until after a full search of the entire train sir. The problem was that when the crate finally turned up, it was also empty. There was absolutely nothing we could do but to search the station, it was unfeasible to search every person present though, which I would believe you comprehend, it was rush hour sir. So many people, so much luggage and so much traffic sir. We got a written admission of guilt from the train-driver, but we fully intend to get your cargo back as planned. A written apology and a few gold pieces can not return the treasure which has been lost now, sir. We all understand that, though we do not intend to take full responsibility of the misplaced cargo as it had gone astray way before we even arrived and before it even came into the possession of any of us, sir”. He stood still and waited for an answer in painful anticipation. When the person at the desk finally moved, the two men standing up both winced at the same time.
-“he he” The man at the desk grinned cruelly.
“Your words are as always chosen with care as you are very well articulated my friend Sir Sherbet”. The room was thick with tension, you know the way that you’d rather like somebody to be properly angry, instead of this false content on the outside that could suddenly reveal a fuming inside completely unpredicted.
“Of course neither of you two is forgiven in any way nor will you be before this is over and done with. You will not be forgiven until what I want is on my desk right here. You two are on the job, and you have one week. You’ve got one week gentlemen. Perceive that I have invited a third person into my office today. Gentlemen, let me present to you Miss Marion Eow, better known as Miss M. Eow.”
When the lady in the chair got up, the light from the window behind the desk lit her face. The other two men gasped as they saw her large, green eyes placed beautifully in the face of a cat. She was a woman with a cat face, tall and slender, sexy in a way, having this dangerous attitude about her. “She will be like your parole officer, let’s just say – she’s there to look after you, so if you screw up, I will know – it is the most suitable solution for all of us”. He looked down at his desk. “Lord Melon, since you have not spoken I assume you take a complete side with Sir Sherbet here, which leaves you in the same fully responsible position as him. You three are on this task for now on, I do not care how many people dies, how many Christmases cancelled, how many baby otters have to suffer or how many latte’s you have to drink. The expenses of your personal pleasure during your mission to obtain the objective will be paid for by yours truly. I do this only because I feel very strongly about this particular case, so gold should not be of your concern. You do of course understand that this generosity has a reasonable limit, yes gentlemen, I believe we are done here. You too my lady, so if you would be so kind to get lost, get on with it and leave me alone would you? Thank you”. Sir Sherbet and Lord Melon bowed and scurried hurriedly out of the room, while Miss M. Eow merely nodded before she strode elegantly out of the office. The door closed and the room was only lit by the light from the lively nightlife of Gimpsmock-Fillings coming from through the window. The curtains closed, and alone in the darkness sat Kaptain Kill.

5.

Doctor J. A. W. Chopling stirred the mixture, watched the butter melt and crackle in the pan before he poured the batter in, letting out satisfying "f-shhhhhs’es”. He licked his fingers and hummed with pleasure. Rearranging of cutlery, kettles and general kitchen accessories had noisily filled the house all morning. Ted had managed quite well to remain asleep by shielding his ears underneath a casserole, but after the doctor had removed this, Ted was forced awake. Large bubbles, mountains of lather and foam flooded the entire ground floor, the doctor standing in the middle of it all scrubbing plates like a madman. The prosperity of dishes had decreased with about half and pancakes were going golden in a hot pan. Miss Lilac had already gone to work, so the two men were left alone in her house. Why a woman that had grown up in Gimpsmock-Fillings would ever leave two strangers alone in her house would simply be because she was a woman that had grown up in Gimpsmock-Fillings. This young woman had been through more than anyone you know yourself, and at this current point in her life, she realized she just had to let go of everything and stop being precautious. She had nothing to win, nothing to lose, no reason to win, no reason to lose. Cutting it short, Laurel Lilac lived every day like it was her last (which it very well could be too). Ted set the table for two, and dusted the shelf with ties properly, folding the ties neatly before putting them back. After a couple of minutes of hard work, they were getting increasingly prepared for breakfast, this they were going to satisfy this need by eating the plentitude of pancakes they had cooked. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was in a very good mood, because he had been gifted with a minor concussion the day before and could not remember anything about his wife, his daughter, his son in law or his scrawny little clinic in Otsep Valley. Mr. Llabeye had not become aware of this yet, so he was very happy too, because he didn’t know that his best friend had lost major parts of his memory. Besides, Ted had slept very well and couldn’t wait to go out of the house again to see more of this fascinating city. The things he could remember from last night made him question his own wish of ever wanting to leave the marvelous place.
-“It is actually quite funny, that” Ted said, chewing and waving his fork absent-mindedly.
-“What is?” replied Doctor J. A.W. Chopling, being half-present in the morning papers, half present at the breakfast table.
-“I think I spent less than the better part of an hour in this city before I was as much of a crook as a hanger. This place is… Amazing” Ted sipped his milk, chewed and attempted to talk at the same time. Amplifying when he swallowed his food so that people present would know he was going back on topic the moment after he was done chewing. (Of course there was no necessity to do this, because the doctor wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to Ted’s little theatrical moment at all).
“You know, I have never stolen a single thing in my life before, nothing! Never!” Ted mused for a bit, smiling satisfied for himself. “Never in my entire life, ever”. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling nodded bemusedly, adding politely (because Ted had stopped talking for a moment):
-“Is that so?” Then he turned a page and left his breakfast getting colder on his fork.
-“Yes!” Ted exclaimed happily and grinned like a fool, his plate was cleared and his glass was empty, his buttocks itching to leave the house.
“oh, and you don’t happen to know anything about Miss Lilac do you? I feel bad about living in her house and living off her hospitality when I hardly know a thing about her. Actually I don’t know a thing, well I know her name and where she lives, though I guess that is two things and not: ‘not a thing’, but you do get my point, don’t you, doctor?” For the first time that morning Ted’s sanctified-expression was removed from his face. “Doctor J. A. W. Chopling?”

“Don’t you get very annoyed at people who don’t listen to you when you talk though?”
-“of course I do Mr. Llabeye!” said Doctor J. A. W. Chopling, jogging alongside with Ted that was walking with unnecessary haste. “But I just do not see why that means you could empty my breakfast over the morning papers!”
They had been arguing for a good while when they finally reached the end of that alley where Miss Lilac’s home was positioned, escaping into the busy on goings of midday sees-smack. As the day before, they were wearing these old sheets as togas, but like the day before, nobody seemed to really care. Here and there in the crowd, they could of course spot the sporadic high-class person dressed in the same strange glad rags as the exceptionally skinny women in those magazines. You know the ones. Yes, and those, they were the only ones who seemed to care. But, as I said, there were not many of those, besides, they were usually trying to focus on avoiding to be mugged and not always wrinkling noses at unfashionable day wear. Seeing the main street in daylight was at first glance a lot different from what it was at night time. If you kept your eyes steady for a moment on the other hand, you would find that the filthy business that took place at night happened in broad daylight as well, just that now it was wearing more clothes, smiling broader and wearing several capes, not just the usual one for the golden watches. Note that the golden watches being sold at daytime was usually a better purchase than the ones sold at night, people do not eat enough carrots or fish in sees-smack, so their night-vision is at an average quite bad.
The fompfer was, as the day before, tagging along with Ted, even though Ted’s flowery underwear was not as visible as the day before. The fompfer knew that the magniloquent underwear was under there somewhere, (also, whenever Ted got a little excited, he would do a little hop, and from a fompfer’s angle; that usually brought you quite a view).
The three of them bustled down sees-smack with no particular purpose. Ted just wanted to see as much as possible at once, Doctor J. A. W. Chopling didn’t really know what he wanted, but was getting increasingly worried about his sudden need to rub something anesthetic in Ted’s face. Suddenly the three gentlemen were put to a standstill as no other than Miss Lilac herself stood before them. She was wearing a giant dress (which did, they agreed on later; enhance her rather well-proportioned bosom) and a white curly wig with a crown on it, hung dangerously on one side of her head. Beside her stood another woman, dressed in black with an artistic pose and non-matching earrings, her ginger hair stood out in every direction, making her look like she was wearing an agitated red cat on her head.
–“Gentlemen!” Miss Lilac exclaimed, as she smiled, the thick layer of make-up on her face formerly cracked open like an earthquake about to swallow parts of the planet. “What a coincidence! I was just going to pop by at home for lunch and say hi, and I was bringing you this” she said and held up the bag she had in one hand. They gave her the usual brain-dead and male, average quizzical look, and she sighed appropriately with her eyes far up her skull, looking all female and inpatient. The silence remained, and she put her hands to her sides, looking stern. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling and Mr. Llabeye continued to look lost at her, until she pointed at the bag saying “Clothes!” with the female, obvious “you should’ve known” look on her face. They both gave her the regular “aaaah, right” look before they gathered themselves enough to question her rather unusual daywear. That means, they would point randomly up and down, forming mouthwords that does not exist.
“oh! Where are my manners?” she said, smacking her forehead.
“Welcome to the theatre! This is where I work” She stepped aside, even though she didn’t really have to, because the architectural monster was very visible no matter if she stood in front of it or not.
-“So that is what you do?” Mr. Llabeye said interested. While clapping his hands together and then rubbing them, he added a little too quickly:
“I’ve always loved the theatre”. There were obvious flaws in his acting, and one look from Miss Lilac made him realize that she knew that he knew that she knew that he didn’t really enjoy theatre very much. He smiled apologetically as they followed her inside instead.

(yes sir! The 3rd version is here, some bits have been altered and some sentences should definately flow better now. Grammar is slooowly getting in to place. In addition 1135 new words have been added, so things are going ahead, certainly. Well, just lean back and wait for more I guess, the 4th revision will be in soon)

Version # 2

2006-10-24T09:42:00.000+02:00

1.

“Do you really think that trains rattle to attempt to break free?” the doctor said, pushing his head back a little, as to create distance between them.
- “There is a fault in that theory?” Mr. Llabeye said, but did not seem offended.
“You seem to have ignored the obvious importance of their urge to start dialogue” the doctor said and put his glasses on. “If the inventory of a train is interested in demonstrating freedom, break loose from their chains and organise strikes, it seems logical to me that these items would – in other words – want to communicate” He paused for the effect.
They were passing an exceptionally ugly area of forest where all the trees seemed bent or wrong in a way. The doctors eyes skipped back and forth in his eye-sockets as he was tossing glances at the passing trees, following them for the slight second possible before looking at a new tree. He met Mr. Llabeye’s eyes before continuing. “Doesn’t it sound like a language to you?” He raised his voice a notch and added – with a hint of excitement in his old eyes – “Listen!” he said imperatively, and raised a hand to cut Mr. Llabeye silent as he had drawn his breath to speak. The door at the far end of the carriage was rattling as if urging someone to open it. A wave of excitement spread across the old doctor’s face as the seat in front of them, now, in an odd way, seemed to be replying to what the door had just rattled. Mr. Llabeye thought for a little moment, he could’ve thought for longer, because the doctor was in his own little world. His bulgy old body was attempting to tap the beat of the door and seat with pointy, black shoes. The doctor was lost in his own rhythm and his bowler hat was slowly tipping more and more over to one side.
– “Well I can’t see why not” Mr. Llabeye said finally, settling with the Doctors linguistic hypothesis, he leant back into his seat, the train wiggling him back and forth a long with the rhythm of the passenger heads in front of him.

Tedvard Llabeye, otherwise known as Ted, Tedvard, Mr. Llabeye or Teddy (the nickname he preferred the least) was not a very important person. His late father, Oliver Llabeye, had left Ted a rather enjoyable amount of money when he passed away a few years ago. But Ted was hardly very important anyway, his job as olive-milker being one of the less important jobs in his country’s society. Still Ted loved his job, and his Olive farm in Otsep Valley was in his opinion the very best place in the world. Ted was a married man and so he had been for nearly five years. Those had been nearly five very happy years because he loved his wife very much and Ted was a very lucky man to have her. Together they had a little son and Ted cared for his wife and son very much. Mr. Llabeye was on a train to Gimpsmock-Fillings, looking through a window, getting unavoidably wiggled from side to side. Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling was clapping a continuously disorientated beat in the seat facing Mr. Llabeye. It all seemed like a rather usual thing to take place, two men on a train, minding their business. Yes, a very usual thing to take place, except from the fact that it was not. Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were not going to the city of Gimpsmock-Fillings with an ordinary purpose. People who went to Gimpsmock-Fillings usually went there to get laid with something they didn’t care what looked like, to hide something particularly nasty, something in-between, or sometimes even both. You could also visit Gimpsmock-Fillings if you had no reason to live or if you had an urge to get rid of all your money as quick as possible.
As you might already have realised, neither of these were the reason why Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were going to Gimpsmock-Fillings, they hardly do seem like that kind of people, do they? A slightly squint academic and an olive-milker often do give the impression of being rather harmless, especially in the company of each other, like these two. Their business in Gimpsmock-Fillings was in fact, also quite harmless; they had been given special invitations to the annual Gimpsmock-Fillings Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival, and what kind of dumb idiot would ever let go of a VIP-pass to the Fudge n’ Fondue Tent at the Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival? Certainly not these two gentlemen. In Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suitcase there was a jar of the Doctors very own, homemade, pickled strawberries with liquorice. This very special treat he had brought along to attend the highly respected Alternative-Tea-Treats Competition. Ted had brought a delicate little box of Olive-milk chocolate covered almonds for the Best Home-Grown Speciality Competition. They were sitting, thinking about trophies and prizes. They could live off the money prize for a year if they wanted to and eventual sponsors could see to the rest. Both the Doctor and the milker were ambitious and bloated with confidence, they were determined to return home with large trophies in their laps, as men often do. Blind for reason they had quarrelled their way out of their houses this same morning, their wives were swinging saucepans menacingly at them, but it did not help. The men had grabbed their usual lunches and darted for the door, meeting up at Market Square in Otsep valley (the little ditch where people would meet up with cattle and nod appreciatively at comments about the weather).
Running away to attend a festival was not the most mature thing the two of them had ever done together, but as usual they had currently forgotten that there would be a decent round of beating for them both when they got home. After all, it was not often that the two of them ever got out of their boring valley, and they were both sure that a helping of big city life would do them both very good.
But, oh -they were so dreadfully wrong.

As the train made a final, annoyed hoot, it chuffed away from platform 54 at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. In fact, the sign dangling above their head actually said

Platform 54 – Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station (Your Last Stop)

The unwelcome sensation of having done something incredibly stupid crawled up Mr. Llabeye’s back. Leaving safety, leaving home, leaving everything he knew and leaving all the things he had learnt to befriend! How could he have come up with something as brain-dead as that? Going for an adventure had, though, admittedly sounded alluring the moment he boarded the train. It didn’t quite seem as tempting now however, as the smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings was polluting his lungs. Even though this entire journey-thing had seemed like a first-class idea in the morning, it didn’t even seem the slightest good now that afternoon was approaching. The trip had only taken them about four hours and a glance over at the blood-splattered board told Mr. Llabeye that there was a train going back to Otsep Valley in forty-five minutes. His hand reached for the elbow of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suit, but ended up trying to grasp thin air as the Doctor was no longer standing beside him. It took a bit above four seconds before Ted realised, and by the time he did, he also noticed that he had been ribbed down to his flowery underwear. Suddenly awakened by the cool breeze around his knees he turned around every direction at once, searching for Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s bowler hat that ought to be easily spotted along the masses. But even though he turned around and round, Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was completely gone and Ted then became aware of his inappropriate outfit again.

There was little Tedvard Llabeye could do, standing at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station one late autumn afternoon wearing nothing but his flowery underwear and his new black top-hat. Also, his travelling companion Doctor J. A. W. Chopling had been missing for about six minutes and thirty-nine seconds, evaporated without a trace to an unknown location. After another two minutes had passed, Ted’s forehead was so covered in deep, worried wrinkles that his eyes were about to be buried under an avalanche of skin. His flowery underwear had caught little attention, except from by a little Fompfer that had now repeatedly attempted to stick its fuzzy head up the left leg of Ted’s shorts. Ted took another annoyed step to the side, the Fompfer following playfully making little squinting noises of delight as it got even closer to the leg this time. With this hairy little creature hopping about around his skinny calves, Ted tried to get his way to platform 3 that was now spouting a last call to Otsep Valley. The message was carried over some dodgy speakers that looked poorly hotwired to the network, sparks flew from the audio-system.
You might think that platform 3 is very far away from platform number 54 where Ted currently was, but in fact these two platforms were positioned right next to each other. Most Gimpsmock-Fillingers couldn’t count anyway, so it was therefore not important if the numbers descended or ascended in the right way. The important thing was that every platform had a number (they had, however, managed to give two platforms the same number, three times). Ted was made conscious of the fact that the train for Otsep Valley was leaving over twenty-five minutes early, he could though, not blame the poor train. He for one, was certainly sure that he had had more than enough of Gimpsmock-Fillings already.

2.

Meanwhile Doctor J. A. W. Chopling awoke as he heard a screeching noise.
The Doctor could not recall that he had fallen asleep in the first place, or that everything except his respectable underwear (God bless his wife) and his socks had in fact been removed. It seemed, however, more likely that he had been knocked unconscious and mugged. There were few things that the Gimpsmock-fillingers actually did properly as most of the things he had seen of the city had been fastened with duct tape, but mugging they seemed to be able to manage, very smoothly.
A soaring pain appeared in the back of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s head and for the first time in thirty-nine years, the doctor could not blame alcoholic beverages or his blessed wife.
He carefully propped himself up with his arms and led one hand to the back of his head. He stroked the painful spot carefully and felt the bump swelling under his thin white hair. He put his hand back down and tried to look around a bit. He found himself being in a very dark place filled with the rests of ancient chewing gums and cigarette stumps. Judging from the smell there was also rotten food nearby. The sudden screeching sound that had awakened him had to be a train. All around him he could also recognise old train tickets which made him draw the conclusion that he had to be underneath the train station.
His eyes were getting more and more accustomed to the dark, only small stripes of afternoon sun coming through slits in the platform above him lit the miserable state of himself and his surroundings. As he untied his legs he suddenly heard a woman’s voice, it was a lot clearer than the muffled conversations coming from above, and so he looked around to see where it came from. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was still feeling rather delicate so he had been unable to hear what she said the first time. The second time, on the other hand, nobody in the world could get it wrong.
-“I said – Where am I?!” the voice repeated, this time so sharp it could cut steel. He hesitated for a moment, but then heard an annoyed snort (which he recognised as something his wife did too) and gathered himself enough to answer.
-“I d-don’t know m-madam” The doctor stuttered, and looked around anxiously.
-“Miss” the voice corrected stiffly. “And who are you?!”
That was a rather rude approach, the doctor thought, now thinking as she was a “miss” she was probably part of today’s youth which he apparently was supposed to dislike and pass judgment on.
-“I am Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling” he retorted briskly, putting extra weight on the word doctor.
-“I see” she said, with obvious careless-ness in her voice. The doctor sat back with his arms crossed, still unable to see the rude young woman in the dark and intended not to speak to her anymore.
There was silence, only the usual hooting, chuffing and puffing of a train broke the quiet.
“Soooooo” she said finally, after the longest and most awkward death of a conversation she had ever lived to experience. “Are you not going to ask my name?”
The doctor still sat with his arms crossed, looking like a large, insulted baby seal with a moustached pout and a displeased look on his face. He figured it would be to rude to say no – after all, he was a gentleman and he had to pretend like he had a little bit of dignity and politeness left, even though he was ribbed to his underwear. His bowler hat was also missing he realised and started to look around for it as he said:
- “Oh, my dear lady, I sure hope you please do find it within yourself to forgive me, I seem to have completely lost all of my manners since getting to this city. I do apologize for that miss, let’s try it again, shall we? Erhm... So what is your name miss?”
Sounding pleased and softening her voice a bit she said something along the lines of
-“Laurel Lilac Sir, the name is Laurel Lilac”. The tone of her voice indicated that she was blushing. The doctor didn’t really care and just kept crawling around on his knees to find his hat, he was also getting uncomfortably aware of the evening chill that was setting in.
- “so, sir…” Laurel Lilac started, but was cut off.
-“Doctor, if you could be so kind” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I actually did not spend seven years in a cramped university to be called sir afterwards” in the dark you could barely make out that he smiled and there was no menace in his voice, but Miss Lilac seemed to have taken it all the wrong way.
-“Sorry then, doctor” she said sourly “I was just going to ask you where we are”.
-“oh dear, I did not mean it like that Miss Lilac, I was simply correcting for future reference, also, I believe that unfortunately we are at the Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. Well, we are more like underneath it actually” the doctor said – and had after getting some old candy wrappers stuck to his hand stopped the search for his hat for now.
-“Gimpsmock-Fillings!” Miss Lilac exclaimed happily “well then at least I am still home, this is not bad at all, that’s wonderful. Puh! I am rather relieved” she giggled nervously. “I was scared just then”. The doctor didn’t reply.
“Are you okay doctor?” she said after breathing normally for a while.
-“No actually. No, no I’m not” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I seem to be in a city that is new to me, robbed, no clothes, and to make it worse…” –“you are stuck here with me” Miss Lilac said. –“oh, no, not at all Miss Lilac, on the contrary, I am very pleased to have company in this hour of distress, but you see, my lady, my good friend and travelling companion Mr. Llabeye seems to have been separated from me”.
He looked down at his hands, feeling a bit lost.
-“Oh don’t you worry Doctor Chopling” Miss Lilac said cheerfully. “I will get both of us out of here, we will get something to wear and something to eat, and we will find your good friend, oh no, don’t you worry about that doctor, don’t you worry at all”.

3.

-“I say it only one more time, sir. You are not boarding this train without clothes and especially not without a ticket or any money”.
The conductor blew his whistle and waved numerous colourful flags, threw his shoe in the opposite direction and put a trashcan on fire to signal the train to leave. The train hooted impatiently as it started puffing away from the station. The conductor grabbed a handle and swung himself on board the train elegantly. Before he disappeared inside he tipped his hat at Mr. Llabeye. Poor Mr. Llabeye was standing cold and frightened on platform number 3, a Fompfer was sticking its head up the left leg of his flowery knickers letting out satisfied little sighs now and then. The conductor was right of course, he was doomed without any money and he did not have a place to stay either. The only thing he had was his spotless new top hat –oh, wait, no. –It appeared he only had his flowery knickers and a slightly fruity Fompfer up his shorts, completely new to the scariest city on the planet. Obviously Ted felt lonely and scared, he was a grown man, responsible, quick of mind and experienced, but this was the kind of place where you would rather not be half-naked, broke, alone, or worse; all three of them. Night was draping its way across the city, it was still as noisy and smelly as ever, just darker now. Ted realised he had no choice but to find a place to sleep, if things got really bad, he could sell the fompfer for a little bit of money. He threw a momentary look at the fompfer that was now examining his legs closer with its giant black eyes. For a moment the fompfer stopped looking at Ted’s leg and instead looked up at him, tipped its head a little and purred loyally. Ted didn’t know why, because even though it was all looking more than just “rather hopeless” (which would have been his usual approach to the situation) he smiled affectionately at the fompfer as he started walking towards the exit.
The train station was considerably emptier now and since he had no pockets or no apparent wallet, he could walk unnoticed through the masses of people on the street outside.

Everywhere around him the night was lit by colours, by torches and candles, the air was filled with thick scents and fumes, noises, music, explosions and languages. Ted thought that maybe in all of this, even though it was all very bad, the pulse of the city seemed to give life and energy to him. He found himself being pushed and squeezed like olive bread dough as he walked through the crowd of people, his eyes like plates trying to suck all the impressions in at once. Really he had no place to go, so he thought he might as well explore. The street he was on now, that was named Sees-Smack, seemed to go on forever. In the middle of it there was heavy traffic. There were wagons, horses, cattle, and carriages of different sorts, trolleys, chicken, and sometimes the occasional person attempting not to get run over. Along what people had declared as sidewalk on this road (even though there was no clear line between the two) there were tons and tons of shops. There were people, lots and lots of them, there were stores, stands, booths and restaurants. There were pubs and bars, the occasional drunken fights continuing out on the sidewalk to the local’s enormous amusement.

Clowns and minstrels were stealing so openly from the people on Sees-Smack, that at first Mr. Llabeye was shocked that nobody seemed to notice. That didn’t last for very long when he saw a mother (still holding the hands of her two hopeful ones) thoroughly emptying the pockets of the man pretending to be a golden statue. So, they were simply crooks the whole lot of them then, he decided and made a mental note of never to trust anyone ever again. Ted was actually quite happy that he was not balancing two suitcases on top of his best suit through this street, it could never work out, never in a million years. Gently, a smell filled Ted’s nostrils, caressing his nasal hair and pleased it with utmost satisfaction. It smelled like open-fire barbecued, carefully crisp on the outside, soft and warm on the inside, cheese-filled, smoked, scolding hot sausages. The ones that were spiced so amazingly and every bite seemed to fill his heart with love and give his life meaning. The stand immediately unveiled itself in front of him, there was a rather pudgy man selling them, he had a large beaming smile that did not even attempt to reflect honesty. Ted walked over to the stand, half-hidden behind a giant now ordering his cheese-sausage with extra onion on it. Ted reached his knuckled hand out over the sausage selection teasingly, testing the reactions of the salesman. After sprawling his fingers above them for a second, he let his hand swoop down on to the barbeque and snapped up a sausage between two fingers.

The heat scolded with crushing intensity and he had to pinch up his face to not scream. As quick as he could Ted wrapped the sausage in the bottom seam of his knickers, licking his fingers excessively to remove the pain. Having to walk rather strangely now and hot grease dripping from his hands and thigh, Ted found it a lot more challenging to make progress down the street. Sees-Smack was still packed with people of course, but moving about had been easier when he could stand up straight. The fompfer was frolicking about around his ankles as well, making the walk a bit more difficult than any normal walking with a disadvantage walk. He bent down and snapped up a flat-trampled paper bag, it was crumpled and had footprints on it, but anything would do right then. With haste Ted wrapped the sausage in it and could walk normally again – well, as normal as one can walk with a fompfer bouncing at one’s feet. Gnawing happily at his food, Mr. Llabeye made his way down the main street, feeling high on the crime and very pleased about his cunning self.

She was very young Ted reckoned, and she had long flowing curls of blonde hair. Yes she was an exceptionally beautiful young woman, but what really amazed him was the man standing beside her. It was none other than Doctor J. A. W. Chopling –who would’ve thought they would ever meet again?
The two of them were standing outside a very smelly gate, it had to be an exit from the city sewers, Mr. Llabeye thought.
-“Doctor!” he bellowed (yes in fact, it was proper bellowing because Ted Llabeye had a very deep voice). “Doctor Woodchop-Chopling!” He yelled, waving his arms frantically. In response the keg-shaped Doctor J. A. W. Chopling grinned broadly and yelled back, relief curling its way across his face: -“Mr. Llabeye! I was sure I would never see you again! My, my am I happy to see you, how wonderful! Come here and meet Miss. Lilac!”

And what happened to the excitement of the story? Why didn’t it take longer for the two of them to meet up? Well, something even bigger than the danger of the city is about to come up against them, way bigger, and I thought it would be better for them if they were together against that, all four of them.

They all tried the very best they could to settle inside Miss. Lilac’s little residence. It was a small two floor house along one of the side-roads to Sees-Smack. All the houses in Gimpsmock-Fillings had been built so close together they had gone all crooked and bent, leaning over the roads and alleys as if they were going to topple over any minute. On the ground floor in their current home there was a minuscule kitchen in one corner, a set of chairs around a square table, a little fireplace, a broken piano, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in theatre posters and a little shelf on one wall was filled with ties. There was only one room on the ground floor and all these things were pressed tightly into it. To make matters worse, a massive amount of dirty dishes were stacked around the room so it was hard to find places to sleep. Little flies zoomed around above their heads as they entered, and loud music from some kind of event a few houses down made flakes of paint drop from the ceiling. Even though the first impression of the house seemed less than convincing, the first floor turned out to be a lot better.
A large double bed, a giant bookcase, a dresser packed with clothes, shelves crowded with girly things, two chairs, a soft toy giraffe, a massive mirror, dirty garments, a box filled with Christmas decorations, eight carpets overlapping each other and the worlds most diminutive sofa had been squeezed into the room. It gave the room a somehow claustrophobic, yet charming appeal, in a way only a young woman could make a mess and still make it seem delightful.
Miss Lilac moved about her belongings, she had lifted her upper lip up, clearly showing she was disgusted by her own mess and apologizing at the same time. The smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings had faded once they had stepped into her home, so both J. A. W. Chopling and Mr. Llabeye seemed only relieved about getting inside. The two of them were currently dressed in some old sheets, wearing them like togas, this had not drawn any immediate attention, so it was all good. The moment they got upstairs, Miss Lilac instantaneously started to dig through her possessions to find some clothes for them. Seeing neither of the three now had any money at all, it was hopeless to try to buy anything.
After waving away at least fifty different flowery, feathered and sparkly pieces of clothing, Miss Lilac admitted her defeat against her own wardrobe and she had to give up. Outside darkness had caught its full embrace of the night, but there was still tons of life outside. The Philip the fompfer had made itself comfortable in an old cauldron with burnt porridge scraps along the edges. An old pillowcase with a baroque pattern remarkably similar to the flowery pattern on Mr Llabeye’s underwear had been crammed into the cauldron, which was probably why Philip had settled so nicely in it.
Mr Llabeye attempted to get some shut-eye on the carpet in front of the fireplace on the ground floor, however whatever direction he rolled over he seemed to noisily hit pots and pans. Dr J. A. W. Chopling had fallen to sleep immediately and was snoring generously on the undersized sofa on the first floor. Miss Lilac was drooling munificently in her own double bed, against all odds earlier the same day, it seemed to approach a relaxing night after all.

4.

-“Where is it?!” he demanded, smacking his paperwork about on his desk. He was twitchily walking back and forth in his round office and his head was pulsating with a luminous red. Across the room from him there were three people seated. At least one of them was still seated, the other two had got up so they could bend their necks and look ashamed.
“Well?!” He boomed “None of you seem to be keen to explain this intricate and unfortunate situation to me, or rather, how it could possibly become intricate and unfortunate. Because it was so damn simple, so simple. How could it have gone wrong?! You had a very simple task to do for me, but you screwed up. I want to know what happened and I want to know where the object is, and I want to know now!”
The silence that followed this time was something completely different from what anyone in the room had ever experienced. It was the kind of silences when you don’t know what is loud and what is silent. The sound of your heart pumping blood around your body seems to dominate the use of your eardrums while shouting, screaming and loud noises in general seem to be coming from underwater somewhere.
One of the men that were standing, his name was Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet, drew his breath as if to speak, but instead of any words coming out of his mouth it was merely a peeping, weak sound of air passing through a pipe. The man at the desk seemed to have lost his patience, the smile curling its way across his exceptionally revolting face gave away that he was planning to do something very mean. Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet saw this immediately, because he was no dumb man, so Sir Joshua instantly drew his breath again and this time the words coming out of his mouth seemed to never stop.
-“Well you see the thing that happened sir, a case which is obviously horribly regrettable and also pathetic if I may say so myself, is that your consignment – on which you have been waiting ever so unwearyingly for- did not turn up as premeditated. There was difficulty with the train and the crate in which your treasured cargo was kept throughout the journey was not found until after a full search of the entire train sir. The problem was that when the crate finally turned up, it was also empty. There was absolutely nothing we could do but to search the station, it was unfeasible to search every person present though, which I would believe you comprehend, it was rush hour sir. So many people, so much luggage and so much traffic sir. We got a written admission of guilt from the train-driver, but we fully intend to get your cargo back as planned. A written apology and a few gold pieces can not return the treasure which has been lost now, sir. We all understand that, though we do not intend to take full responsibility of the misplaced cargo as it had gone astray way before we even arrived and before it even came into the possession of any of us, sir”. He stood still and waited for an answer in painful anticipation. When the person at the desk finally moved, the two men standing up both winced at the same time.
-“he he” The man at the desk grinned cruelly.
“Your words are as always chosen with care as you are very well articulated my friend Sir Sherbet”. The room was thick with tension, you know the way that you’d rather like somebody to be properly angry, instead of this false content on the outside that could suddenly reveal a fuming inside completely unpredicted.
“Of course neither of you two is forgiven in any way nor will you be before this is over and done with. You will not be forgiven until what I want is on my desk right here. You two are on the job, and you have one week. You’ve got one week gentlemen. Perceive that I have invited a third person into my office today. Gentlemen, let me present to you Miss Marion Eow, better known as Miss M. Eow.”
When the lady in the chair got up, the light from the window behind the desk lit her face. The other two men gasped as they saw her large, green eyes placed beautifully in the face of a cat. She was a woman with a cat face, tall and slender, sexy in a way, having this dangerous attitude about her. “She will be like your parole officer, let’s just say – she’s there to look after you, so if you screw up, I will know – it is the most suitable solution for all of us”. He looked down at his desk. “Lord Melon, since you have not spoken I assume you take a complete side with Sir Sherbet here, which leaves you in the same fully responsible position as him. You three are on this task for now on, I do not care how many people dies, how many Christmases cancelled, how many baby otters have to suffer or how many latte’s you have to drink. The expenses of your personal pleasure during your mission to obtain the objective will be paid for by yours truly. I do this only because I feel very strongly about this particular case, so gold should not be of your concern. You do of course understand that this generosity has a reasonable limit, yes gentlemen, I believe we are done here. You too my lady, so if you would be so kind to get lost, get on with it and leave me alone would you? Thank you”. Sir Sherbet and Lord Melon bowed and scurried hurriedly out of the room, while Miss M. Eow merely nodded before she strode elegantly out of the office. The door closed and the room was only lit by the light from the lively nightlife of Gimpsmock-Fillings coming from through the window. The curtains closed, and alone in the darkness sat Kaptain Kill.

5.

Doctor J. A. W. Chopling stirred the mixture, watched the butter melt and crackle in the pan before he poured the batter in, letting out satisfying "f-shhhhhs’es”. He licked his fingers and hummed with pleasure. Rearranging of cutlery, kettles and general kitchen accessories had noisily filled the house all morning. Ted had managed quite well to remain asleep by shielding his ears underneath a casserole, but after the doctor had removed this, Ted was forced awake. Large bubbles, mountains of lather, and foam flooded the entire ground floor, the doctor standing in the middle of it all scrubbing plates like a madman. The prosperity of dishes had decreased with about half and pancakes were going golden in a hot pan. Miss Lilac had already gone to work, so the two men were left alone in her house. Why a woman that had grown up in Gimpsmock-Fillings would ever leave two strangers alone in her house would simply be because she was a woman that had grown up in Gimpsmock-Fillings. This young woman had been through more than anyone you know yourself, and at this current point in her life, she realized she just had to let go of everything and stop being precautious. She had nothing to win, nothing to lose, no reason to win, no reason to lose. Cutting it short, Laurel Lilac lived every day like it was her last (which it very well could be too). Ted set the table for two, and dusted the shelf with ties properly, folding the ties neatly before putting them back. After long early hours of hard work, they were getting increasingly prepared for breakfast, this they were going to go through with by eating the plentitude of pancakes they had cooked. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was in a very good mood, because he had been gifted with a minor concussion the day before and could not remember anything about his wife, his daughter, his son in law or his little clinic in Otsep Valley. Mr. Llabeye had not become aware of this yet, so he was very happy too, because he had slept very well and couldn’t wait to go out of the house again to see more of this fascinating city. The things he could remember from last night made him question his own wish of ever wanting to leave this fantastic place.

(yes maestro! The 2nd version is here, I took the liberty of splitting up into different chapters and removed the entire intro, changed a bit of the story, corrected spelling mistakes, fixed some flaws and errors before topping it off with some fresh new storyline :D)

Version # 1

2006-10-20T16:45:00.000+02:00

It is easily noticeable how everything in a train rattles.
Even though the entire interior of a train was inevitably once meant to be stuck, it has somehow managed to rattle itself a bit more loose. Not all the way loose, but partly loose. Just loose enough to rattle, basically.
Not an inch more, not an inch less, but, enough of those inches to simulate a one-note beat box.
You would naturally think that the storage compartment above you, the seat beside you, in front of you and behind you would all together (especially with the row at the far back, which seems to be incredibly loose) make a wonderful orchestra.
But a train does not have a sense of rhythm; nothing beats steadily or with any constructive repeat. It just rattles.

Some things that rattle, rattle to tell you that it’s about to loosen from its roots completely. Trains, - I think – rattle because both the exterior and interior of a train simply wants a bit of freedom. A free chair in a dining room can in theory move around as it likes, but a seat inside a train is locked in a certain position.
But seats do not want to be entirely loose, as there would be no use of that. If the train seats were completely loose, they would slam about freely inside the carriages, making the fact that your neighbour is not generous enough with his deodorant suddenly very unimportant. You would actually leave the train with not only your own collarbone broken – but also with somebody else’s broken collarbone. In other words the seats (or the compartment above you or the especially loose seats at the far back) don’t want to be entirely free.
To know that they have freedom of movement, like being a bit closer to be free, is far more important than that they are actually absolutely free. It is to believe that they’re able to be free whenever they want, that matters. So if all of these furnishings can believe they are free and demonstrate it by rattling, it is a small price to pay compared to if they went on strike.
After all, it would be horrible if all kinds of interior in public transport got revolutionary ideas and started to leave. The society as we know it today would break down. Parts of the basic infra-structure in our everyday lives would shatter and fall to pieces.

“Well there is obviously truth in what you’re saying right there Mr.Llabeye” the doctor said smoothly and massaged his temple on both sides with his wrinkled fingers.
“You do, however” he added “forget one thing”.
- “And what is that? If I may ask…?” Mr. Llabeye said, but did not seem offended.
“The obvious importance of their urge to start dialogue” the doctor said and put his glasses on. “If the inventory of a train is interested in demonstrating freedom, break loose from their chains and organise strikes, it seems logical to me that these items would – in other words – want to communicate” He paused for the effect.
They were passing an exceptionally ugly area of forest where all the trees seemed bent or wrong in a way. The doctors eyes skipped back and forth in his eye-sockets as he was tossing glances at the passing trees, following them for the slight second possible before looking at a new tree. He met Mr. Llabeye’s eyes before continuing. “Doesn’t it sound like a language to you?” He raised his voice a notch and added – with a hint of excitement in his old eyes – “They even have different accents! Listen!” he said imperatively, and raised a hand to cut Mr. Llabeye silent as he had drawn his breath to speak. The old man then pointed towards the door at the end of the carriage that was rattling as if urging someone to open it. A wave of excitement spread across the old doctor’s face again as he pointed towards the seat in front of them, that now, in an odd way, seemed to be replying to what the door had just said. Mr. Llabeye thought for a moment, he could’ve thought for longer, because the doctor was now attempting to tap the beat of the door and seat with his pointy, black shoes. The doctor was lost in his own rhythm and his bowler hat was slowly tipping more and more over to one side, his white moustache curling further up as he smiled.
– “There is obviously truth in what you’re saying doctor, it does indeed sound like language, perhaps I should change the approach slightly and add that too” Mr. Llabeye said thoughtfully. “Your suitcase wants to tell you something as well it seems” he added, and smiled (just as much to himself) as the doctor clapped his hands in delight at the suitcase clattering away at his feet.

Tedvard Llabeye, otherwise known as Ted, Tedvard, Mr. Llabeye or as his mother called him “sugarplum” (the nickname he preferred the least) was not a very important person. His late father, Oliver Emmanuel Llabeye, had left Ted a rather enjoyable amount of money when he passed away a few years ago. But Ted was hardly very important anyway, his job as an olive-milker being one of the less interesting jobs you can imagine. Still Ted loved his job, and his Olive farm in Otsep Valley was in his opinion -the best place in the world. Mr. Llabeye leant back in his seat comfortably. He was on a train to Gimpsmock-Fillings, scribbling something on a piece of paper about how a train rattles, as Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling was clapping a disorientated beat next to him. It all seemed like a rather usual thing to take place, except from the fact that it was far from it.
Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were not going to Gimpsmock-Fillings with an ordinary purpose. People usually went to Gimpsmock-Fillings to get laid with something they didn’t care what looked like, to hide something particularly nasty, something in-between, or sometimes even both. You could also visit Gimpsmock-Fillings if you had no reason to live or if you had an urge to get rid of all your money as quick as possible.
As you might already have realised, neither of these were the reason why Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were going to Gimpsmock-Fillings, they hardly do seem like that kind of people, do they? A slightly squint academic and an olive-milker often do give the impression of being rather harmless, especially in the company of each other, like these two.
Their business in Gimpsmock-Fillings was in fact, also quite harmless; they had been given special invitations to the annual Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival, and what kind of dumb idiot would ever let go of a VIP-pass to the Fudge n’ Fondue Tent at the Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival? Certainly not these two gentlemen.
In Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suitcase there was a jar of the Doctors own, homemade, pickled strawberries with liquorice. This very special treat he had brought along to attend the highly respected Alternative-Tea-Treats Competition, with loads of ambition.
Ted had brought a delicate little box of Olive-milk chocolate covered almonds for the Best Home-Grown Speciality Competition. They were sitting, thinking about exactly how many sponsors would toss greenhouses and trolleys after them the moment they had won their prizes. They could live off the money prize for a long while and sponsors could see to the rest. The Doctor and the milker were ambitious and both took for granted that they were returning with large trophies in their laps, as most men do. Blind for reason they had quarrelled their way out of their houses this same morning, wives swinging saucepans menacingly at them as they hit the road.
Running away to attend a festival was perhaps not the most mature thing the two of them had ever done together, but as usual they had currently forgotten that there would be a decent round of beating for both of them when they got home.
The Doctor and his company had in their ignorance a rather enjoyable journey, containing prune-sandwiches as well as raisins, jelly-puffs and Olive-shakes.

As the train made a final, annoyed hoot, it chuffed away from platform 54 at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. In fact, the sign dangling above their head actually said

Platform 54 – Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station (Your Last Stop)

Ted felt an uncomfortable sense of regret for ever leaving his safe olive-farm to attend a Baked-Apple and Treacle festival. It didn’t quite seem as tempting now the smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings was polluting his lungs. Even though this entire journey-thing had seemed like a good idea in the morning, it didn’t even seem the slightest good now that they were approaching afternoon. The trip had only taken them about four hours and his quick eyes could tell that there was a train going back to Otsep Valley in forty-five minutes. His hand reached for the elbow of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suit, but ended up trying to grasp thin air as the Doctor was no longer standing beside him. It took a bit above four seconds before Ted realised, and by the time he did, he also noticed that he had been ribbed down to his flowery underwear. Suddenly awakened by the cool breeze around his knees he turned around every direction at once, searching for Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s bowler hat that ought to be easily spotted along the masses of strange creatures. But even though he turned around and round, Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was completely gone and Ted then became aware of his inappropriate outfit again.

There was little Tedvard Llabeye could do, standing at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station one late autumn afternoon wearing nothing but his flowery underwear and his new black top-hat. Also, his travelling companion Doctor J. A. W. Chopling had been missing for about six minutes and thirty-nine seconds, evaporated without a trace to an unknown location. After another two minutes had passed, Ted’s forehead was so covered in deep, worried wrinkles that his eyes were about to be buried under an avalanche of skin. Ted was suddenly forced to think again as he realised he was getting some strange glances from the bypassing Gimpsmock-Fillingers. Some of the looks he was getting were rather unpleasant, especially the ones that were hungry. As a matter of fact, his flowery underwear had caught little attention, except from by a little Fompfer that had now repeatedly attempted to stick its fuzzy head up the left leg of Ted’s shorts. Ted took another annoyed step to the side, the Fompfer following playfully making little squinting noises of delight as it got even closer to the leg this time. With this hairy little creature hopping about around his skinny calves, Ted tried to get his way to platform 3 that was now urging a last call to Otsep Valley. The message was carried over some dodgy speakers that looked poorly hotwired to the network as sparks flew from the audio-system.
You might think that platform 3 is very far away from platform number 54 where Ted currently was, but in fact these two platforms were positioned right next to each other. Most Gimpsmock-Fillingers couldn’t count anyway. It was therefore not important if the numbers descended or ascended in the right way. The important thing was that every platform had a number (they had, however, managed to give two platforms the same number, three times). Ted was made conscious of the fact that the train for Otsep Valley was leaving over thirty-four minutes early, he could though, not blame the poor train. He for one, was certainly sure that he had had more than enough of Gimpsmock-Fillings already.

Meanwhile Doctor J. A. W. Chopling awoke as he heard a screeching noise.
The Doctor could not recall that he had fallen asleep in the first place, or that everything except his respectable underwear (God bless his wife) and his socks had in fact been removed. It seemed, however, more likely that he had been knocked unconscious and mugged. There were few things that the Gimpsmock-fillingers actually did properly as most of the things he had seen of the city had been fastened with duct tape, but mugging they seemed to be able to manage, very smoothly.
A soaring pain appeared in the back of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s head and for the first time in thirty-nine years, the doctor could not blame alcoholic beverages or his blessed wife.
He carefully propped himself up with his arms and led one hand to the back of his head. He stroked the painful spot carefully and felt the bump swelling under his thin white hair. He put his hand back down and tried to look around a bit. He found himself being in a very dark place filled with the rests of ancient chewing gums and cigarette stumps. The sudden screeching sound that had awakened him had to be a train. Judging from the smell there was also rotten food nearby. All around him he could also recognise curled up old train tickets which made him draw the conclusion that he had to be underneath the train station.
His eyes were getting more and more used to the dark, only small stripes of afternoon sun coming through slits in the platform above him lit the miserable state of himself and his surroundings. As he untied his legs he suddenly heard a woman’s voice, it was a lot clearer than the muffled conversations coming from above, and so he looked around to see where it came from. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was still feeling rather delicate so he had been unable to hear what she said the first time. The second time, on the other hand, nobody in the world could get it wrong.
-“I said – Where am I?!” the voice repeated, this time so sharp it could cut steel. He hesitated for a moment, but then heard an annoyed snort (which he recognised as something his wife did too) and gathered himself enough to answer.
-“I d-don’t know m-madam” The doctor stuttered, and looked around anxiously.
-“Miss” the voice corrected stiffly. “And who are you?!”
That was a rather rude approach, the doctor thought, now thinking as she was a “miss” she was probably part of today’s youth which he apparently was supposed to dislike and pass judgment on.
-“I am Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling” he retorted briskly, putting extra weight on the word doctor.
-“I see” she said, with obvious careless-ness in her voice. The doctor sat back with his arms crossed, still unable to see the rude young woman in the dark and intended not to speak to her anymore.
There was silence, only the usual hooting, chuffing and puffing of a train broke the quiet.
“Soooooo” she said finally, after the longest and most awkward death of a conversation she had ever lived to experience. “Are you not going to ask my name?”
The doctor still sat with his arms crossed, looking like a large, insulted baby seal with a moustached pout and a displeased look on his face. He figured it would be to rude to say no – after all, he was a gentleman and he had to pretend like he had a little bit of dignity and politeness left, even though he was ribbed to his underwear. His bowler hat was also missing he realised and started to look around for it as he said:
- “Well then, my lady, do forgive me, what is your name?”
Sounding pleased and softening her voice a bit she said something along the lines of
-“Laurel Lilac Sir, the name is Laurel Lilac”. The tone of her voice indicated that she was blushing. The doctor didn’t really care and just kept crawling around on his knees to find his hat, he was also getting uncomfortably aware of the evening chill that was setting in.
- “so, sir…” Laurel Lilac started, but was cut off.
-“Doctor, if you could be so kind” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I did not spend seven years in a university to be called sir” in the dark you could barely make out that he smiled and there was no menace in his voice, but Miss Lilac seemed to have taken it all the wrong way.
-“Sorry then, doctor” she said sourly “I was just going to ask you where we are”.
-“oh dear, I did not mean it like that Miss Lilac, I was simply correcting for future reference, also, I believe that unfortunately we are at the Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. Well, we are more like underneath it actually” the doctor said – and had after getting some old candy wrappers stuck to his hand stopped the search for his hat for now.
-“Gimpsmock-Fillings!” Miss Lilac extorted happily “well then at least I am still home, this is not bad at all, that’s wonderful. Puh! I am rather relieved” she giggled nervously. “I was scared right then”. The doctor didn’t reply.
“Are you okay doctor?” she said after breathing normally for a while.
-“No actually. No, no I’m not” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I seem to be in a city that is new to me, robbed, no clothes, and to make it worse…” –“you are stuck here with me” Miss Lilac said. –“oh, no, not at all Miss Lilac, on the contrary, I am very pleased to have company in this hour of distress, but you see, my lady, my good friend and travelling companion Mr. Llabeye seems to have been separated from me”.
He looked down at his hands, feeling a bit lost.
-“Oh don’t you worry Doctor Chopling” Miss Lilac said cheerfully. “I will get both of us out of here, we will get something to wear and something to eat, and we will find your good friend, oh no, don’t you worry about that doctor, don’t you worry at all”.

-“I say it only one more time, sir. You are not boarding this train without clothes and especially not without a ticket or any money”.
The conductor blew his whistle and waved numerous colourful flags, threw his shoe in the opposite direction and put a trashcan on fire to signal the train to leave. The train hooted impatiently as it started puffing away from the station. The conductor grabbed a handle and swung himself on board the train elegantly. Before he disappeared inside he tipped his hat at Mr. Llabeye. Poor Mr. Llabeye was standing cold and frightened on platform number 3, a Fompfer was sticking its head up the left leg of his flowery knickers letting out satisfied little sighs now and then.
The conductor was right of course, he was doomed without any money and he did not have a place to stay either. The only thing he had was his spotless new top hat –oh, wait, no. –It appeared he only had his flowery knickers and a slightly fruity Fompfer up his shorts, completely new to the scariest city on the planet.
Obviously Ted felt lonely and scared, he was a grown man, responsible, quick of mind and experienced, but this was the kind of place where you would rather not be half-naked, broke, alone, or worse; all three of them.
Night was draping its way across the city, still it was as noisy and smelly as ever, just darker now. Ted realised he had no choice but to find a place to sleep, if things got really bad, he could sell the fompfer for a little bit of money. He threw a glance at the fompfer that was now examining his legs closer with its giant black eyes. For a moment the fompfer stopped looking at his leg and instead looked up at him, tipped its head a little and purred loyally. Ted didn’t know why, because even though it was all looking more than just “rather hopeless” (which would have been his usual approach to the situation) he smiled affectionately at the fompfer as he started walking towards the exit.
The train station was considerably emptier now and since he had no pockets or no apparent wallet, he could walk unnoticed through the masses of people on the street outside.

Everywhere around him the night was lit by colourful little lamps, the air was filled with thick scents and fumes, noises, explosions and languages. Ted thought that maybe in all of this, even though it was all very bad, the pulse of the city seemed to give life and energy to him. He found himself being pushed and squeezed like olive bread dough as he walked through the crowd of people. Really he had no place to go, so he thought he might as well explore. The street he was on now, that was named Sees-Smack, and it seemed to go on forever. In the middle of it there was heavy traffic. There were wagons, horses, cattle, and carriages of different sorts, trolleys, chicken, and sometimes the occasional person. Along what people had declared as sidewalk (even though there was no clear line) there were tons and tons of shops. There were people, lots and lots of them, there were stores, stands, booths and… And then, then there was something quite out of the ordinary.
There was something not even a grown man like Ted had seen his entire life. On top of a stack of crates there was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

Ted was a married man and so he had been for nearly five years. Those had been nearly five very happy years because he loved his wife very much and Ted was a very lucky man to have her. Together they had a little son and Ted cared for his wife and son very much. Ever since Ted lost track of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling at the train station he had thought about his family and how much he wished he was with them instead of lost in an alien city. Right now though everything about his daily duties of milking olives, his wonderful wife and his growing son seemed to have vanished from his mind completely, he was gob smacked. It must’ve been a strange sight, a man in his mid-thirties wearing nothing but a pair of very flowery underwear, and a fompfer hopping about around his knees. The eyes of this exceptionally tall man were fastened to something very high above him across the street. On top of the stack of crates (that appeared to be going to topple any minute) there was a stand selling ties. Now there is of course something extraordinary about a tower of crates swaying back and forth with a tie selling stand on top of it. But there was something even more out of the ordinary in that stand, there was a woman.
She was very young he reckoned and she had long flowing curls of blonde hair. Yes she was a very beautiful young woman, but what really surprised him was the man standing beside her. It was none other than Doctor J. A. W. Chopling –who would’ve thought they would ever meet again?
-“Doctor!” he bellowed (yes in fact, it was proper bellowing because Ted Llabeye had a very deep voice). “Doctor Woodchop-Chopling!” He yelled, waving his arms frantically. In response the keg-shaped Doctor J. A. W. Chopling grinned broadly and yelled back, relief curling its way across his face: -“Mr. Llabeye! I was sure I would never see you again! My, my am I happy to see you, come up here and meet Miss. Lilac!”

-“So tell me exactly how did you two manage to lose each other?” Miss. Lilac said, the street was just a bit less noisy from up on the swaying tie shop. –“I wish I could say it’s a long story, but really it isn’t” Mr. Llabeye said. “It is all quite simple. We got off the train, we stood around for a bit, I got thoroughly mugged without noticing a thing, when I turned around to tell Doctor Chopling that we better get back home – he was gone! I was feeling quite alone, which is when I met Philip…” –“Philip?” Miss Lilac interrupted, she had a habit doing that. –“The fompfer” Ted smiled. –“Oh, right. The fompfer is called Philip. Heh, Philip the Fompfer” she giggled. Doctor Chopling and Ted’s eyes met for a second and they smiled in the corner of their mouth all ‘she’s not the least bit right’, but these men were not used to today’s youth and did not realise that she could obviously see them. She laughed at them both going – “oh c’mon lads, I’m not all that silly. I just thought it was a bit funny, that’s all” she continued to laugh.

And what happened to the excitement of the story? Why didn’t it take longer for the two of them to meet up? Well, simply because there is something even bigger than the danger of the city against them now, way bigger, and I thought it would be better for them if they were together against that, all four of them.

They all tried the very best they could to settle inside Miss. Lilac’s little residence. It was a small two floor house along one of the side-roads to Sees-Smack. All the houses in Gimpsmock-Fillings had been built so close together they had gone all crooked and bent, leaning over the roads and alleys as if they were going to topple over any minute. On the ground floor in their current home there was a minuscule kitchen in one corner, a set of chairs around a square table, a little fireplace, a broken piano, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in theatre posters and a little shelf on one wall was filled with ties. There was only one room on the ground floor and all these things were pressed tightly into it. To make matters worse, a massive amount of dirty dishes were stacked around the room so it was hard to find places to sleep. Little flies zoomed around above their heads as they entered, and loud music from some kind of event a few houses down made flakes of paint drop from the ceiling. Even though the first impression of the house seemed less than convincing, the first floor turned out to be a lot better.
A large double bed, a giant bookcase, a dresser packed with clothes, shelves crowded with girly things, two chairs, a soft toy giraffe, a massive mirror, dirty garments, a box filled with Christmas decorations, eight carpets overlapping each other and the worlds most diminutive sofa had been squeezed into the room. It gave the room a somehow claustrophobic, yet charming appeal, in a way only a young woman could make a mess and still make it seem delightful.
Miss Lilac moved about her belongings, she had lifted her upper lip up, clearly showing she was disgusted by her own mess and apologizing at the same time. The smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings had faded once they had stepped into her home, so both J. A. W. Chopling and Mr. Llabeye seemed only relieved about getting inside. The two of them were currently dressed in some old sheets, wearing them like togas, this had not drawn any immediate attention, so it was all good. The moment they got upstairs, Miss Lilac instantaneously started to dig through her possessions to find some clothes for them. Seeing neither of the three now had any money at all, it was hopeless to try to buy anything.
After waving away at least fifty different flowery, feathered and sparkly pieces of clothing, Miss Lilac admitted her defeat against her own wardrobe and she had to give up. Outside darkness had caught its full embrace of the night, but there was still tons of life outside. The Philip the fompfer had made itself comfortable in an old cauldron with burnt porridge scraps along the edges. An old pillowcase with a baroque pattern remarkably similar to the flowery pattern on Mr Llabeye’s underwear had been crammed into the cauldron, which was probably why Philip had settled so nicely in it.
Mr Llabeye attempted to get some shut-eye on the carpet in front of the fireplace on the ground floor, however whatever direction he rolled over he seemed to noisily hit pots and pans. Dr J. A. W. Chopling had fallen to sleep immediately and was snoring generously on the undersized sofa on the first floor. Miss Lilac was drooling munificently in her own double bed, against all odds earlier the same day, it seemed to approach a relaxing night after all.

-“Where is it?!” he demanded, smacking his paperwork about on his desk. He was twitchily walking back and forth in his round office and his head was pulsating with a luminous red. Across the room from him there were three people seated. At least one of them was still seated, the other two had got up so they could bend their necks and look ashamed.
“Well?!” He boomed “None of you seem to be keen to explain this intricate and unfortunate situation to me, or rather, how it could possibly become intricate and unfortunate. Because it was so damn simple, so simple. How could it have gone wrong?! You had a very simple task to do for me, but you screwed up. I want to know what happened and I want to know where the object is, and I want to know now!”
The silence that followed this time was something completely different from what anyone in the room had ever experienced. It was the kind of silences when you don’t know what is loud and what is silent. The sound of your heart pumping blood around your body seems to dominate the use of your eardrums while shouting, screaming and loud noises in general seem to be coming from underwater somewhere.
One of the men that were standing, his name was Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet, drew his breath as if to speak, but instead of any words coming out of his mouth it was merely a peeping, weak sound of air passing through a pipe. The man at the desk seemed to have lost his patience, the smile curling its way across his exceptionally revolting face gave away that he was planning to do something very mean. Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet saw this immediately, because he was no dumb man, so Sir Joshua instantly drew his breath again and this time the words coming out of his mouth seemed to never stop.
-“Well you see the thing that happened sir, a case which is obviously horribly regrettable and also pathetic if I may say so myself, is that your consignment – on which you have been waiting ever so unwearyingly for- did not turn up as premeditated. There was difficulty with the train and the crate in which your treasured cargo was kept throughout the journey was not found until after a full search of the entire train sir. The problem was that when the crate finally turned up, it was also empty. There was absolutely nothing we could do but to search the station, it was unfeasible to search every person present though, which I would believe you comprehend, it was rush hour sir. So many people, so much luggage and so much traffic sir. We got a written admission of guilt from the train-driver, but we fully intend to get your cargo back as planned. A written apology and a few gold pieces can not return the treasure which has been lost now, sir. We all understand that, though we do not intend to take full responsibility of the misplaced cargo as it had gone astray way before we even arrived and before it even came into the possession of any of us, sir”. He stood still and waited for an answer in painful anticipation. When the person at the desk finally moved, the two men standing up both winced at the same time.
-“he he” The man at the desk grinned cruelly.
“Your words are as always chosen with care as you are very well articulated my friend Sir Sherbet”. The room was thick with tension, you know the way that you’d rather like somebody to be properly angry, instead of this false content on the outside that could suddenly reveal a fuming inside completely unpredicted.
“Of course neither of you two is forgiven in any way nor will you be before this is over and done with. You will not be forgiven until what I want is on my desk right here. You two are on the job, and you have one week. You’ve got one week gentlemen. Perceive that I have invited a third person into my office today. Gentlemen, let me present to you Miss Marion Eow, better known as Miss M. Eow.”
When the lady in the chair got up, the light from the window behind the desk lit her face. The other two men gasped as they saw her large, green eyes placed beautifully in the face of a cat. She was a woman with a cat face, tall and slender, sexy in a way, having this dangerous attitude about her. “She will be like your parole officer, let’s just say – she’s there to look after you, so if you screw up, I will know – it is the most suitable solution for all of us”. He looked down at his desk. “Lord Melon, since you have not spoken I assume you take a complete side with Sir Sherbet here, which leaves you in the same fully responsible position as him. You three are on this task for now on, I do not care how many people dies, how many Christmases cancelled, how many baby otters have to suffer or how many latte’s you have to drink. The expenses of your personal pleasure during your mission to obtain the objective will be paid for by yours truly. I do this only because I feel very strongly about this particular case, so gold should not be of your concern. You do of course understand that this generosity has a reasonable limit, yes gentlemen, I believe we are done here. You too my lady, so if you would be so kind to get lost, get on with it and leave me alone would you? Thank you”. Sir Sherbet and Lord Melon bowed and scurried hurriedly out of the room, while Miss M. Eow merely nodded before she strode elegantly out of the office. The door closed and the room was only lit by the light from the lively nightlife of Gimpsmock-Fillings coming from through the window. The curtains closed, and alone in the darkness sat Kaptain Kill.

The original draft for "Olives, Trains and a Slightly Fruity Fompfer" is finally posted - note that the intro is very different from the rest of the story, which is why it is removed in the latter versions.

200 letters for Mason

2006-09-09T17:59:00.000+02:00

It was a wonderfully calm morning, Shallow Dump was draped in this foggy, summer-morning heat that stuck to everything. Drops of dew were dripping from the roses outside Shallow Dump n.18, the biggest, most crooked house in the street. The big, old and bent house, with the exceptionally overgrown garden, belonged to Mason Rembrandt.

Loaded outside this very huge, fertile garden with it's red brick house behind it, on this wonderfully calm morning, was a pile of letters about the size of a large television set.
The envelopes were all addressed to the same place, in colours of yellow, blue, white, brown, green and some even red, and all of them had been left by the porch of n. 18.

Parts of the mail delivery had been mashed into the mailbox with great force, indicating the mailman wasn't especially thrilled by the idea of having to load 200 more letters than usual in his bags this morning. You could also tell by the sledge leaned up against the stonefence, covered in tiny bits of paper.

The tall and stilty Mason came staggering out of her house. That was the way she moved, slightly like a giant, she had the longest legs in the world, today wearing her gigantic green rubber-boots. Mason had very characteristic cheekbones placed in a hollow, milky face. As usual she was wearing her catty glasses.
Her ginger hair stood out in every direction, making her look like she was wearing an agitated red cat on her head.

The moment Mason realised that a mountain of letters were piled up in front of her house, she let out an excited squeal. Like the wind she ran up to the attic and kicked all the boxes with junk into the same corner. With amazing haste she swept the floor quickly with a mouldy old broom.
She didn't have time to even consider breakfast before late afternoon the same day. Every single letter had been sorted after colour in the huge attic, stacked neatly beside each other. The fuzzed, gingerly striped cat, Scruffy, was purring in the sunlight beside Mason, that sat with her legs crossed in the centre of all the letters. In one hand holding a cold cup of tea (that she had completely forgotten), and in the other hand, a long, long letter.

Her mouth had slightly opened, completely unaware of the world around her. Beside her was a few biscuits on a plate, but they had not been touched, and a glass of milk had tipped over when she was reaching for a new letter earlier. But sitting among all this mess, she was glued to the floor for hours. Outside, Shallow Dump was consumed by darkness, but in the flickering light from the old bulb in the roof, she sat like a statue and read through every single of the first 200 letters that were for Mason.

//mason

The first letter for Mason

2006-09-07T23:18:00.000+02:00

Out of all the letters that had ever been sent to Mason, the first one she ever got, was the most remarkable one. She put that above all the others, even though it had been kept in the huge attic with all the other letters for six years, it was now where it belonged, in her minuscule kitchen, framed.

Everyday, as she was frying up bacon and toast, her cat stroking itself against her stilty legs, she would look over to that frame, looking at the nervous little handwriting spreading across the red paper. If she bent over a bit closer, perhaps when wiping her hands clean on her apron, she could read what it said. She had read it so many times, she nearly knew it by heart.

My Dad

First I want to apologize, -sorry dad, sorry I ran away and you looked everywhere for me. I'm sorry I was nowhere to be found. So sorry.
I know my life has always been a bit secluded from you. Even living in the same house as you for the better part of my life haven't really made us open up to each other. This is my last chance of showing my integrity and to be absolute and honest with you dad. And this time it is essential that you at least try to understand. Just try, please.

There is never a chance in the world you will ever accept what I have done or what I will do in my life. I'm telling you that you couldn't ever respect me or praise me, because I was never enough for you, I was never the daughter you wanted to have. I can't be someone I'm not. And I know I've tried, I've tried and tried, sometimes I catch myself in the middle of trying again, but I know for a fact that it is useless to even attempt. Because you are as a mountain.
You are as a mountain, your head so far up, my small words could never reach you, so far up, you could look down at everything I did and was, so far up, you were always in control, so far up the air was thinner and more important up where you were.

Well forget about that, I'm not looking for an apology, I just want a certain level of acceptance, after all, you are my father, and despite a lot of different things, I still love you.

There are exactly 11 years between Hector and me. Hector is now 28, and me, your daughter, is 17.
I think this is the part where the raised eyebrows come in, and you build that high wall of ignorance and disgrace around you. I can't get past that, and I'm prepared for that. Instead of attempting to get your blessing, I'd rather just tell you what my life is like right now.

I have never been better, never better, never ever in my life have I been better. Never better than right now, right here with Hector. I'm living in his flat in Lovlenton, I'll have my final grade exams done by next spring and I'll get a job through Hectors company. We are planning on having children dad, you'll be a grandpa.

Hector proposed in February, we had a small ceremony and got married in May.
I am now a wife, I'm a student, I'm a lover and one day I'll be a mother too. Know that dad, that no matter what happens, and even though you will never see me again,
I'll always be
Your devoted daughter
Ally.

The Character Mason

2006-09-07T20:48:00.000+02:00

Mason Rembrandt, being a dreamy, useless and clumsy person, has only one goal in life and that is to help people out. She has lost the apparent ability to do anything properly anymore and has let it crash out that way. Currently she lives in an over-dimensioned house made of bricks along a crooked road on the countryside. She has a little vegetable garden in her back yard, lined a long a river that runs past her house. Mason is a typical free spirit and spends her time best reading letters sent to her from all over the world, by people in pain. Read about Mason, her backyard and the letters and wherever that leads her.

The letter you never dared send

2006-09-07T20:24:00.000+02:00

She was dredging through her old letters, shuffling through the envelopes, paper flying across the floor and slowly landing backside up on the scruffy wooden floor.

All around her towered massive mountains of letters, letters of love and devotion, letters of sympathy and understanding, letters filled with humour and comfort and letters of hate and anger. But she couldn't find that excact letter, the letter she had been digging after for two days straight. Her throat felt soar and dry in the crispy-papered air. Everywhere old stamps were fading underneath layers of dust, same as with the adress written on the envelopes. The adress these letters had all been sent to.

To Mason
The Letter I never Dared to Send
Shallow Dump 18
67 578 Forgeson

She had started the program across the internet, a website that was there for peoples own pain only. People posted long, complicated situations from their lives, they met comfort and unleashed their pain to the world. After just seven months her bandwidth had exploded, there was no way she could pay for more, as her job painting fences of the nearby old houses didn't pay off very well.
So she changed the website.

This website has been closed down, The Painful Program has been changed to a manual channel, which means you have to send your thoughts through old-fashioned mail. Yes, letters.
So, as a dare, send me the letters you never dared to send to get the pain off your chest.

The message was followed by Masons adress, for a while it was silent. She would stroll up the crooked street, peek down into the mailbox, pick up the occasional bill, or the letters that had been delivered to her by mistake.
Else than that, there was nothing, nothing for three weeks. It had been an especially hot summer, painting fences gave her neck and the lower of her back an excellent tan, but the rest of her was basically soaked in sweat and paint. So she spent the days away from the internet, listening to the birds sing, sitting in the frying sun, enjoying the light summer silence.

Peeking down her mailbox randomly one of these boiling days, her eyes fell upon a tiny, red envelope.

She picked it up and carefully read the address, she read it twice. Then one more time. It was indeed adressed for her and her house. She looked up at her red brick house and checked the number on her door, just to be sure, even though she knew her address well. She then read the description on the envelope one more time. Yes, it was for her.

Glowing with anticipation and with a heart thumping with excitement, Mason forgot all about paint, sweat, birds and the sun. The door slammed behind her, she let herself slide down the back of her door until she was sitting on the cool hallway floor leaning against the door. Her fingers ripped the envelope open and a neatly folded letter slipped out.

Her fingers were shaking and struggling to unfold it, resulting in curling it further. She licked her lips, they tasted salty with sweat and sweet with paint-remove chemicals.

She could remember that emotion so well, the feelings flowing through her as the first letter arrived.

Mason flung the shovel up into the air and shrieked with happiness. On the floor, just digged out, lay a tiny red envelope.

//Mason

The Character Angela

2006-08-20T21:43:00.000+02:00

Angela Higgons is a 34 year old, un-married woman with a career going down hill.
She feels as if her life is incomplete and currently a roaming chaos. Which it is as well.
A compulsive liar with a twisted angle to life and relationships is struggling to find the man of her dreams. She lives in a hot-shot flat alone and paranoid with a pair of binnoculars in her window sill, always ready to look out for the man of her life. Read about Angela Higgins and her desperate attempts to find the perfect one for her...

The Character Frannie

2006-08-20T21:36:00.000+02:00

Frandela Twain Broomshead (aka Frannie) is a 23 year old woman from West Newbury, Essex. According to her doctor, Dr. Howard U. F. Eeling, she suffers from pretty much every phobia imaginable. Because of this, she takes series of heavy
rehabilitation classes in the vague hope of once recovering. She lives of government support and her hobbies include injections and vaccinations, shopping and dieting. Frannie also quite enjoys rubbing herself with itch relieving salves and creams or
painting her apartment over and over again. Struggles with love-life and finding her phobic place in the world creates an obscure world around her.
This blog features her experiences with the mentioned.

Quotes from incidents in her life!
"I could tell he was lying, because his lips were moving"
by Tina - Anger Management Group
"I swear te God, 't was tryin' ter kill me. It was at me legs and evr'thin" by Lex - Alektorophobia Relief
"Sometimes, at night. I can hear the sound of a polyester sweater climbing my bed post" by Lily - Textophobia Management
"Sitting on a chainsaw didn't remove the pain, or the fear. Now I realise that" by Graham - Rectophobia and Meditation Class
"I thought to be terrified of glasses and porcelain was perfectly normal, then my dog ran into our new verandah door until it died, and I realised I had a problem" by Edward - Nelophobia Therapy Circle
"My heart is longing, so full of love still, but no prince that can quench his thirst in it. I guess it's broken, undrinkable, poisonous.Unlovable" by Angela - Monophobia Lessons

Everything in this blog about Frannie or other characters is purely fictional except phobia names. Treatments discussed in this blog is not given from professionals and is not recommended for actual patients.
To learn more about phobias, visit
Phobialist.com

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Obsession.

2006-08-18T23:48:00.000+02:00

Randomly I had picked out a man from the bakery the other morning.

He was a nobody, wasn't he?

Not very tall, a bit round here and there, deep eyes, blonde, curled hair. How original. Dark eyes and light, fluffed angel-hair. He spoke with his unsteady accent. Where was his accent from? I was trying to get myself captivated, lost, drowned, drenched in him.
Seems it was harder than I thought. Why wouldn't love come by force? Why wouldn't those emotions sparkle and shine and glow and.. And glisten? Why wouldn't they? Why wouldn't I be able to sense his presence, or think about him for hours, why wouldn't I lay awake? Why not?

Because love can not be achieved by force? What kind of bullshit is that?
Of course it can! All that would be needed was for him to fall in love me. And I would make him do. I would. I would make him love me, that way I could just give more than I would take, all the way. Try to be resourceful and fascinating, I wouldn't tire him out, wouldn't let him go.

Then suddenly behave like a witch, be rude, short, take him for granted. Make him want me, need me. Oh yes.
All I would need was a perfect place in which I could trap him. But where? The bakery, was it too obvious? Hm, I tried. I tried the bakery, went several times, stalked it. Parked my car outside it and watched for nearly an hour.
nothing.

So I had to make another plan. I hadn't seen him for two days, he could be anyone from anywhere and I wouldn't know. I might never see him again. I had to make a plan. But how could I do that if I didn't even know where he was? How? How would I be able to see him again?

I walked around the area around my house, looking like a dump obviously, no need to put my face on before I had him cornered. It was exactly what I shouldn't have been thinking, because as I was in the middle of another plan I barged right into him. His eyes were calm, warm and caring. His unsteady accent retorting millions of apologies. The hood of my raincoat had slipped back, revealing a face that hand't seen concealer or mascara for three days.

My heart skipped at least five beats.

Shit.

But he seemed completely unaffected by the dark bags under my eyes, the spots a screaming red, the uncoloured lashes or my dry, chapped lips. Even the face he was looking upon that was now flourishing with embarassment he looked upon with admiring eyes. These deep, dark, sexy eyes.

Love by force. How ridiculous.

//Angela

French cooking course

2006-08-10T20:03:00.000+02:00

was absolutely splendid! You should all try it!
Today we made a most amazing Chicken cordon bleu with ham and cheese!

YUMMEH.

/frannie

Equilibrium

2006-08-08T00:42:00.000+02:00

The state where everything is perfectly balanced.

I can't say that's anything near the state in which I'm right now. Everything around me seems turbulent in some way, especially loosing a job last week and all the courses I had to catch up with in addition.
The only good thing that actually came out of getting a new phobia (though my doctor has now seemed to cure me from this through hours of phone-therapy) was a closer contact with Xander.

Yesterday I was at a new class again, this was for people suffering with Obsessive-Compulsive disorders, it's called Clear-path - "Your way out of the maze", and it surprised me with showing progress among the group already on my first night there!

It was all very quiet, we were having a little break, drinking cheap tea and just chatting silently. Though for those too disordered to be able to keep a conversation these breaks were spent rocking back and forth in their chairs like cramped fetuses.
Among the silence a very pale person got up, his name-tag was a different colour from all us others, so I figured he was attempting the wrong course. That, though, didn't seem to affect him the least. The room hurried into empty silence and he was standing straight like a monument.

"I now realise that I've been captured within my own mind" he said, his eyes were shiny and his voice shook. "I -I now realise" he continued. "T-that, I'm not a jellyfish anymore".

"- I'm a dumpster with a radar".

Clearly puzzled I sat absent-mindedly through my next classes, I thought I'd already seen a lot of crazy things.
Though apparently,
I had not.

//Frannie

Ambulophobia

2006-08-01T12:44:00.000+02:00

I was lying in bed, today I had lots to do. First I was going to see the doctor again. Then I was going to go to a job interview for a job as a reseptionist at Winston Estates Ltd. Then I was going to the usual Anger Management Group, Monophobia Lessons, Alektorophobia Relief and then Russophobia - How to Avoid It. I was then around nine-ish going out to dinner with Xander.

Everything seemed to fill my mind so full, I couldn't think. The worst was what to wear, I mean, this was my first job interview in two years! I had been shopping yesterday, you know, the sophisticated - yet, elegant and educated, not preppy, just proper, but with a slight edge - outfit. And I didn't want to look repulsive either. After six hours I went to the cashier, handing in my two new outfits. Of course I needed one for the date with Xander as well.

But right now, as I was lying in bed looking at them hanging over a chair, I felt very unsatisfied. I couldn't wear that, I thought. Now wondering whatever I'd been thinking. Yes the blue dress for tonight was very pretty, but the cleavage was enormous! I would look like the biggest slag in West Newbury! Oh dear. The suit for the job interview was sober enough, and the shoes with the little heels made my legs just look a tad bit longer, they were perfect. But I hadn't prepared enough for that interview. The twentynine pages of notes I'd taken about Winston Estates Ltd. (including their entire website being memorized) just wouldn't do it, would it? After all, I had very little work experience, and I wouldn't manage to answer their questions. I'd probably have a seizure and die right there, in a leather chair, pouring starbucks all over my new suit.
ih, how horribly embarassing.

I had already overslept, I had to get up immediatly to get to the doctor in time before the interview, his office was way across town. Still I couldn't move. Everything inside me was shaking and squirming, I was completely immobilized.

I shook like a little leaf, sweating. Felt that suffocating emotion flow through me, quickly I reached for Phobias and where to Find them - by Claus T. Rophob and flipped through the pages quickly. I let my index-finger slowly flow down page after page ",,,Unable to walk, unable to walk" I repeated to myself.

"aha!" I let out, triumphantly "Ambulophobia, the absolute fear of walking" I read "Your fear of walking can result in the following symptoms:
breathlessness, dizziness, excessive sweating, nausea, dry mouth, feeling sick, shaking, heart palpitations, inability to speak or think clearly, a fear of becoming mad or losing control, a sensation of detachment from reality or a full blown anxiety attack." I continued. Let my book drop to my lap.
Fuck.

What kind of time is this to earn a new phobia?
I got a few calls during the day, from Winston Estates Ltd. saying they had been waiting for me and had now given the job to somebody else. Dr. Howard U. F. Eeling's secretary called, saying I missed my appointment and that they set a new one for next thursday at 8:30. Then my tutor from Russophobia - How to Avoid It just making sure I was okay and that I hadn't been eaten by a rabid Russian. Then Jenny Amkins called, saying she missed me when she was at Monophobia Lessons alone.
Finally, Xander called, saying he was bringing me chinese and a hot water bottle.

I then dragged myself along the floor to the computer with my arms and wrote this to you.
oh, the phone is ringing again.

//Frannie

Doctor Howard Ulrich Fields Eeling

2006-07-31T22:38:00.000+02:00

Since I was three Dr. Howard U. F. Eeling have been my doctor. According to my dad he was a good friend of my mother, but my mother said Dr. Howard U. F. Eeling was a good friend of my dad. So seeing they both denied their acquaintance with my Doctor, I found it best to not ask any questions.

But unfortunately, he asked me.

"So, Ms. Twain Broomshead" he said, in the usual 'let's start' tone of voice. "How is your mother?" I was taken aback to be honest, didn't expect him to ask about my mum. -"she''s" I said, "She's fine" I said, searching his PhD-face for answers. -"I'm glad to hear" He said. "She hasn't" He looked down at his hands and hesitated "erhm. mentioned me, has she?" he asked. I was being rude, but I couldn't help it. - "No!" I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world (as it was!) He didn't seem offended at all by my rude behaviour. Just shuffled some papers and looked me right in the eyes. I couldn't look away.

- "Your mum and I" he said. His eyes just widening slightly, "we were made for each other". I was expecting some dramatic explanations, a wild accusation perhaps, some huge gesticulations and a few loud words. But he said nothing. He simply grabbed his pen, clicked it and didn't mention what we had just talked about.

With my purse full of new pills and medications and the worlds most puzzled expression glued to my face, I left Dr. Howard U. F. Eeling's office this morning.

I really have no idea what he was going on about. My mum? And my doctor?

That's just gross!

//an upset Fran

Strengthen Your Inner Woman

2006-07-31T21:39:00.000+02:00

"I'm so glad you're here, welcome everyone" she said. Her hair was tied back in a very tight knot, gathering into a thick brown ball at the back of her long head. She was sitting high above everyone else in a tall chair, surveying everyone from above. She let her hands fold gently in to her lap, waited, waiting for us to finally become silent. Squeezing hands, speaking names and introducing ourselves until we were all neatly sitting in a horseshoe formation around her.

She let the silence remain for a few seconds, let every last uncomfortable shift pass until she spoke. "Only 1 out of 4 people with a panic disorder receive treatment." Her voice was cool, straight and clear. There was no way anyone could misunderstand her words. Her face glanced over all the women in the room.
"Twice as many women suffer panic disorder than men." She said, her last word sounding final.

"Therefore, it's very important that every last one of you, attend each and every one of my classes. This is going to be tough, and if you're not prepared to work, then you can walk out the door right now". - ow, I thought. She was one of those. The ones that liked to scare and gather respect. The kind that pretended like her job was extraordinary, like nobody could do it like her. That it was a lot of work and that everyone that attended her courses were very "strong" people. A confidence-booster kind of person, I thought.
My lines of thought were suddenly broken as a very good looking woman suddenly got up.

- "I've had enough of this shit" she said flatly. Turning on her high heels and stroding out of the room. A slight murmur spread across the tiny group of women. Nobody seemed to notice the fact that their tutor was looking so taken aback she was about to fall off her very tall chair. And as I thought this, she rumbled to the floor. Indeed she rumbled, the skinny womans bones cacked and banged against the ground underneath her. - "What is this place?!" a woman called, dividing the masses of women now gathering around the tutor on the ground. "The woman clearly needs a beating" she said, rolling her sleeves up and delivering a punch right in the nose of the tutor.

I looked into Jenny Amkins equally shocked face. "What on earth are you doing?!" Jenny Amkins called to the woman, but it was not to be heard by anyone but myself, now every last one of them were involving in the crazy situation by either cheering or delivering punches in whatever directions they liked.
This was better entertainment than "Eastenders" I thought for myself. Watching the amount of blood on the ground rapidly increase.

The chaos then suddenly came to a halt. A very old woman with so many wrinkles she looked like a little grey raisin was running around in circles and screaming. "THE BADGERS!!!" she shrieked. The women gave each other puzzled looks. "THEY'RE ALL OVER!!" she continued. As sudden as it had all started, it stopped. Nobody seemed interested in fighting anymore. People just slowly picked their handbags up, now and then wiping blood from their noses or trying to rub bloodstains off their clothes with spit. After a few moments nearly all of them had limped their way out of the room, the old lady still screaming.

"We better get out of here" Jenny Amkins said, gathering her things from underneath her chair as well. I couldn't agree more.

Let's just put it this way.
Strengthen Your Inner Woman - "Don't be afraid" - Women Therapy Liberation Group Doesn't exist anymore.

Frannie

Xander, here boy!

2006-07-31T19:37:00.000+02:00

- "What you like the most about our time together?" He asked, clearly fishing for compliments. - "The food" I said. He looked deflated. -"so, so I might just be a pizza sitting right here then?" He said, smiling, but seeming a bit insecure.

-"Don't be silly!" I said, snickering. "A pizza doesn't have a car!"

His eyes were searching my face for traces of a joke, but I hid them carefully. He didn't find them, and was left uneasily in his seat as I excused myself to the ladies room.

Since then he's followed me around like a dog.

//Frannie

- ring ring?

2006-07-31T12:28:00.000+02:00

I really don't know what to say.
Trying hard to get over everthing that had to with Xander (scroll down!) He called me very early this morning. My phone just wouldn't stop ringing, by the time I was digging my head deeper into my pillows I was fully awake. I grabbed it, saw his name across the display. Fuck.
I answered, but didn't say a thing, just listened to his breath.
Clearly drunk his voice seemed to break every second sentence.

"Frannie" he said coarsely "Frannie, baby" he said, I could tell he was drunk. "What the fuck happened Fran? You di-dn't call me!" I swallowed, didn't know if I could say his name without crying. "Fran?" he said. I remained silent. "Are you pissed at me Fran? What's wrong?" I didn't dare to speak, just sat there and listened. I could hear him lick his lips, then bite them. "oh, God, Fran" I was upsetting him. "I should've called you, I'm so-rry" He said, his voice breaking in the middle of his apologize.

- "no" I said, testing my voice. "No, no it's not your fault". Surprisingly I was calm, my voice was steady. "I should've called you Xander, I just didn't have the time. I'm the one who should be sorry". I could hear his cheek touch the phone as he smiled. - "so great to hear your vo-ice" he said, his own voice breaking again. - "ditto" I said, smiling too.

"Where are you?" I asked. - "outside your flat, it's wet here". The rain was splashing down outside my third floor window. I giggled. - "like to borrow my shower?" I said. He laughed. - "if you could be so kind".

He smelled awful as he came in my door, soaked and unshaved. "What have you been doing?!" I asked. Never seen him like that before. - "oh" he said, shrugged, his raincoat squeaked. "you know, not much". I shook my head and let his words hang in the air. - "Xander" I said, but didn't touch him. I was glad he wasn't like my other ex, Liam Smithers, he suffered from Ablutophobia, the fear of bathing. So I let him undress and heard the shower going. So strange to have him back in my flat. - "COULD I BORROW YOUR RAZORS?!" he shrieked from within the shower cabinet. I smiled to myself. - "knock yourself out" I said. I was digging through my closet, trying to find something that might fit him, but there was nothing. "I don't have any dry clothes for you" I said through the bathroom door. - "Get me a towel and I'll be pleased" he said.

And he was.

I made us toast and tea. We just cuddled up together like nothing had ever happened between us. Like it was just a few days ago we spent that weekend in Boxford together. I'm speechless!

Alright, have to go, I have to finish my Alliumphobia "Cure your fear of garlic" - course before I attend that cooking class on wednesday. (iih, excited!)

*Frannie*

Fear and Relaxation

2006-07-30T21:20:00.000+02:00

- "it is said that the relaxation response counters the fear response." She said. Her nails a red woosh through the air as she was gesticulating wildly.

The class scribbled as mad. I had long since stopped taking notes in classes. I found it better to sit perfectly still and just absorb everything. Especially when on my Panophobia "How to handle being afraid of everything" - courses, that were clearly the most helpful ones. Automatically I raised my hand. Her enthusiastic, blue-eyes caught mine, they were so broad it often seemed as if she was keeping them open with force. Her gaze inense upon me, she said "yes, Fran?" Her eyes had just popped down to the sticker on my chest for a split second, yet she said my name as she was used to it.
She was good.

"In what way is it best to stimulate a relaxing emotion to counter a panic attack, or a wave of fear?" I asked. Her face froze a split second, like she was having a hard time understanding what I had just said. Then, as a robot responding just a bit slow to it's commands, her body started moving again. "That definitely depends. It's different from person to person. All kinds of things that are looked at as relaxing for some can be upsetting for others. Like being nude for example". Someone made a squeal on the front row.

- "I see" I said "Thank you". The man on the front row, now hyperventilating, was so loud nobody heard my thanks. Though it didn't matter. I'd have to answer my own question myself. Dr. Howard U. F. Eeling had strictly forbidden me from trying to cure myself from my own phobias. I had attempted once before. When suffering from a very heavy Botanophobia (the fear of plants) I had locked myself into a plant nursery at night. The next week I was at the hospital covered in deep, red wounds after crashing through a greenhouse, screaming.

But this time it was different. After snoring through another hour of Cyberphobia (the fear of working on a/using a computer) - remind me to stop going to them! - I took the bus home. I only passed by a news stand to see if I could catch a glimpse of any job-ads, but I didn't really try. My mind far off, elsewhere. Grey weather today, not very nice at all, still quite warm. I collected my mail and got home. Very thoughtful I stumbled past all the painting equipment spread around my apartment (nearly done now!) and heated up some beef and rice from lunch. I need to find a way to use what I learnt today as a way to potentially cure myself.
I'll definitely go see the doctor again as soon as I have time.

Flat-out.

2006-07-30T20:26:00.000+02:00

Don't know what to do. What to do?
What to do.

His name is Xander L. Flatford. Perhaps the only specimen of the male sex that has ever let his eyes rest on my eyes instead of letting them just glide past them. He was indeed special. He could do that thing with his face, it made him look extremely strange, but he knew as he would do that, I would burst out into laughter. He could listen, his ears always open, his mouth asking questions, his fingers playing with mine, his head nodding. Wow, what happened?

Thinking back to it, I can't believe I did what I did. I mean, the memories, seem like some Hollywood film. Flashes of us smiling, washing my hallway stairs, he would always help me with that. He would cook me a nice thai stir fry and feed it to me, piece after piece, smiling, laughing, his eyes sparkling from the candlelights. His laughter came out nice and light, afflicted by the wine as he was. He was no poet. He was though, ironically, brilliant with words. His voice would make my knees weak, it would soften my spine, make my face glow with heat.

Xander had two years of schooling as a journalist behind him. For obvious reasons he couldn't finish it. And that's how I met him, at Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia "Don't let the books block your mind" class. To be honest, that's the most silly name of a phobia that could ever exist! It frightens away it's own patients from telling them whats wrong with themselves. A phobia that is against long words that consists of over 30 letters, that's pretty silly.
Anyway, taking those classes together for five months was enough. After sitting in that room, for hours, feeling that heavy chemistry just thickening the room (worse would it be if we by accident touched) and the looks. His deep brown eyes. Wow. Yeah, it was more than enough.

I'm naturally hard to get I think. Always avoiding eye contact, blushing if it would occur. Stare obviously in another direction, freeze if I'd be touched, with Xander it was worse than ever. Without knowing it, I guess that's how I kept him interested for so long. By being something he couldn't achieve, precious, mysterious. Ai, ai. His eyes could show his lust so clearly at times, I didn't know what else to do, but to just smile, desperately trying to hide a face flourishing with colour. His confidence wasn't even intimidating, it was just another one of those things with him. I was free together with him, could talk to him about everything.

We finished our Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia "Don't let the books block your mind" class in May together. Spent a lovely weekend in Boxford with him. But from then on, it just all slipped a part.

Not very clearly. We just glided away from each other. Our conversations didn't loose their spark or chemistry, on the contrary. We just didn't have the time to talk. Classes and courses occupying most of my time, Xander finally returning to his education after 7 months rehabilitating. We were both busy. We didn't call, didn't meet. But I refuse to think either of us actually forgot. Would be hard to do so.

That way Mr. Flatford, flat-out disappeared out of my life. He just disappeared. Haven't talked to him for two months. It wasn't until this morning after I'd taken my usual medication, that I wrapped up in blankets and stared hard out the window. A cold wind tatooing the feeling of tears to my cheeks. My eyes edged with red, I went to Russophobia class this morning. My lector told me tears was a way of the mind to free itself of waste. I cried all the way home on the bus.

- "Salty tears, I'd lick them off your cheeks and whisper silent words to you, to your ears only" He had told me. He had embraced me, squeezed me tight, promised me that he wouldn't ever let me go.
But he did.

Finding my desk is now just covered in tears and it's nearly time for Nelophobia Therapy Circle, I'll end it here.

/Frannie

Wallpaint

2006-07-29T22:29:00.000+02:00

The store was about the size of a large arena, the height of the roof was so high, I had to lean heavily on my shopping cart several times during my shopping trip. Huge racks covered in buckets met me at last, after using nearly half an hour down all the rows of screws, hammers, mats, lawn mowers, fertilizers, seeds, shovels, bags of compost, fences, nails, wood boards, pots, garden gnomes and terrace lace.

It struck me at first as a task close to impossible, MI:Wallpaint, wouldn't make a good film. Anyway, suffering from Octophobia as I am, would make it quite hard for me to find a paint that was the excact number of (let me get dad to spell it out, hold on) eight. (I just need to sit down for a bit, my dad and step-mum is about to leave, they seem rather upset after my announcement of suffering from Novercaphobia which is the fear of your own step-mum. But, for my defense, she is awfully intimidating when she does that thing with her teeth that gives her that strong resemblance with a horse, before she laughs mentally. And not to mention her hideous furcoat). So I went over to the counter and handed the man behind it (- his name was Minsc) my folded note of "Brilliant Rosé 8" with my gloved hand.

At first he gave me a quizzical look, and I suddenly recalled what my lector at my Russophobia - How to Avoid It class had told me about treating potential Russians, over whom which I suffer from a neverending paranoia. This person named "Minsc" could just as well be from Belarus, I thought, and that changed everything. I gave him a beaming smile and asked him as sweetly as I could, if he could be a darling and retrieve this colour for me.

Unluckily, he handed me the note back, without even looking at it, and pointed over to the racks of paint "just take the bucket from that row right there madam" he said. It struck me that his English was even more fluent than mine. Simultaneously a pulsating emotion of Octophobia was waving through me. I couldn't get that bucket myself! I tried to stand up straight, but the huge arena (!) was already spinning before me. - "I - I have a bad a-arm" I said, stumbling to retrieve my balance, though standing still as I was. His eyebrows were nearly touching the top of his head by the time he stopped moving them upwards. He then tried to hide an annoyed sigh as he nicked the note out of my hand and walked over to the shelf. With a swift movement he grabbed two buckets and walked back towards me. Slammed them into my cart and smiled so fake, he could've been Jenny Amkins GUCCI bag.

I can't even recall if I said thank you. I felt nauseous and the high racks were now tripling before my eyes. As quick as I could, I pushed my cart towards the entrance, rapidly digging money from my pockets, I got to the cashier, lifted the cart up, even though I felt weak, and emptied the lot over the counter. I had no time to tactically manage to get someone to lift the paint out of the cart for me. The woman looked at me, terrified, but I didn't mind. I was too busy managing to stand up straight. *bip* *bip* *bip* *toc* *toc toc toc* - her manicured nails were beating against the cashier. She said a number, but I was unable to percieve any information. I simply handed her way too much money, grabbed my bags and got out of the store.

The bus ride was relaxing, outside I used some of the techniques from my Panophobia"How to handle being afraid of everything" - course and I soon felt a lot better.

Didn't have time to look into that job thing, but started painting, went to an extra Octophobia class, of course the usual Rectophobia and Meditation Class before having tuna for tea, and then going to bed.

- What a day! Frannie.

I'm thinking, light magenta

2006-07-29T22:14:00.000+02:00

Perhaps even something over the scale of deep pink. I think it's about time I retire my limegreen livingroom and change it into something new. There is nothing as satisfying as changes, especially not when it comes to colours around you.

I was at the doctor today again, he claimed the reason why I was having a rash was because of a "new" phobia I have aquired through my hobby of redecorating. He called it Atelophobia - Which is the fear of imperfection. I had him write it down for me because of my Athazagoraphobia That is my fear of being forgotten or ignored or forgetting things. A lot of a- phobias today! hehe!

At the Mottephobia course "Do not seek the Light", where I fight my increasing fear of moths, Jenny Amkin suggested I'd look for a job. Especially seeing my hobbies just seem to encourage more disorders, I might as well have a look around. My neighbour, a rather skinny woman complained over my lack of exercise. "All you do is run back and forth to those classes, you have done so since you were four years old. The only thing you need to realise, is that these aren't helping! You should get out and get some fresh air!" she had said briskly, then slamming her door in my face. She didn't lend me that cup of painkillers either.

So, having to avoid my neighbour as much as possible (which is becoming very very difficult) I'll have to find a job that fits in-between all my classes! But before I do so, I'll discuss that wallpaint further.

- Frannie.

Tina from Anger Management

2006-07-29T20:59:00.000+02:00

"A chair is not nice to get thrown at your ear" said Eric.
The group repeated his words solemnly, like robots, clearly without passion, or with understanding.
He smiled sheepishly, seemed satisfied with their progress, at least they were not beating each other up, or calling each other names anymore. I looked over at Tina. She was not moving at all. Her head was even more round and plump than before, somehow it seemed to be swelling. Her eyes slowly increasing their size, her face gaining a deeper red.

It was too late when I discovered that her knuckles were whitening and that she was whispering curses under her breath. I honestly didn't think about warning anyone else, I was keene on saving my own bony ass by diving across the circle of chairs, and hiding behind Pete, the whale-guy.

By the time I had reached Pete's swetty behind, Tina was leaping across the ring once again, a fist above her head, prepared to strike. What drama, I thought. Tina was always that dramatic.

She was about the size of a taxi, her hair tight up in a blonde ponytail. Her nose was lightly specked with tiny freckles, but as she was always upset or angry, those were rarely visible through a plum-red frown.

- "Tina!" Eric called. I couldn't understand how he had the time to do so, being buried underneath her huge body only half a second later. I can recall hearing thumps and thuds, but I can't think of a way that Tina could actually strike Eric at all, as when she sat on his skinny body, she wasn't just covering the whole of him, but also major parts of the floor. Pete stood up from his chair. He was the calmest one of them, and to be frank, I have never seen him angry, not even slightly agitated. His mood seems to be deep down under his fat. He doesn't even smile, never seen him do it. Never.

With a bear paw, Pete grabbed Tina's shoulder and pulled her up from the floor. How, I have no idea, and once again he impressed me with his blatant calmness, even as Tina was pounding away at his chest with blunt fists, crying. Without a speck of emotion he led her swiftly back to her chair and pushed her down into the seat. Tina covered her eyes with her sausage fingers and was shaking in whimpers. Pete then lifted little Eric from the floor. His suit was slightly crumpled, but he himself, seemed to hold such a deep calm, he seemed even more down to earth than Pete.

He couldn't say anything, because as he opened his mouth, his mobile phone let out that liberating "pling!" - meaning the class was over. Tina, with a startling speed for her size, blurted out some words I shall not repeat, before storming out and thundering down the hallway. The room would then rapidly thin out, before it would be completely empty.

I took the bus home, gasping for breath in the tiny passenger seat, feeling a seizure of claustrophobia was attacking me, gulping down unhealthy amounts of asthma medication and stuffing my face with many a colourful pill, when I thought that:
whatever these Anger Management courses were giving me, it wasn't curing anything but my thirst to write a blog.