Shin Detonator

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The Horse Prefect: “Frogmarch these bozos down to the nether regions of The Sea Bitch, and get them supping on some of last months man-y-pausey juice.”
Shin Detonator: “Which teat, Sir? September 1,2 and 3 are taken.”
The Horse Prefect: “Just have it going in till it’s squirting out from under their toenails.” They’ll have to break into October for that. Bit early, if you ask me. The Afro twins tell an audience of one:
Afro twins: “They are Shin Detonator.” Little rats. Now the Shin Detonator’ve gone, they don’t reply anymore. It’s clear, and I’m sorry, if they preferred it in the warrens, but it’s thanks to me we wired them up properly and only smoked them. My wife likes gas, but you get time to escape in a fire. They weren’t fleeing me, they had a home here. Was it the horse head covered in its own small science blood? A theatre show, put on at their scheduled return. A celebration of Shin Detonator. Horse head on a stick behind a bleeding waterfall. Some drinking cats were there too. Looked pretty impressive till the village arrived. They could tell me, if it were on The Thread. Or’s the waterfalling in front, only blocking out the audience, like some of the neighbours we caught the brotherhood shooting? Those orangey brown and black hairy ones, straying on campus when The Beeches shut the power lines down. They had spots like they’d been sleeping under the tar drip. It was the stage show. Poor horse, trapped behind with the stench, while the audience can sit back and enjoy The Prefect’s pollen. More than the ten count the school residents’ve been written to about, by generous order of the Dean. Everyone says it’s all been getting too female inside the fencing, but no, it was that stupid stage show, why they left. The pigs vault, I reckon’s been puff pollinating out of hours. You could blame their behaviour on illegal polluning, but I still think it’s the plays fault. No one else’s been out exposing the electrics and chewing up barb wire. Too many days awash in the entertainment tunnel’s, gotten Shin Detonator hooked on The Stagnants monthly cycle show. But honestly, it wasn’t the Stagnants running over the horses face and down the prompters shirt. It’s assumed by most, at first to be pissing blood, but that was corrected in the Dean’s Address, after his programme of entertainment broke down. Another Shin Detonator department sent to the groundsman, no doubt.
A hotel guest approaches the reception desk. A greasy young blonde girl hobbling up, quite clearly in, or pretending to be in, a no less tense and ovulating stupor than at the last desk. I suppose we’re expected to guess the reason. From behind the desk, that’s where I sit because I’m the receptionist, she grows an inch or two with each step. But then, so does everything. Looks like a cleaning lady, with hair that wiry and ill. She’s playing up. Probably just bored. If there was something wrong, she’d look us in the face. There’s nothing that bloody marvellous on the ceiling.
Shin Detonator: “So you want something to do? There’s not much, and no real comfort to be had, for anyone. Not the last, what? two years.” It’s longer, but to add and underline it, in these parts can get you twenty years under The Beeches. We were given a hard time at first, explaining their new mindset to the kids. Handed to us at the door by a man who kept his chin dipped to his chest, so to tip the front of his richly, from the ovarian pollen spores small science, crimson Rembrandt hat down far enough so that neither of us could see his face. It must’ve been down to his chest, as the crown pumped in and out as he spoke. Saying that, he didn’t speak much. Probably worried he might overstress a tricky non-schwa syllable too wide, and reveal that he was, as everyone in school knew, Underling. His Rockwell mother
told the afro twins, and once you’ve told the afro twins, you’ve told everyone. His painting smock was of the same colour and material, and he was so face on when we answered the door, him and the negative space around him were perfectly symmetrical. He was a big man too, not being Underling anymore, covering ninety percent of the view through the doorway. The stitching was also rich red crimson. Something the Rockwell mother’d never allow drape over her son. I must’ve had a slightly different angle to my wife, but we remember the picture the same. Over both his left and right shoulders was the tip of The Beeches, with a couple of silhouetted birds, definitely up to something. We couldn’t make out the species, but only dry species blackbirds are allowed on The Beeches at night. They overlooked the school playing field, and in my view at least, were traced in white semen chalk. I’m not sure about the wifes. We tend not speak of the views we’re given, as that can be five years a discussion. We live in the grounds, so fall under The Horse Prefects jurisdiction. Inside the school fences, we’re said to inhale ten part ovarian pollen during summer, and what’s exhaled’s mostly collected by the birds and taken down under the slopes. We’re over the ground though, so needn’t answer to the Dean, or face the stricter still groundsman. But now, it’s kind of nice, if anything. The Horse Prefect’s always in earshot. A lot of old threats are now reassuring. The Party first won in the early two thousands, before a surprise defeat led them to having The Thread installed. Today, for once, The Horse Prefect’s tied up deaf at sea. The lofty degenerate of the horizon’s told everyone he’s gone for a dip. He’s gone alright, on order of The Sea Bitch. But the Shin Detonator mustn’t find out. With The Horse Prefect away, they’ll scuttle on stage, gnaw down the side curtains, valance and spotlights overseeing and surrounding every thought ever had within the school fencing, then hurry back before the chefs arrive. Their break minutes used to race each other, before muscles could absorb the small science, or the small physics – whether you call it science or physics, depends on which side of The Horse Prefect’s red line you grew up on. Or are growing up, or old on. Even the Shin Detonator down below, in The Benign Soil warrens, observe his paranoid divisions. There are hundreds, all unenforceable yet upheld to the letter by every resident that isn’t a bird in the labs under a slope, that’s itself under a slope. When not in the labs, they’re gliding overhead, too preoccupied with the afro twins to recognise what a privilege it is, to not be peering up at themselves. What a privilege, to not be held in the Deans factories, boiling up and filling thousands upon thousands of fallopian buckets to the brim with raw castration sap. Stewed under The Beeches and packed off to the groundsman. Known as Trial Tar in the Shin Detonator Threads, most ends up getting sold to The Stagnant. She has donations from The Sea Bitch spayed with it. What doesn’t make it to The Stagnant’s dumped on the playing field soil, by the birds out on collection. What’s left by the shallow roots’ll seep back down to the cells, the warrens, then the gatehouses and eventually drip through the factory ceilings, and back into the recovering pots of itself. Once below the playing field surface, sap won’t crystalise for months. The Stagnant puts on his glasses, and sits down.
Stagnant: “It’s down to the culinary specialists to decide here. Chefs’ll capitalise on the meagerest of portions. Happily pasting tar, they are, to the innards of Rembrandt cloaks put aside for the ground bound Stem Cell Hosers, and all for only an extra few meters of Thread a month. What d’you suppose is their relationship with the Shin Detonator lying under the dirt? Enough to bother swerving out the way for them?”
Sea Bitch: “D’you trust the chefs not to just stamp on them at first sight?”
Stagnant: “Depends how quick The Benign Soil-life speaks up for itself. I’d trust the chefs more than I would the kids not to turn the grounds into an indiscriminate killing field.” The Sea Bitch and Stagnant
have no idea what kind of Limpets live in The Benign Soil. Had they, they’d refer to them properly as Shin Detonator. No other Limpet lives in The Benign Soil. Just Shin Detonator.
Walking back to under the local orthopedic residents surgical banquet, The Stagnant assures The Sea Bitch it’ll get him that antidote he keeps forgetting. It can’t rely on the chefs. If Braithwaite won’t even go out into the field herself, she can’t really care if the chefs win or lose. She’s only interested in getting the kitchen to herself, for whatever plan she has to temporarily store the kids bone clamps there, before, consider the poor donkeys, carrying the lot up The Horse Prefect’s peak. Meanwhile, The Stagnant’ll tunnel Shin Detonator’s Vaginal Gates of the Field deep into to lakes bank and discuss Braithwaites treachery with whichever Limpet it first comes face to face with. It isn’t just Shin Detonator in The Benign Soil. Some Limpets crawl in through The Stagnants tunnel, but tend not to stay long, so aren’t classed as living there. Worms are also sometimes dropped by the birds and sniffing around like confused pigs, find their way to getting wedged in the kindle beneath the pots. No, these chefs can’t even keep Braithwaite away.
Braithwaite wouldn’t give any kind of licence to The Limpets making it so easily to the peak of The Horse Prefect. Sure, it means she’ll probably find an easier route than she’d planned, but now so can anyone else. Vital to her thinking’s that only she’d be bothered to make such a journey for the sake of some second-hand bone clamps. Even the kids parents’d only worry about their own kids. The headmaster’s in her pocket. Only she’d care about all the bone clamps, so only she’d go to such effort for them.
By now, The Stagnant’s burrowed through thirty meters of soil, and’s bartering well with senior Shin Detonator.
Stagnant: “It’s for The Sea Bitch, you have to counsel me. Counsel me on at least something! At least say you’ll pass the Underling antidote to the chefs before any of your soldiers get crushed under cadet boots or elbows. A few degrees can be life or death in the dirt.”
The Shin Detonator’ve more to deal with than demands for Underling antidote.
Shin Detonator: “You go back to the local orthopedic residents surgical banquet.” the Shin Detonator say in unison. One continues.
Shin Detonator: “The entrance walls, I hope you don’t mind me saying, could do with an extra coat. Then it can stay where it is. The Shin Detonator’ll sit clutching their knees through the menopause. Will be a giant car wash of breeding Limpets. Useful for shipping prisoners through until autumn arrives. Please, it’s a lot for one day. Go home, and leave us to pass it up the ranks.”
Current strangulation laws are inherited from the previous Deans administration, and therefore don’t allow for when there’s no murderer or manslaughterer. Not only every offence, but every action or activity’s deemed to have at least one villainous mob attached, and a single overseeing chief perpetrator. Cell blocks need building while there’s still no shortage of the raw materials that’ve been occupying every dimension throughout history, and everyone’s living memory. So much so, their language has fewer sounds than some animals with no language. Anyone who’s ever done anything’s a criminal. The current Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator doesn’t see these things as warranting visits to the groundsman though. But for Mechanical Nanny, he’s responsible for burrowing the bodies off site. His job’s in law enforcement, not natural disasters. Natural disasters is someone else. Someone, like Mechanical Nanny, flat out, but on his back listening to The Thread all day, while Mechanical Nanny does all his or her work for him or her. A loophole he’d do well to know, is that accidental garotings are considered too rare for law to be getting involved with. Usually traced back to an overturning Shin Detonator, shifting round onto its other shoulder with The Thread sapped solid, as good as inside its ear canal. Not much you can do about it, deep in the Dean’s corridors. It’s not true, that every Shin Detonator’s completely blind. But still, decapitations attract a ton of witnesses when the trial arrives. Suspects in Mechanical Nanny’s mind at least, of collusion between Braithwaite and the Dean. Braithwaites prisoners, ground bound Stem Cell Hosers, sobbing for their ankles, feet above the Dean’s. Loud and clear in the unsupplemented quarters, the Dean keeps his in. If the Dean’s prisoners were any worse off than the general population, the ground bound Stem Cell Hosers above’d no doubt hear their whining all day too.
The Thread’s won’t shimmy much, if you leave when something good’s on. Shin Detonator can watch Limpets being dipped in Trial Tar at four in the afternoon. No dissolving genitals pushing it past the watershed. Fat chance, shimmying around in bed when The Threads afire, as they put it. Their Green Cross Code’s, Thread Stays Nice and Tight at Night. A prime time safety campaign. Didn’t work, as they’d rather see their own heads spin off than miss Cabin Pressure. The numbers of unexplained neck trauma related deaths skyrocketed since the playing field nets became entangled with the red perforator vein Thread communication network the Shin Detonator are now dependant on. So much so, their portals never go cold at either end. The quake, that summer, not the summer this all relates to, only caused the threads to twang-wobble themselves stiffer. They were pretty stiff to start with. Shin Detonator’d mistake a quake for, the advent of rugby season, for example.
The Horse Prefect’s been conspiring with himself to get more hooves running amok. Underling’s his favourite, apart from Braithwaite, and The Horse Prefect’s starting to think the three of them’d make a nice little family. With a couple of pets buried deep in his peaks snow, and some bone clamps to go riding on in the summer. It all sounds pretty good, and likely if the unfinished business with the exam pans out, and his Infirm Protein Coat can overcome the grass repellent. Braithwaite initially had the idea, and set it all in motion years ago. Braithwaite’s idea, The Horse Prefects work. The marriage battleships are slowly turning into position.
Mechanical Nanny disentangles the bodies from the cord, dumps what’s left of them into his wheelbarrow, wheels the stack of, usually at least ten corpses past the cells under the trees. A deviation, not on his way, but insisted on by the Dean. Emptying them out into the slip road tarmac, he thinks of how it all stays molten. On his way back, he has to keep stopping, treading the inevitable trail of bits into the politely obliging ground. He’s already been sent to the groundsman once, over this. Issued a biohazard demerit for contamination of public highways. The Dean’s a slave to small science. Some kids got so sick, they had to be sent to the cells to recover. A humiliation the Dean won’t allow happen again. One that lead to the cells being relocated to under the tallest and therefore thirstiest of The Beeches. Discussion around matters of this sort, are referred to the Dean of Undersoil Black Ivory.
DOUBI: “You wouldn’t use forklifts to get racehorses over the fences would you?”
Mechanical Nanny: “No.”
DOUBI: “Then what d’you need boots for? Get it done properly! It’s a skilled job, I guess. Slapping corpses into a barrow, then taking them out to the tarmac in one piece.”
It’s Underling, the Infirm Protein Coat that became a boy, not the only transition he’d make, that went for some alone time on the grass. Whose innocent root tugging in the field caused the Shin Detonator infrastructure to be so violently replaced. They yell their orders at the wet species, escaping up the trees.
Shin Detonator: “It’s no use drying off in the shrubs. You wanna get right up there, up the top of The Beech.” The Stem Cell Hosers look strangers amongst them, amongst these Beeches. So Underling’s sent in by The Horse Prefect with a simple, clear instruction. “Rid the playing fields of the kids, dinner ladies and anything that isn’t a Stem Cell Hoser, or a Shin Detonator.” Had the prisoners below talked their way free, Underling could’ve been left alone. He ought to’ve been, as far as it would’ve done the Shin Detonator any good. The Stem Cell Hosers have nothing to dread of the dirt, as swapping tiptoes multiple times a minute to save themselves a broken back’s getting beyond them.
The Shin Detonator relief. A perforator vein communication network, installed by order of The Horse Prefect, request of the Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator, constantly summarises a world where atmospheric lung fungus wasn’t invented by their despot as a counter worry. This is all they do, laid there, network trash addicts. Chewing whatever they have, for as long as it lasts, or isn’t lethal. Whether you’re in jail, or not in jail, it doesn’t make any difference. Resonating down from the school, is Head Chef Mrs. Braithwaite, blaring through the kitchen walls, shaking each classroom divider enough for full conversations to be had between classes. Either Braithwaite herself, Radio 4, or the sport the kids have in season during games time. Amid all this, are the chefs. Mrs. Braithwaite has never been married. The moles, years previously rebranded themselves “Shin Detonator”. A few found the secret gloryhole entertainment dug by the neighbouring Stagnant lake. Sold to them as “Virgins on tap!” The tap in question’s any free teat The Sea Bitch can stretch round to the, sometimes hundreds of Shin Detonator dicks waving at her like they’re setting off on a pleasure cruise. More than the kids get, sat in detention. The Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator calls for his prisoners.
DOUBI: “Tell me about the Shin Detonator larger than me!”
Shin Detonator: “There’s no giant Shin Detonator, it was The Stagnant. It asked for you, but we thought it better to just take a message.”
DOUBI: “A message from who? The giant Shin Detonator?”
Shin Detonator: “No Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator. It was The Stagnant.”
DOUBI: “Stagnant?”
Shin Detonator: “It wasn’t a Shin Detonator.”
DOUBI: “A Limpet that’s not a Shin Detonator?”
Months ago, the Dean returned from being sent to the school groundsman, assuring everyone, the other Shin Detonator, no-one was there, as the groundsman, he said, didn’t exist. Over time, the Dean forgot this story’s a lie. By the time of questioning his prisoners, the Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator’s the only Shin Detonator believing a word he says.
The Shin Detonator cells are identical to the areas of soil that aren’t cells. A designated patch, underneath the tallest of the playing field Beeches. The Dean hoped this area’d be less nutritious, but it isn’t. The Beechtop Stem Cell Hoser roosted on the uppermost leaf of this Beech, is well aware of the prisons below, and so’s concerned The Stagnant’s tunnel could, if over-burrowed, collapse him into the same bondage his deputy now’s chillingly, alright with. Underling’s orders will, but aren’t intended to, prevent any of this happening again. The Horse Prefect and the Stem Cell Hosers’ve been at loggerheads since The Horse Prefect ordered them to redirect a batch of exam papers to the local music repair shop. Had the Stem Cell Hosers known it was for their own good, things’d no doubt’ve been different. But they didn’t, so they weren’t. Underling’s an experienced mediator between The Horse Prefect and The Horse Prefect’s favourite chef, the schools Head Chef, gourmet specialist, Braithwaite.
Stem Cell Hoser: “I guess you already know, don’t approach with your exam paper in hand, Underling.” said the Beechtop Stem Cell Hoser, thinking honesty’d pay off here.
Underling: “Doesn’t mean I can’t teach the goat tap in prison. What am I saying! You don’t teach the goat tap! You teach the Tar dip, don’t you, Sir? You slap it around in your pants and join the army.”
Shin Detonator: “The detainment facilities are full! There’s no more coming in here, and no lack of surrounding soil to build more with. Shin Detonator won’t concern themselves with anything above the ground.”
Stem Cell Hoser: “With no absence of encompassing soil, why doesn’t The Dean of Fabricators just build some more?”
Shin Detonator: “They’re not going to flinch at you. You can drop Stem Cell Hosers all day.”
Maybe The Dean won’t, but there’s plenty more flinchers beside him, and the whispers of infighting, travelling up the roots, suggest most of them wouldn’t mind at all if the Dean were called up to the groundsman for a second time this year. No Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator’s survived a second meeting with the groundsman. The Horse Prefect shouts at Underling, who isn’t going to be told to move anywhere.
The Horse Prefect: “Backpedal! Go back I tell you!”
Underling: “I’m not moving anywhere.” Underling offers a compromise.
Underling: “I’ll tap away to a tune if you give me one.”
The Horse Prefect: “You’ll tap away like a goat?” The Horse Prefect asks.
Underling: “If you want.”
The Horse Prefect: “You’ll tap to no tune?”
Underling: “I’ll make a name for myself in school. It’s a city school, but they’ll recognise the tap of a goat when they see my imitation of it. At least the kids will. The Stem Cell Hosers’ll see what they want.”
Shin Detonator: “So who gets the goat for tarring? Their dicks are swinging everywhere. They shoot kids out for giggles. Who’s controlling the goats? A goat tap in school. It’s not a goat tar, it’s a goat tap!” It’s contagious amongst the kids. Braithwaite walks through the double doors, and therefore into the kitchen.
Braithwaite: “The kids want goat. Serve them goat with gravy and peas.”
Chef: “The kids’ve never had goat.” replies a chef.
Braithwaite: “They want goat I tell you!”
The dinner ladies won’t question anything, anymore than the kids. It’s the Stem Cell Hosers that walk around like they’re deaf.
Chef: “We haven’t got goat, Braithwaite.” says a chef.
The Horse Prefect roars. The kid, already with a few others behind him, skip-hops through the playground, clacking his inside ankles together as he kicks them back slightly mid-air. The kids behind him are pretty hopeless at it, but are getting better. The kid however, clacks like it’s his natural stride.
Kids: “The Underling Infirm Protein Coat is a goat tap, named after its initial carrier.” the kids tell the other kids. The dinner ladies don’t really mind. The Horse Prefect, the only mountain visible from the school and its surrounding area, casts a disappointing eclipse racing over the school buildings, but definitely not the playing field. The Underling spreads unmistakable in its wake, skipping the Stem Cell Hosers, and at the Stem Cell Hosers. Braithwaite knows full well the school doesn’t keep goat meat.
Braithwaite: “Get me that kid at the front. He can ride a bone clamp can’t he? He can go and get goat meat.” Burnt Sienna fast covers the school like gravy. My wife says it must be the prelude to another eclipse. Underling leaves the kids ankles whenever he pleases, but the tapping never stops. Taps shattered the blackboard’s pieces, and fill every classroom. The semen chalks been thrown outside, making room for even more taps. Taps and semen chalk pack the playground up to the Craft Design & Technology labs guttering. A few inspired Stem Cell Hosers drape tarpaulin over the blackboard shards, get the kids to all sit at their desks a moment, and ask them to study the Underling Infirm Protein Coat. Each kid’s handed out a notepad, and a piece of semen chalk from the playground by the, now redundant, playground monitor, who can’t help clattering into the sides of every desk he passes.
Stem Cell Hoser: “Ask yourselves, are my ankles hot? Did Underling remember to go through my knees? What?” The readjusted kids are all shaking their heads.
Stem Cell Hoser: “What? You mean, he didn’t?”
The kids ankle spasms leave the ankles, and wait legs akimbo on the desktops. The kids, under Stem Cell Hosers instruction, slap the spasms down and hold them in place. They can still spasm into the muscle, but are being held well enough for inspection. The kids get their pupils in close enough for nylon to tickle their frontal lobes.
Kid: “This is sock nylon! You’re right! Underling went in through the ankles, not our knees.” Bookshelves are looking pretty insolent, since becoming impossible climbing frames. Stem Cell Hosers are only allowed to scribble their scorecards over ten, if there’s any hope of bobbing up and down in the riot of other Stem Cell Hosers, pretending to perpetually drown. Ignoring that the kids have the pens. There isn’t.
Underling shoulders out from the melee and, alone, sits quietly in the school playing field. Cross-legged, looking down and noticing how short his shorts are, he starts tugging on the balding tufts of yellow summer grass. The isolated patches throb blue semen chalk, panting in his shadow.
Underling: “Where were you when the white ones were around? It’s all well and good appearing here, mixing up plant sperm in the grass, but we needed you back in the classrooms.”
Blue semen chalk: “Only The Horse Prefect could’ve told you, but for its own reasons, didn’t. Now, you’re asking me to speak up for myself! The grass set itself up like cavalry when it heard you were on your way. The kids could’ve told what I was up to, had the Stem Cell Hosers set their heavy inquisition on us, but they chose to hone the pupils in on spasms instead. The Stem Cell Hosers see two entrance holes in the kids, but only one in the spasm. If you want to penetrate a spasm, you’ve only got its arse to choose from. No knees or ankles in a spasm. Chop one nylon cord an inch the wrong way, and it’s off with his arse. You can tickle a spasms arse till you’re both blue in the face. It’s not going to cut you, even a fledgling ankle or knee to play with.”
The shallow dry roots don’t even pull back. In fact, they’d risen almost to the surface, waiting for him. None of the kids, dinner ladies or Stem Cell Hosers had been out on the grass that day. Even Underling wasn’t sure why not. Maybe his clacking needed a hard surface. The Benign Soil’s crumbling dry, but from a distance looks lush and green. At least, the grass does. Underling looks up from the playing field, at the blinding glass fronted exam room. The kids are all sat in unison. Invigilators walk the corridors between their desks, sedating them with a deliberately melodic slow step. The choirs called up by the rising roots, swing back into action. Now, this was last years present, an orchestra of the evening. Van doorman are conductors, making the escorts, whoever those cellists are sat in the crowd. Worth bringing the slow step to a halt, to hear those back doors slam shut with the cannons, at the end. The Chief Invigilator watched Underling, out in the field. Braithwaite said nothing about a boy. The Chief Invigilator was told any soaking’d only be taken from the Sea Bitches cycle show, probably sucked out the horse meat. If a horses head can put on a show from behind a wash of any species, well it couldn’t bear to. A horse performer’d watch the audience only through skin of its own kind. A sick horse’s no good for anyone, so why’d Braithwaite send out a boy? The Chief Invigilator doesn’t know, so sends a couple of assistants out with a copy of the paper. Wave it under his face, and see if his stomach ‘s brought up. Underling’s escorts are kept at hand, and they have their escorts to be getting on with. Pulled unconscious from horse vans parked in field. Braithwaite’s with its engine on all day, if you’d believe it. For Underling’s sake, the escorts of escorts are treated like bullied kids from other schools. Probably six or seven in total, all face down in the grass. The others already held a copy of the exam. Underling reads his. It has two large images, the whole exam contained on one side. Just a few sentences of text. Above each image is a sentence, clearly alluding to the picture below. Underling glances at the page whole, trying to take it all in, in one go, but can’t. So he scans his eyes over in more detail, but can’t see a question mark. Maybe he missed it. So he does the same again. The top image is of a painting. A quite well painted wooden farmhouse with a wooden gate in the background, in old master browns and yellow ochres. It could be a Constable. The foreground’s a statuesque row of Victorian commoners, but a rag’s been rubbed over their faces, when the paint was still wet. Then over the top, the painter’s sketched their faces back in, like a De Kooning cartoon in burnt umber. The single stroke background to the revised faces is yellow ochre.
The second image is a close-up of a guitar amplifier, where the black and silver fabric stretches over the speaker. It now seems as if the exam only relates to the first image. Underling reads the words to himself slowly, concentrating and stopping on each, but still can’t fathom any meaning. He can’t even remember the last word, by the time he starts the next. His escorts, and their escorts, the kids, the invigilators all seem fine with the paper. Underling doesn’t get any of it.
Underling: “What a hideous thing!” Underling blurts out, having to be confident. Too much for the legend of an hour ago, to be seen struggling with kids work.
Invigilator: “What a ghastly thing, in fact!” Underling looks up towards the strangers voice. A haggard old lady, could’ve been the identical twin of her superior. It already looked wrong enough for her to be strolling up to him, as if invited. Underlings vision froze before she makes it. She’s only a couple of feet away. Close enough to jolt his attention back to The Stagnant.
Even Braithwaite’s handed her paper in.
Underling looks up from the exam, over the shoulders of his escorts, all ambling around, life being a picnic now the work’s done. Behind them’s the farmhouse from the image. Adjacent to the farmhouse, a concrete revetment wedged in position, no more considered than a meteorite crater. Red brick walls hold out the school grounds either side. A surgical banquet’s sat, only about twenty meters from the coast. Caught stationary in the drift from every direction, shadowing a patch on the bed reserved for the old wicketkeeper. Too cold for anyone sleeping there to be disturbed by The Horse Prefects eclipse. The waves only start meters from the coast.
Diveted into the ground, overhanging the lakes edge, enough not to topple in, is a double bust. Deaf and glancing from the surgical banquet, as many did, you’d assume it’s carved and painted, or moulded in plastic. Or spray painted styrofoam. Something definitely dead. But it’s not, or they aren’t, and are sticking out awkwardly enough to be mistaken by overflying birds for a couple of abandoned tent pegs, yelling out to deck all day, night, whenever they’re not indoors, over at the local orthopedic residents, begging to be spared their cats, and made of human alive flesh. Had the mud around them been grass, their brunette afros wouldn’t have camouflaged in, and the birds’d remember. Afro twins is what they are, and their name. Pets of Underling, and his stay-at-home elderly mother, who sits knitting in her rocking chair all day, mimicked from a Rockwell painting she saw when pregnant with Underling’s elder brother. A distraction of the twins, from the cats, are the afro twins pets. Knackered old racehorses and greyhounds they keep in the water. Doggy-paddling miserably round the surgical banquet. Never tiring, never sleeping. Never thinking. Just staring down into the middle distance depth of the lake. Enough relief for them to be rid their infected blisters, ingrowings and over-training damage, not to worry about anything else. When one dies, it sinks, leaving two of the same species in a row. When there’s the full complement, they trott in alternate order, dog, horse, dog, horse. One falls down, two of same are lined up to mate. The back one slows to a crawl, and sticks its rear up out the water so its face is low enough to almost topple into a somersault. Below them, on the bed, looks identical to a cocoon of Shin Detonator sap, but is an organic, mainly horsemeat, island. The parasitic fish vacuum the hooves of damaged and dead skin. What falls below is air filled, but not enough to float. A blister, for example. Over time, they’ve mounted up. Over more time become a bleeding flesh reef.
The Horse Prefect: “What a dim substance you are!” roars the bitter Horse Prefect. Next to the boat are the Constable-looking Beeches. It’s a lake. It’s not The Sea Bitch. It’s definitely Stagnant. These waves only begin where the water’s almost already ashore. Not Underling’s problem. He takes advantage of not being under exam conditions, and walks out and into the waves, clutching his paper. When chest high in, he feels what he supposes, is a giant pike, graze hard on his stomach. He looks down, just making out some grey flesh. With the next wave, it thrusts up again taking off several layers of skin. This time, Underling catches its eye and part of its nose. It’s strayed off course, nowhere near The Stagnants tunnel, where it could beach and dry out all day. No harm’d come of it. In smooth tennis stroke with the next wave, Underling majestically glides his left arm up and around the pikes back. Its belly’s rough. Must be a dinosaur flipper. More rough flippers grate against his ribs. He looks down again at the Limpets face, seeing no giant pike. Just formless grey skin and faces of parents and their kids spinning in a flashing merry-go-round. A rescue party’s summoned by The Horse Prefect. Still with some of the shallow grass roots about him, Underling hears them call back to their lush relatives on the field.
Shallow grass roots: “Wire over more grey flesh. We’re running low.”
The Horse Prefect: “You won’t hear them over me.” The Horse Prefect interrupts.
Underling: “My instruction’s only related to school, mountain.”
The Horse Prefect: “So you can tell The Stagnant’s outside the school, though you still haven’t crossed the schools gate. What’s the first thing you come to after the gate?”
Underling: “The road.”
The Horse Prefect: “So where’s the road? There’s no body of water in the slip road. You’re still in the school grounds. You’re still at work.”
Underling: “The road’s over my shoulder, and behind it, the school fence, and behind the school fence the circumfrancing Beeches blocking the field. One way or another, I’m outside the school. Anyway, no-one’d tap on the field. Your instruction’s only for the concrete playground, and floored interior suitable for clack tapping. No infection of this sort’d apply to legless water Limpets, even if I were still in school.”
The Horse Prefect’s heard enough, so takes a fistful of Underlings hair, and slings him into one of his peaks bushes. The Horse Prefect’s only interested in how aware Underling is of his bearings and priorities anyway. There’s no reason Underling can’t just watch the rest of this unfold retrospectively. They both head back to the horizon, Underling having returned from the bushes, leaving Underling to deal with the dying Limpets.
Underling: “Did you take all the water from the tufts of grass?” The Limpet turns slightly under Underling’s arm, revealing the Limpets baby. Both rotate, further revealing a glimpse of a human face. The face fades back seconds later. Underling and his party are holding on, with Underling at the front. Not knowing what better to do, Underling leads them all towards shore. He’s less sure of this with each step. Ultimately, they have to venture back out to sea, or some water, somehow. They walk up the boats ladder, aboard, then back overboard. The warmth of a sea wave approaching from behind gives something to aim for.
Underling: “When the wave carries us forward, turn and release the Limpets.” As Underling treads water, the escort party swim round till they’re parallel with the coast. Underling moves forward, so to angle the Limpets faces off kilter, heading towards The Horse Prefect, The Horse Prefect’s shadow envelops them all. Underling keeps going, but can feel the warmth of The Sea Bitch turn to ice. The elder Limpet looks up at Underling.
Creature: “Braithwaite’s alive, and in the playground. Never mind the kids. Braithwaite has the keys to the bone clamp’s. Go leave the school, and tap with her. You can still outrun everyone, even riding jagged with the brotherhood, under Underling. The best place for you two to go, is up to the top of The Horse Prefect. Watch us galloping with the pigs. They keep blazing carousels under its snow. The Horse Prefect’s snow, that is. The Sea Bitch hasn’t any snow of her own.”
Underling: “Last time I spoke to The Horse Prefect, he put everyone back in school.”
All around him’s fast becoming Stagnant, under the chill of The Horse Prefect’s shadow. Underling and the escorts discharge the animals. They flip out from under their arms, landing face down in the snow peak of The Horse Prefect. The Sea Bitch calls for her nurse, who faces up to The Horse Prefect.
Sea Bitch nurse: “What’s with the twins?”
The Horse Prefect: “Don’t think you can see under skin, just ‘cos the Sea Bitch’s given you a job. I saw how you took those horses heads, and clamped them on stage. I see them through the Limpets. In the stables, over the fields, we followed it from the start. They nay plenty loud enough. Hosing pigs blood over the front doesn’t drown anything out. The audience hear everything.”
Sea Bitch nurse: “Where’s these Limpets then? I can’t hear them. Where’ve they gone, but inside your stomach? Come clean, mountain, you’re expecting Underling to come running back to you, with more lies from backstage.”
The Stem Cell Hosers in the playing field yell out to sea.
Stem Cell Hosers: “Underling’s been sent to class, can’t keep his feet still, can’t read, can’t even find Braithwaite to do his exam for him. The Horse Prefect looks down, over the Beeches. Who saw what Braithwaite did to our ankles? Underling can take the stems of the kids ankles, present them to the Craft Design & Technology Stem Cell Hosers, and fix our poor legs.”
Sea Bitch: “If that’s so, there’s more to this snow than an incubation cover for dying fish. It seems to turn up, just as the Infirm Protein Coat gets broody. I’ll go out to The Stagnant.”
The Sea Bitch walks along its bed, looks up at its waves and gathers all the crill waiting above.
Sea Bitch: “The sun doesn’t need to see this.” The Stagnant feels The Sea Bitch draw near, so quickly injects Underling’s antidote into The Sea Bitch life. The Horse Prefect hasn’t stolen it only for himself.
From afar, it looks as if the Stem Cell Hosers are picking litter off the playing field. Some scrambling on hands and knees, others pelting around like erratic dogs with fists of grass being possible, hadn’t they already been carrying giant scythes. As blades wrench up, red perforator vein roots shoot out the dirt, attached solid to the bottoms of the grass. Roots arrange their choirs overhead, football nets drive into the ground, obviously joined at the other end. The orchestra plays into the evening. Some roots are attached to nets, some to wire fencing, others seemingly to other blades of grass. The more red perforator vein’s pulled up, the denser it webs across the landscape. Red perforator vein climbs the Beeches circumfrancing the field. The lowest of the webs support points are the ones coming from the ground, which Underling supposes have shot themselves into The Beeches, hitting the Stem Cell Hosers.
The kids in the exam room get called up to sing. Stem Cell Hosers grappling down the branches are spun into a towering inferno. Underling walks up one of The Threads, having narrowed it down to the Head of Craft, Design and Technology department left stranded on The Leaftops. Leaftop’s waiting for the Dean. Itself standing upright on the end of a thin vertical branch, arching its neck back to The Horse Prefect, showing off his banjo string goldfish neck. He looks like a drowning terrapin.
Underling: “I wanna answer the question about the guitar amplifier.”
Underling stamps on a leaf, breaking its back. None get away with making out they’re the Dean. Seeing Stem Cell Hosers fall apart from what’s taken by the guards as, deserters yield’s enough for him to speak up.
Stem Cell Hoser: “There wasn’t supposed to be any such question.”
Shin Detonator: “Braithwaite put it in.”
Underling: “Why’d a dinner lady care?”
Stem Cell Hoser: “Seeing me, the pupil. Thought I was signing up to be an understudy. Probably knew I’d do it, being one of the thick ones. She put it in the exam so I’d have a hand in recruiting Stem Cell Hosers, who’d end up marking. The chefs wouldn’t mark anything. No-one else’d know the answers. She felt sorry for me, sat out there in the grass.”
Underling: “I was sat in the grass. The Chief Invigilator sent me the paper, but I couldn’t understand the questions. Couldn’t even retain the words as I read them. I sat two feet from the face of the amplifier when I was at school. About eleven or twelve years old, and not a word from the Shin Detonator. Nothing from the swaying Beeches. Nothing from anyone.”
The Stem Cell Hoser allows Underling to submit his paper.
Stem Cell Hoser: “Can you feel the cold of The Horse Prefect’s eclipse, Underling?”
Underling: “No sir.”
Stem Cell Hoser: “Then don’t try and make out you’ve not been ordered up the peak yet! The other two are waiting boy. Waiting for you and Braithwaite to turn up, and the only way you got of getting there, has been ditched in the snow already. You wanna tell that Braithwaite, she’s a little hasty, dumping bone clamps in the snow, just ‘cos she’s alone in the kitchen for once. You both gonna meet them, one way or the other. I’m afraid, it’s by foot. You got no choice.”
Braithwaite: “Where’s the key to the bone clamp shed?” shouts Braithwaite across the kitchen, and therefore out the window and into the playing field.
Underling: “I heard she was asking for goat earlier today.” jokes Underling to the Stem Cell Hoser. Underling knows Braithwaite only said it because she misheard his conversation with The Horse Prefect, when Underling was sent to run chaos in school.
Stem Cell Hoser: “Braithwaite’s with you and The Horse Prefect then. As you’re in the kitchen, and here in the Beech with me. The animals are in the snow, and you’re looking to see if the kitchen window’s really open.”
Underling looks, and sees the window’s painted shut.
Braithwaite: “I can’t see what use you’ll be to me in the kitchen.”
Underling: “I can’t even be in the school. And what about when they find an antidote?”
Braithwaite: “You’re better off in the kitchen with me.”
The chefs aren’t gonna be content with Underling being Braithwaite’s second in command. It’s time to get rid of her.
Chefs: “Nothing contagious’ll survive here.” they all say in unison. One clarifies.
Chef: “Underling, you’d need the antidote to escape the kid’s, and occasionally the dinner ladies ankles, but also immunity to survive. You can try and find your antidote in the kitchen, but realistically, Braithwaite’ll need to let us find it for you. You aren’t gonna find an antidote to yourself. Try making room for breakfast, when you’re breakfast. Account for that.”
Braithwaite sends the chefs out into the playing field, just as they demanded, to search for an antidote, while she and Underling stay in the kitchen. It suits Braithwaite, as she needs Underling to steal the kids bone clamps from the shed. The chefs march out the kitchen, and crawl across the playing field, dragging their dead weight bottom halves along the ground on their elbows. The red perforator vein Thread web covering the playing field’s dense enough by now to hide them from the surveying Stem Cell Hosers, perched on the tops of the surrounding Beeches. But also thin enough on the ground to challenge their progress no more than an average cadet assault course. Cadets don’t end up slithering through spiked metal in the sun. With that, the Shin Detonator from under the playing field withdraw from the pressure filled lower soil, caused by the bulkier football nets and wire fencing replacing the thin red perforator vein of before, and are further encouraged to the surface by the moistening of the upper soil from the weather, becoming increasingly soft with every touch of the cadets elbows onto the dewier and dewier grass. Parting through the shallow roots of the blades Underling had been pulling up, not an hour before, the Shin Detonator reunite with the familiar red perforator vein Thread they feared had fled the lower depths, fleeing the galactic attack that afternoon.
Shin Detonator: “The Stem Cell Hosers elbows, unlike those of the chefs, apparently have no effect on the weather.” a Shin Detonator said, trying to flatter the chefs.
Chef: “There’s nothing resembling an assault course then. If anything, those Stem Cell Hosers’d more resemble gasping English soldiers scraping themselves up the dunes.”
Shin Detonator: “I guess it pays to wear a uniform.”
Chef: “I suppose it does, but this wet ground’s down to the red perforator vein, which isn’t as dense as when the Stem Cell Hosers were crawling. We resemble cadets not only in ourselves, but also in our surroundings. From the kitchen, the Stem Cell Hosers don’t look like they mind the weather at all.”
Shin Detonator: “Will you mind us?”
Chef: “Our ankles are brothers, elbows sisters, knees spouses, our testicles are old friends, our ovaries are cousins. What are Shin Detonator to us?”
Shin Detonator: “We hear you swell down into The Benign Soil from the kitchen. You’re jealous of Underling, like an older brother of his younger brother.”
Chef: “So what?” replies a chef.
Shin Detonator: “You’re out here looking for an antidote, moments after Underling himself was looking for one.”
Chef: “No. It’s us telling Underling he needed it. Not till after he left the playing field. If you don’t believe it, ask Braithwaite. Braithwaite knew full well Underling had no antidote by the time the exam started, way back when she made sure the amplifier question was put in. She had to make sure, somehow, the Stem Cell Hoser she wanted to send Underling up The Horse Prefect’s peak’d keep his job that long.”
Shin Detonator: “Underling knew from the day he was born. The kid’s like a spider. Why d’you think he’d leave the comfort of the kid’s ankles to sit out on his own? What’d drive a young Infirm Protein Coat to claw at summer grass? Why’d he envision lush green pastures in a field of barren death?”
The chefs don’t like where the Shin Detonator’s headed, but although clearly he’s lying, it does also happen to be true.
Chefs: “So his drive’s all about finding his own antidote in The Benign Soil.” The chefs concluded.
Shin Detonator: “And your innate drive’s like ours. We act for self-preservation.” the Shin Detonator recite in unison.
Chef: “So you’re not like Mechanical Nanny then? You wouldn’t tread us into mud, if we turned out useful for you?” asks a chef, pointlessly.
Shin Detonator: “Just in our interest to let you know. The antidote’s uprooted by the Stem Cell Hosers. Braithwaite’ll escape up The Horse Prefect with Underling, using the kids bone clamps. But underneath, The Benign Soil’s getting worse all the time. Don’t tell the plates. The Horse Prefect’ll outrun her, and the ground’ll be mincemeat.”
Shin Detonator follow the moistures scent to the surface. The Stem Cell Hosers have to be told to stop pulling up so much grass. Too many nets and yards of wire fencing, make the plates tetchy. Braithwaite runs out the kitchen, a meat cleaver in each hand, and starts hacking at the Stem Cell Hosers she now realises are all soldiers of The Horse Prefect. The red perforator vein Threads use as an antidote may hold if the plates break apart soon enough for The Horse Prefect’s nutrient-rich soil to smother them in time. She hacks at the brotherly ankles. Only blood of the soldiers ankles is immune.
Braithwaite: “So you show your uniform at last, cowards!” Braithwaite shouts at the Stem Cell Hosers. The chefs hear, and it fills them with pride.
Chefs: “Despite everything, the girl’s one of us.” They watch Braithwaite gallop the width of the field, clumsily trying to skip over the perforator vein, hacking at anything, sometimes two sets of ankles at once.
The immunity in the ankle blood of the Stem Cell Hosers’ll soak into the perforator vein still underground, if the dew keeps up. It’s already splattered on the web hanging heavy over the grass, pumped through each strand, up to the tip of the Beeches. It passed into the pourous leaves, through the Beeches, out their roots, and into The Benign Soil. The web’s been awarded controlled resistant blood, by its inhaled supervising ovarian pollen spores of The Horse Prefects bush. Released into the air by the landing of Underling. The web’s pulse sweats this new fever. Goat tap left the knees alone, or so the misinformed ovarian pollen spores thought. They get it in the ankles, but it gets in via the knees. Children get it in their knees, ovarian pollen spores. The Horse Prefect didn’t tell you! The fever’s immune to Underling, and at the rate Braithwaite’s getting through Stem Cell Hosers, The Horse Prefect’s staying right where it is. Underling’s Rockwelly old mother won’t mind. Will give her back her afternoons, distracted by the comfort of the beautiful horizon’s better than the stress of scouring it for the yelping afro twins. The Stem Cell Hosers saw the extent to which the Shin Detonator’ll reunite with the perforator vein. Now it’s becoming a living organism of its own, the ovarian pollen spores’s been left redundant enough to go out looking for the rattler. He’ll give them something to do. Underling, balancing on kitchen window sill, only climbed up there to see if Braithwaite separated the Stem Cell Hosers out, into two isolated camps. As open to The Horse Prefect, as the Beechtop Stem Cell Hosers were to The Benign Soil prisons. The Horse Prefect attacking from above, the Shin Detonator from below. Those lying on the ground, unable to climb through the web due to their horrific injuries, and those trapped on the very tops of the Beeches, overlooking the playing field. Earmarked prison guards overlooking from their forts, might’ve grown suspicious there weren’t any prisoners. Satisfied at last, the chefs and Braithwaite leave the playing field, and are almost back in the kitchen. Underling yells from the window.
Underling: “Did you find my antidote?”
Braithwaite: “No.” Braithwaite shouts back. “Not just lying around. We brewed it.”
Chef: “It’s stewing.”
They’re close enough now for Underling to speak at normal volume.
Underling: “How long’s stewing take?”
Chef: “Ask the Stem Cell Hosers.” laughs a chef, carrying one under his arm.
Underling climbs down from the window, and waits till Braithwaite and the chefs have walked in.
Underling: “Braithwaite. When you were all in the playing field, I took the kids bone clamps up the peak of The Horse Prefect.” The chefs applaud. As their clapping dies down, they form a semi-circle around Braithwaite. She’s left facing them with her back to the wall. The only way out’s over the top and through the window. Following the underarm Stem Cell Hosers blood trail, would’ve led straight to the antidote stew, had they made any. A chef steps forward, ruining the, till then, perfect semi-circle.
Chef: “What a hideous thing indeed!” he says, trying to make out the back of her pupils.
Braithwaite: “Not really chef. Underling was left alone. Who’s to say the kids didn’t give him permission. Doesn’t take much to win them over. A little goat tap, a little Infirm Protein Coat. Something to take away from school.” Braithwaite looks over to Underling.
Braithwaite: “D’ya think?”
Underling: “I’d go along with that, Miss.” He sniffs. “Is that stew?”
Another chef walks up, stopping an inch from Braithwaites nose. Another behind him, and then another climbs on the second chefs shoulders. Behind the vertically single file pair of chefs, three chefs stand on each others shoulders. Behind them, four chefs stand on each others shoulders. Behind them five, six, then seven, and so on until Braithwaite walks up them, to the peak of The Horse Prefect.
The Horse Prefect: “You want the antidote for Underling.”
Braithwaite: “I’ve come for the bone clamps.”
The Horse Prefect: “Why come all this way for something you don’t even want for yourself?”
Underling wanders into the playing field, seeing the Stem Cell Hosers hacked by Braithwaite being looked after by the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s five foot tall, and has coils of red perforator vein Thread for flesh. Despite not being visible from the outside, the Shin Detonator have chosen to live inside him, rather than in the cold soil of before. The Stem Cell Hosers trapped in the Beeches, have all now climbed down, and are stretchering injured parties down the incline, into The Sea Bitch, beyond the waves, and up into the boat. The boat only has one bed, so the others sit out on deckchairs, where there’s a small balcony. Many of the local orthopedic residents are onboard. There’s bunting, alcohol and quartered sandwiches. They’re celebrating the Stem Cell Hosers recovery like it’s a cricket match. Underling walks up to the antidote.
Antidote: “You’re best off on the boat with the others.”
Underling climbs aboard, and’s pulled immediately to ground by a rattling old drunk in a fedora.
Rattler: “You know, I used to keep wicket for the school, and it never staggered to amaze me, how much blood one’d get through.”
Underling: “Really.” replies Underling. “You mean, ceased.”
Rattler: “Yes, and you, Underling, should be grateful the likes of me would mop it up for you.”
Underling: “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”
Rattler: “No, well, you’re yet to pass me cocooned in Shin Detonator sap. You can thank me, the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head grew up to be so charitable.”
Underling: “I might be grateful, but what about Braithwaite? What does she make of all this? She set the amplifier question, so I could find my immunity.”
Rattler: “Well, that’s what she told the young boys. She knew alright. She could tell the urchins from who’d grow up to be your Stem Cell Hoser, but you know, I had a hand in too.”
Underling: “Then I should thank you, Sir.”
Underling looks over the side of the boat.
Rattler: “There’s not much down there for you.”
Underling: “Where, in bottom of the lake?”
Rattler: “Right you are young chap. They moved the Limpets, for better or worse, up here. Apart from the two you got lost with.”
The weeping willows overhanging the lake are sweating. Their shoelace branches stiffen, and from inside, burst out the wire fencing the roots had sucked up through The Benign Soil, and that the branches sucked up through the water. The football nets lodge themselves in the weeping willows throats, and happen to be being coughed out, just as the rattler decides to clear his sinuses. They land on deck, catching the lower limbs of the old man and Underling.
Rattler: “Owzat punk! They got your Infirm Protein Coat!” He looks down, more closely. “Oh no they didn’t. They missed the knees.”
The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head steps between them, picking up the nets and holds them up to Underling’s face.
GWARBWH: “You see this, Underling? That’s clogging. I deal in pulse, flow. The Limpets fled the beach. My parents fled the kitchen. The only ones who got away from anything were the stationary weeping willows, rooted to the ground.”
The weeping willows slosh knee high through the lake and climb aboard to confront the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head. The old wicketkeeper moves up to the cougars on the steering deck.
Weeping willow: “The Beeches in the playing field held up your lot, don’t forget.”
Had Braithwaite interpreted summer spores, she’d have heeded The Horse Prefects ovarian pollen spores, and distracted the rattler. But spores only work in the day, so she sent him back down to the larder, leaving him free to conspire with the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head.
Braithwaite: “Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, you must be thirsty.”
Rattler: “He’s not thirsty!” interrupted the wicketkeeper.
Rattler: “I’ve been watching him outdrink me all afternoon.”
Braithwaite: “Then what’d you make of hosting every Shin Detonator in the playing field. Would you be thirsty then?”
Rattler: “When I’m Shin Detonator food, I’ll let you know. But for now, I won’t be.”
The wicketkeeper and the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head climb overboard. To keep the union intact, the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head sends a trailing coil into the playing field soil. Its end crawls around the Shin Detonator warrens, and happens across a bonfires worth of displaced Shin Detonator, plotting themselves, against their Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, child of the tyrannical net clogging.
Shin Detonator: “What d’you want, coil tentacle?”
Coil tentacle: “I heard you know a thing or two about bonding sap, and how to create it.”
Shin Detonator:” What if we do?”
Coil tentacle: “The rattler and I are heading off the side of the boat. Thinks he can play dad to a small family of Shin Detonator. Well, let him, I say. I’m taking him down with me, but what are these new limbs of mine? Someone has to hold him, and it’s only me around.”
Shin Detonator: “Just hold him with your arms!”
Coil tentacle: “Impossible! What d’you think I am?”
Shin Detonator: “You want the recipe for Shin Detonator sap, you might find yourself stuck down here with us for a while.”
Coil tentacle: “Doing what?”
Shin Detonator: “We’re no bonfire club. Rather orphans of net clogging. Net clogging not dissimilar in appearance to your good self. You wanna humiliate this old man of yours, you’re taking the clogging with you.”
The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head and the rattler sink, arm in arm. Their feet hit the bed, sending puffs of, now escaping, drowning ovarian pollen spores spores butterflying to the surface.
Rattler: “Let’s see how an old cad like me handles these Shin Detonator you’re moaning about. There’s no dealing with anything. They just chew your insides till one of you becomes poison.” The old man shuts his eyes, holds still, and unsticks his lips enough to release a final trail of crumb bubbles. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head buries his head into the old man’s shoulder, crushing his body into the size of a lunchbox. The Shin Detonator don’t fancy clawing out yet another prison, having watched The Benign Soil they lived in from birth, spoil. The coil tubes hold them flat, shooting red and white cells they can only dodge left or right. Old man flesh fuses to a crawl with the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, like a tube of toothpaste sucking itself inside out, till the arse, the smug escaped convict strolling shit down a red carpet, grates along its throat. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head tilts alone. Weighed down, bottom heavy, anchored to the bed, the old man clutched in one of several exit coils. Cocooned unconscious in the preserving and re-energising sap of the Shin Detonator, the top left side of the old man’s head grazes along the bed as his thighs, knees, then shins, ankles, and eventually toes drop out. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head turns its neck, watching the encased fetus cool solid, but’s vacuumed up before it can be frozen into the same vision Underling held of the exam assistant. Its neck twists again to look up for The Horse Prefect, but across and over every vanishing point’s nothing but hull. Unbeknown to the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, the end of his coil remains glued to the cocooned wicketkeeper. Gravity unravels half the torso. Frantic pushing upwards against the water only sends the trajectory off its only hope.
Horse Prefect: “Let the current take you.” He should still have his head, shoulders and arms, by the time he collides with the shiny white coating. The boat’ll keep stationary, just as it’s been kept since the afro twins pets have pedalled every escape route in motion. He’d hold on for sure. The time it takes to pass a door frame width so narrow, will only ever be cut short by the time it takes a twitchy racehorse’s nose, with less homegrown hairs in its nostrils than those of its neighbouring greyhounds tail, to cover the same distance. An
unravelled Shin Detonator, now homeless looks left towards the voice.
Shin Detonator: “Our old host’s left a path to the cellar. It’s still mid afternoon. There’s bound to be a drink or two in there.” The Shin Detonator scurry down, bottlenecking at the rattlers toe. In rank order, they’re sent up the coil. Each shimmy of their freezing bodies, eggs out to sea. The still Stagnant has none of its own. Native eggs died out, with The Horse Prefects pastime of tossing birds into its depths. The enemy sea in land speak, has a land border. Anything’s picked up. It wasn’t expecting another call from The Stagnant yet, having only just sent its waves, and besides, it hasn’t any Limpets to offer.
Sea Bitch: “The Stagnant could do worse than leave me alone a couple of years.” Instead of shooing away bored soldiers, in the hope some healthy ones’d be caught up, he sends in The Horse Prefect.
Sea Bitch: “Go see what these eggs are about.” orders The Sea Bitch. The two Limpets had long since buried themselves in the snow, frightened by the sudden introduction of kids bone clamps. The Horse Prefect spins The Sea Bitch outwards. The snow on its peak melts. The eggs freeze.
Shin Detonator: “The Horse Prefect’s suspended underwater, caught in sea frost.” As The Sea Bitchs waves crash above, ice lightning tunnels into the Shin Detonator sap pores. They bury their heads at the second wave, they call The Chill.
Shin Detonator: “Don’t move!” shouts a Shin Detonator to another.
Shin Detonator: “The larder’s…”
None make it to the larder. As the Shin Detonator harden, the eggs, and suspicions of The Sea Bitch, peter out.
Braithwaite: “Who was the first of you lot to speak to the Shin Detonator?” Braithwaite asked the chefs.
Chefs: “You know Braithwaite, you must know, if you knew enough years ago to include the amplifier question in the exam. The only question’s for us. Why you’d bother asking. Suppose you’re trying to get the most outspoken chef in your kitchen, to send out to The Horse Prefect. In which case, your only question to us is, who’s the best swimmer?” the chefs all say in unison.
Braithwaite: “I couldn’t care less who’s the best swimmer, I just need to see now, who of you’s least out of breath.” Braithwaite surveys the chefs, remembering the skill Underling had, picking escorts out the vans in the field. Their shirt buttons sink, regardless of inhaling or exhaling. Of course, they all heave. Some out of breath, some out of faking it. Who wants to catch a perfumeless chill out in The Stagnant?
“Keep heaving.” Braithwaite says to herself. “The last to hyperventilate’ll do.” Sure enough, the chefs begin passing out on the floor. With just one left standing, Braithwaite has her man.
Braithwaite: “Stop!” The chef stops faking out of breath.
Braithwaite: “Stop right there, young man.” she says so quietly, the chef isn’t sure she’s not talking to herself. He hears it well enough. Braithwaite tells, so doesn’t raise her voice to continue at him.
Braithwaite: “You’re going out into the freezing water, and gonna get me those Shin Detonator. You won’t be able to carry them all, so you’ll need to make sure they return to their host, be it the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head or the rattling wicketkeeper, and bring me the host.”
Chef: “Yes chef.”
Braithwaite pauses for the obvious question. Nothing comes.
Braithwaite: “You’ll need to take these with you.” she says, walking up to one of the metal tables at the back. She pulls open a draw, and takes a handful of Stem Cell Hosers ankles.
Braithwaite: “The Stem Cell Hosers are immune from Underling’s goat tap Infirm Protein Coat, so make sure you only use these ankles. No-one else’s. You understand?”
Chef: “Yes chef. What are the ankles for?”
Braithwaite: “Who’s to know the state of the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s coils? It mightn’t just be the one way out for the Shin Detonator, now he’s been pulled half straight, and left to dissolve in The Stagnant. Her face was already bleached enough, before setting down. She should send it up to mate with a few of the dogs and horses circling above. She needn’t worry about getting pregnant. The small science put walls up for the the sperm. As soon as they’ve climbed up the two brick thick, past where they can fall down and still survive, they get to the top, and where there used to be a way over, is a one brick thick, they can only summit to find themselves hopelessly suspended. Their mentors can all stroll up, and tell them a way down’s being made, but the mentors don’t know the one brick won’t hold any mechanical help arriving. The nannyless sprogs are stuck there, staring down at the concrete till they can’t stay awake no more. No, no sperm’s making it in the Bleach Girl. She just keeps her reproductive work to herself. As for the wicketkeeper, he’s been Shin Detonator food on the lake bed ever since. For all we know, he’s riddled with ‘em. When you get there, and end up frogmarching whichever the Shin Detonator’ve retreated to, you’ll need to plug any possible escape before leaving the water.”
Plugging’ll graze the inner hairs, collecting DNA. You know, the interest The Horse Prefect has in small science. Always been beyond him. If he’s gonna collect samples of betrayers, Braithwaites soldier’ll find himself under a microscope, under the slope under another slope. It won’t take more than a clumsy grasp against Braithwaites already soft skin to put her in it too. Braithwaite might wanna be careful, not to let her new recruit get too close with his amateur chef grooming. Long hair, and long nails. Beards and body odours intermingle, held up by the ovarian pollen spores at every corner, before being slung back to its host, in much the same way a Shin Detonator’ll always go back to the playing field, in the end. Football nets, or no football nets, those warrens are his history. The girls’ll follow the boys. The ovarian pollen spores follow the order of The Horse Prefect, not, as most’d think, the authority of the birds. There’s as much mislead treason between the ovarian pollen spores and the birds, as between Braithwaite and her chefs. As much as between the Shin Detonator and the Dean. The fingernails of the chef, and the palm of Braithwaite’ll be the undoing of her perfect crime.
Chef: “The Shin Detonator may have spread between more than one host. What then?”
Braithwaite: “Bring back at least one host.” At last he’s showing something. The chef snatches the ankles from Braithwaite’s hand, and turns to march out the door. As his head swings round to the exits, his peripheral vision hits a wall of staircase formed chefs. This time, a staircase insurmountable.
Chef: “You can walk up me.” says the first step chef. “You can walk three steps up. No more.”
The steps form a C shape. Fifty percent climbable. The chef puts the ankles in his pocket, and walks out the kitchen door.
Underling: “What’s it like for a cadet like you, out here on the playing field. Guess you don’t like it when the sun and the dew don’t come running.”
Chef: “It’s antidote business. Not the weather. I’m trying to help you out, if you must know.”
Underling: “You should go home.”
Chef: “If I was less than a decade younger Underling, I’d be tapping with you and the other kids. Giving the Damselfish what for. You’re young enough to clear all this lot up.” He points to the pepperings of coil left on the grass, and trees. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s offspring all stepped in landmines.
Chef: “Considering how finicky Braithwaite was about not contaminating anything, and keeping everything immune, she’s left a right bloody mess.”
Underling: “You’re not a Stem Cell Hoser are you? Get me my mechanical nanny!” Both know each other’s going through the motions of saying the sequence of sentences that inevitably leads to what they both want. The chef cuts to it, and rolls up his socks, exposing his ankles.
The chef walks about ten yards out into the grass. He turns around to face Underling, his tutor, and tries his first tap. The Benign Soil gives way under his feet.
Underling: “Not really a goat, is it?”
Chef: “They wouldn’t role up to my knees. What d’you expect?”
Both stop to acknowledge that The Benign Soil’s still giving way.
Chef: “Underling, get here now!” shouts the chef. Underling’s slow.
Chef: “Underling….”
Underling: “Never mind The Benign Soil. You’re best off out of it anyway. You weren’t sent out to crawl between perforator vein Threads for Braithwaite’s sake. I used her, to send you out, to train for me.”
The chef, back on guard, warming to Underling’s comradery, is down on his elbows, crawling out towards the tarmac. His first elbow step drags back soil, but fails to propel his body forward. He stops briefly, before thinking nothing of it. Underling’s the trustworthy type, so he digs in his other elbow. The second elbow step’s equally useless. His third, moves him forward a few inches. His forth, back a few. His fifth doesn’t land. There’s no soil. He quickly gets in a sixth, as he’s tipping over, but it’s all futile. The chef lost The Benign Soil, and continuing the increasingly rapid crawl motion of his elbows, succeeds only in levitating his body mid-air. Not that it’s a small achievement.
Underling: “Keep pedalling!”
Chef: “There’s nothing beneath me!” His elbows propel him up to the Beechtops. The Stem Cell Hosers, only a few feet either side, with nothing else to look at, see the erectile bulge of ankle bones in the chefs pocket. As the chef rises, the Stem Cell Hosers become convinced he must be carrying the keys to the bone clamp shed.
Stem Cell Hoser: “We can’t let a junior chef hold the keys to the kids bone clamps.” a Beechtop Stem Cell Hoser says to another.
Stem Cell Hosers: “Someone’s gotta have them.” shout the Stem Cell Hosers on The Benign Soil.
Stem Cell Hoser: “You’d let Braithwaite? If this young man’s got Braithwaite’s keys, he’ll have a way to get our ankles back.”
The chef overhears all this, but Underling remains silent. Without Underling pushing him on, the chef doesn’t know if letting the Stem Cell Hosers know he didn’t have the keys’ll get back to The Horse Prefect.
Braithwaite watches from the kitchen window, having negotiated with the other chefs to reform their staircase, to one leading somewhere. Up to where she now stood. Preoccupied, gawping at the chef, she misses Underling walking under her, back in the kitchen.
Chef: “Shouldn’t you be out there, with your new best friend?” That’s the kind of comment Underling can use, if he chooses not to answer. It came from one of the chefs, still resentful of him being jumped up the ranks. The kind of question you might ask Braithwaite right now, if you had it in mind to start a mutiny.
Braithwaite overheard the chefs question, and not hearing an answer, assumed it to be directed at her. Still looking up at the sky, and with Underling making sure she stayed unaware of his presence beneath her, Braithwaite grew suspicious of her soldiers. She’s already faced with one defector, but with no Underling either, maybe, she thinks, she’d be better off defecting herself, and alleging with her defector. She thinks about this for a while.
Underling bends down, and picks up two of the Stem Cell Hosers ankles, that had dropped to the floor when the, now levitating, chef snatched them out Braithwaite’s hand. He puts them in the mouthy chefs baby smooth palms, and shuts his interlocking fingers like a fly trap. He’s almost eating his ticket to The Beeches. Underling jump clacks his ankles hard in the chefs ear. He lands, then springs up again, as before. Only this time, the chef’s learned, so stuffs the ankles in his ears. The other chefs look on in silence. Braithwaite hears, but assumes a chef has just dropped a pan, or something. Anyway, she’s deep in thought about her loyalties. She decides to respond.
Braithwaite: “Who do’you mean?”
Braithwaite waits, not knowing the chef who asked her still has the ankles in his ears, and so can’t hear her question. Hearing no answer back, Braithwaite’s heard all she needs. She’s to defect. Defect and trust Underling. Underling, by this time’s goat tapped out to the school gate, and back to the playing field via the back of the kids bone clamp shed, so not to be seen by the overlooking Braithwaite.
As one Stem Cell Hoser drops, the other reaches out a hand, in doing so losing his balance. His arms swing round, desperately trying to keep the body upright. It regains posture, only to catch the levitating chef moving close. He swings his arms out at the face. The levitating chef grabs the Stem Cell Hosers cuff, suspending them both in rising ovarian pollen spores. The scent’s bolstered since escaping the lake bed dirt, so pulls the Stem Cell Hosers left hand, digging his nails into the jacket arm of the levitating chefs right. The Stem Cell Hosers right hand’s rotating fast enough to start levitation, as the levitating chefs left’s always been. Now both levitating safely, the levitating Stem Cell Hoser and the levitating chef hover invisible amongst the Beechtops.
Shin Detonator: “Explain your wetness!”
Levitating chef: “Stem Cell Hoser, we’re drenched!”
Levitating Stem Cell Hoser: “Drenched is a minimum of seven years!” The Dean’ll send foreigners to the groundsman without trial. Wetness doesn’t make them a wet species, but neither does it make any difference. Without birds to counsel, no expert of small science’ll make a case for anything close enough to wet species law, to get their legal teams convicted. Lawyers’ll happily see them executed, now there’s a quota from overseas. Flinging ovarian pollen spores after ovarian pollen spores into boiling underarms, this deep into summer, the spore skin was almost gone before the first germ-bleeding hit. Some might handle regular arms, maybe in early autumn, but no lab test under the siege of the Deans administrators, dealt with four simultaneous armed propellers, whatever the season. No bird’s seen the wet set loose of a baby lizard cracking through its outer shell. Had they, or the labs recruited from more than one species, the levitating Stem Cell Hoser and chef, both levitating, would’ve hovered fast enough to fan their underarms tepid. Birds alone wouldn’t study for this. Only reptiles monitor their young with such ferocity. Birds tend to just let them be, and hope a few make it out alright.
The upper tier Stem Cell Hosers assumed the surgical banquet on the boat was over. What they can’t tell, and had they, they’d realise, is The Stagnant rising over the false tent peg divots, since The Sea Bitch sent in The Horse Prefect.
Sea Bitch: “Everything’ll get accustomed to its present state. As long as The Horse Prefect remains content where it is, the islanders will soon adapt to life on the waves. At least, until I wash them up into The Stagnant and vaginal banks of the car wash.”
Being The Sea Bitch, it wasn’t familiar with the properties of snow. The snow’s just there, constant in vision. The Sea Bitch hasn’t considered it anything other than, what the top of The Horse Prefect looks like. Probably just the colour of its coldest rock. The Sea Bitch hasn’t any reason to think snow melts, or is in any way dissimilar to playground semen chalk. Snow has no reason to chemically be water, any more than semen chalk dust. As frozen eggs, and mountain snow mix in its tides, the weakened bitch sits up on his bed, delirious and vomiting. Fever’s sent The Sea Bitch pollen caught from the butterfly swarm. Up and down the back of his nostrils, he’s got boys bits down with his girls. Germ explosions in his gut sends the sea temperature boiling. Too bad for The Sea Bitches submarines. There’ll be boys anew soon though.
Sea Bitch: “What are you doing to me, mountain?” he cries.
The Horse Prefect: “Freeing myself, if I could.”
The Stem Cell Hosers watch The Sea Bitchs yellow odours pull at the Underlingless ankles of the ovarian pollen spores. The seasons’ll all intermingle. The Horse Prefect draws only on the big physics. Particles and subatomic laws belong under the Dean, in the courts of the birds. The walls of the cells don’t hold in everything being radioactive, without a governing body overlooking every process. Every bounce considered, between one cell and another. Underling, standing with them, jumps down to the playing field, and grabs a handful of shallow roots. He walks out into The Stagnant, past the old wicketkeeper and the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, finding The Sea Bitch flat horizontal. Above the dying sea’s, The Horse Prefect, equally helpless, bound up in the water. Underling releases the shallow roots up to the waves, some getting caught in mountains rocks. Most make it past The Horse Prefect, the hungry fish and dissolving salt, and sit in the acidic white bubbles that sit between the laws of the birds, and those of the Dean. The frozen eggs grip on The Horse Prefect breaks. The Sea Bitch arises from its bed, and The Horse Prefect sinks, with the two Limpets and the kids bone clamps, to where The Sea Bitch’s been lying ill all day.
The old wicketkeeper tastes the Infirm Protein Coat in The Sea Bitch, winces his eyes, and nestles his head further into the bed of the lake. The Shin Detonator sap cracks, leaking Stagnant into the cocoon. The Horse Prefect, far from happy with his new home, calls out to the wicketkeeper.
The Horse Prefect: “Stagnant’s no place for an old man like you. Come over here, and make the most of my remaining snow.”
The wicketkeeper sits up, destroying the cocoon, and looks out in the voices direction. The elderly woman approaching Underling unfroze, mechanically swishing water around in front of her. As her hands whip, Damselfish weave in and out. Her long hair malts circling moons, levying enough gravity on each strand to keep them suspended. The wicketkeeper walks up, but’s soon yanked back by the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, still very much attached to his toe.
The Damselfish since learned of The Sea Bitch’s no small feat, digesting The Horse Prefect, so invite in a guest of their own. Unlike The Sea Bitch, the fish have a means of escape. One of the boys in the exam room looks out to Underling in the field, then back down on his paper.
Damselfish: “Break!” shouts one of the fish. The gills and fins disappear into scales the birds made into harbours. They accelerate, paralysing the old woman’s forearm. Germ factory small science attacks her from the peripheries. The dead whirling drive propels the Damselfish out the water, angled too shallow for the sky, thudding them into the side of the playing fields soil. The boy’s queasy, and seeing the Chief Invigilator and her assistants oblivious to anything other than the sorry sight of Underling pulling up tufts of shallow rooted summer grass, waves his arm, groaning like the Stem Cell Hosers drowning in the corridors. Chief Invigilator finally looked over.
Chief Invigilator: “What?”
Boy: “I don’t feel well, Miss.”
The Damselfish try a celebrity entrance, up and out to the ceiling, along with half The Sea Bitchs ovarian pollen sporesous water. All converge too early, getting wedged in the boys throat.
Chief Invigilator: “Look at that one! He’s choking!”
The boy meets the floor hard, hopelessly convulsing. His legs being limp, turn hind. His ankles clacking together with a sound as if mallets were taken to them.
Invigilator: “The kid can’t have Underling. Underling’s out there in the field.” whispers one of the Chief Invigilators assistants to The Horse Prefect. The Horse Prefect never lets on anything about the Infirm Protein Coat or the boy.
Invigilator: “Surley, no new tapping infections can occur, if the Infirm Protein Coat isn’t even in the room.”
By this time, the Damselfish had come out from the boy’s mouth, less spectacularly than intended. Content at least to be safely out the melting snow, they slunk out unnoticed, congregating the rest of the kids in the playground.
Kids: “Can you give us the exam questions please?”
Damselfish: “We never saw them. Never got off the ground. We had to choose between pulling splinters out from between our scales, or bruising.”
Other Damselfish: “We chose splinters.”
The kids ankles are free of the Infirm Protein Coat. Not that any of them noticed. They’re out for the exam questions, and far from treating the Damselfish like doctors, carried on pecking. The fish, the four still breathing, stand, staring out at the kitchen. Over the tops of the kids heads, they see the chefs all lined up at the back, leaning back against the Craft Design & Technology labs, irritating the Craft Design & Technology Stem Cell Hosers. The Stem Cell Hosers kick out, through the labs swinging double-doors and into the kitchen. Braithwaite invites them in to the inner kitchen room.
Braithwaite: “Only three of my chefs’ve ever been invited into the inner kitchen.”
The Craft Design & Technology Stem Cell Hosers nod, acknowledging the privilege.
Braithwaite: “How many of you’d be interested in colluding with the Damselfish, if they stood against the kids?”
CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “Zero.”
Braithwaite: “Then you’d better ask the birds to put together another of their formulas for you. Edible ovarian pollen spores’s not edible in The Sea Bitch. The sap bucket’ll freeze their genitals over with, or without a formula. Despite their lab work, and sitting up in the trees all day, the kids won’t listen to anything else. They know when they look up into the branches at night, every one of those birds are dry. And you ask, why wet species would bother climbing trees policed by both The Horse Prefect and his enemies, the birds? They climb because there’s not just two sides fighting out there. There’s the small science armies themselves. They don’t all fight under the leadership of the birds. The small science’s a complicated science. No one’s policing the small science, other than the small science. The birds can poke around their dishes, but even the microscopes are nothing more than a TV screen. All it influences, is what goes in the report. The birds are mere observers over ninety nine percent of their army. So tell the kids. Tell the kids they can climb the trees wet or dry. If anyone asks, point their questions to the ovarian pollen spores. And when the ovarian pollen spores get asked, they’ll observe the Dean’s administration, and nothing’ll get done.”
CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “The birds must’ve been behind the Infirm Protein Coat, no?”
Other CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “We’ve always stayed in our quarters. Moving from the labs to the kitchen’s quite enough for us. Asking us to go out again’s just not for us at all. Craft Design & Technology Stem Cell Hosers wouldn’t even be allowed into the exam room. The Chief Invigilator’d think we’re trying to steal the questions for our students.”
Braithwaite: “You talk like what you want me to think you are, but I know you’ll be cloaked murderers soon! I’m not talking about the bloody exam! I’m talking about the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head. He’s running riot underneath the local orthopedic residents surgical banquet. He’s cocooned the old wicketkeeper, is hosting a colony of frozen Shin Detonator, and if it wasn’t for him, The Horse Prefect wouldn’t have thrown itself into The Sea Bitch trying to find the source of the eggs that made The Sea Bitch think The Stagnant could be planning to ask for yet more sea Limpets.”
CDT Stem Cell Hosers: “Murderers! Impotent murderers maybe.”
Braithwaite: “No one asked you to skip washing your hair in the menopausal vagina gates The Stagnant so kindly dug you in the bank. If impotent’s how you’ve landed, then you only have yourselves to blame. Let’s hope your insides do you a favour and retreat your alkaline cocks and alkaline balls up your tracts in time. There’s not much a bucket of crystallised sap leaves, other than a trail Mechanical Nanny wouldn’t stomach treading into the dirt. Or in your case, the tarmac.” Braithwaite starts giving out instructions.
Braithwaite: “I understand my chefs’ve been disrespecting the walls of your labs. Not for the first time, I imagine, since leaving the school as students a few years ago.”
CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “At least.” interrupted one of the Craft Design & Technology Stem Cell Hosers. Braithwaite let it go.
Braithwaite: “The Damselfish are, no doubt, having a hard time winning over the kids. Your job’s to grab the Damselfish by disciplining my chefs in front of any still roped to The Beeches. The chefs are tantamount to staff in the eyes of the kids. If they see staff brought down, they’ll drop to their knees and pat the floor, made into mechanical dolls, they’ll be. Small science breaks from the lab work around that size. You wind up, and set them dolls on what you like. Send them out patting the ankle massagers of the ground bound’s. These kids take to much after the bookshelves. A pattercake session in The Beech forest’ll dampen their circuits, sparking up the nighttime mosquito buzzers. Wire out some veins ready for those ankleless poorpers scratching at The Beech bark. A few might even see fit to thank the Damselfish, for ridding them of the Underling Infirm Protein Coat.”
GWARBWH: “You trying to kill me?” shouts the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head at the strolling wicketkeeper.
Braithwaite hears the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s scream from the kitchen window, and now even more convinced she’ll defect to join Underling, the levitating Stem Cell Hoser and the levitating chef, waves her hands around in front of her, in much the same way as the old balding woman at the bottom of The Sea Bitch. Braithwaite winds her hands, and the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head back into shape. All that’s left, is to detach from the wicketkeepers toe. Braithwaite looks down at her chefs, then back to the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head.
Chefs: “Persuade anyone of what?” the chefs said in unison.
Braithwaite hasn’t yet told anyone of her intended betrayal of the chefs, so carries on in allegiance with them. The chefs don’t need instruction from Braithwaite this time. They march out the kitchen, and further out, deep into the playing field.
Chef: “Where’s Underling?”
Underling’d be out at sea by now. The sloped approached another slope, missed when Underling’s entourage struggled in the waves. A walkway the birds use to fizz spores up The Sea Bitch from. Low ceilinged, dark, its back wall a parade of disused labs the birds thought they might blackmail the Craft Design & Technology Stem Cell Hosers with, had Braithwaite extended her kitchen out, over the top of their buildings. The rattler walks underneath the boat in pure Stagnant, heading straight for the base of The Horse Prefect. The Horse Prefect roars again.
The Horse Prefect: “Right you lot! Your armies are in place.” The Beechtop Stem Cell Hosers balancing on the tips of the leaves, freeze. The Horse Prefect climbs ashore, and halfway into the playing field. He stops after passing half the ground-bound Stem Cell Hosers, and draws a red line stretching across the grounds.
The Horse Prefect: “Those of you here…” he says pointing towards the school.
The Horse Prefect: “…against everyone on this side.” he says, pointing out to sea. On the side of the school are half the ground-bound Stem Cell Hosers, a few of the Beechtop Stem Cell Hosers, Braithwaite and a couple of chefs who decided not to go out to sea, the Chief Invigilator and her assistants, the kids, half the shallow grass roots and the dinner ladies. On the side of The Sea Bitch are half the ground-bound Stem Cell Hosers, most of the Beechtop Stem Cell Hosers, most of the chefs, half the shallow grass roots, the two Limpets, the kids bone clamps, The Horse Prefect, Underling, The Stagnant, The Sea Bitch, the Damselfish, the islanders, the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, the Shin Detonator, the rattler, the weeping willows and the local orthopedic residents.
Stem Cell Hoser: “Stay there!” shouts a Beechtop Stem Cell Hoser to Underling.
Underling: “The Horse Prefect’s pitted me against you.”
Stem Cell Hoser: “So what? You didn’t feel any chill off the eclipse when you asked me to accept your exam paper. You don’t belong in the playing field. You’d best skip up The Horse Prefect’s peak, settle down with your bone clamps and anyone you think owes you a favour.”
The Horse Prefect roars again, but this time, too late to drown out the Stem Cell Hosers advice.
Stem Cell Hoser: “It doesn’t matter if you battle me, but, Underling, why’d The Horse Prefect wait for you to be separated from Braithwaite, and beside himself, before dividing us into warring factions? For someone aware of the lengths Braithwaite went to, to allow you, and you alone to pass the exam. For you to then fight against her, is, well, bloody ungrateful!” Braithwaite’s a hard woman, never showing anything for anyone, least of all Underling. As hard on him, as anyone else. Spending the next few seconds reliving what he thinks it must be like, to be Braithwaite, hits Underling hard. Braithwaite made sure she was roosted up at the window to witness Underling’s reaction.
Underling: “I’m so pleased to see you, Braithwaite.”
Braithwaite: “So now you know.” Matter of fact.
Braithwaite: “I love you.”
Underlings vision of the haggard old lady plays, but isn’t any use now. The exam paper was taken by the Limpets under his arm, before he dumped them in The Horse Prefects peak.
Underling: “I love you too.” The Horse Prefects work’s done.
Underling’s mother: “Where’s those two lovely girls?” Underling’s mother spits, as he kicks back open the, still swaying from his going-out kick, wooden-slated swing doors.
Underling: “They’ve gone nowhere, mother.” Keeping his chin pressed to his chest. In no mood for the terrible routine again. He might as well have told the truth. But it’s what he likes to tell her, after flinging them out in the snow. And always with his chin pulling. Every time. Same question, same answer. Neither of them care anymore.
Underling’s mother: “You know, it’s particularly cold today. Those girls’ll catch their death.”
Underling: “It’s particularly cold every day.”
Underling’s mother: “Every day since the Damselfish arrived. They don’t belong here, Underling.”
Underling: “It’s too much. They’re bloody shouting all day now! Too much mother!”
Underling’s mother: “What you wanna do? Pour Trial Tar down their throats, that’s what. Get a batch from the Shin Detonator, or shoot down a carrier bird. It’ll drop the balls off any man you slap it on. It’ll take their gurgling tonsils for sure. There’s only one. Two balls in a nutsack, one tonsil in a bullhorn. Not enough to shut them up mind, but it’ll take the sting out.”
Underling: “That’s not how castration fluid works, mother. You might as well try making ‘em a cup of tea. Nothing works, other than a night in the snow.”
Underling’s mother: “It’s not a night in the snow, as much as it’s a night with the cats.”
Underling: “The cats are a bonus.” Feeling better, Underling decides he’s done for the day, and heads for the fridge.
The Horse Prefect overhears, sick of having to suffer the mothers doting attention. A constant, dominant warden of the village, bang centre of her distant landscape. Every time she leaves the house. It’s no state for a figure like him to find himself in. Unseated so easily. He’s making a home for himself in The Sea Bitch, and likes its residents. At least since the floating islanders had gotten used to life on a raft, eating seaweed, fish, and all they can steal from the residents larder. It means venturing into the sickly Stagnant, and being hunted as pirates, but they’re tolerated for the most part. The twin afro bust girls lie freezing in the snow. Almost dead, but used to it by now. They won’t stand for being called ‘siamese’, as Underling’s mother had once had a cat who playfully clawed their faces rotten through the night. By the time Underling’s mother made it downstairs, the following early afternoon, there was hardly anything left of them. Nothing recognisable. It was the last they saw of the cat. Probably the last anyone did. It wasn’t siamese, but still. Yes, the siamese twin afro bust girls, are now only ever referred to as the twin afro bust. They don’t like ‘girls’ either. “With nothing shoulders down, who’s to say what we are?” They’re clearly girls. Unlike the removal of ‘siamese’, no-one stands for removing ‘girls’. “That’s just them being ridiculous.” Underling’s mother says. Usually between vodkas, and never to their faces. They drive Underling mad with their constant badgering. The mother enjoys it, but being kind in nature, and sick of Underling infecting his cousins ankles, she sides with the twin afro bust, almost always. The distant cousins ankle clacking badgers Underling’s mother no less than the twin afro bust badgers Underling. There’s her justice to it.
The afro twins can’t shoehorn their version of surviving the night into Underlings play, without moving it in sync with the strolling assistant. The Horse Prefect’s convinced of its rightful place in the mother’s central landscape. His peak ice’s chill’s picked up by The Sea Bitch breeze, and fast swallowing each of the local orthopedic residents houses. Not that they can see or say anything, back out there on the boat. But to remove The Horse Prefect from The Sea Bitch, takes its icy peak with it, and with its peak, its snow, and with its snow, its wind chill. Maybe then the afro bust twins’ll survive the night, in or out of Underlings vision. Maybe they’d get taken indoors, away from the nocturnal cats of the partygoers.
Afro twin: “Where are the Limpets?” one of the afro twins asks The Horse Prefect.
The Horse Prefect: “My Limpets are everywhere, all around me. All around me, if you’d care to join us, young things. Young blossoms, you are. You are, my pretty things. My pretty young blossoming little things.”
Afro twin: “Not the Limpets you call your pets. You’re too used to how it was. You’re a filthy guest. Those Limpets are The Sea Bitch’s, not yours. They’re The Sea Bitch’s. Your Limpets are thrown to you from Underling, from the shores of The Stagnant.” The Horse Prefect’s a prison.
The Horse Prefect: “Underling threw me nothing! He took the birds gift, and left. Did nothing in school, but betray my orders.”
Afro twin: “Answer the question. Where are your precious Limpets?”
The Horse Prefect: “They dart around, I suppose. Insects. One minute they’re up, the next minute they’re down. Then they shoot up a bit, then they’re buried in the snow with the bone clamps. I’m in The Sea Bitch, tangled up in frozen eggs, like chefs elbowing through red perforator vein Thread, or at least, trying to, then…I didn’t see where they went, or where they are now. Maybe hiding in the birds secret laboratories, everyone and his dog knows about.”
Afro twin: “They’re at home.” said the other afro twin, looking back at the rattlers empty cocoon.
The Horse Prefect: “Who’d build secret labs at The Sea Bitchside?”
If any ovarian pollen spores step in the way, the birds’ll come diving, and the cats’ll be waiting in the water.
Owner: “How strange it is to have cats at the dinner table, Dear.”
Owner: “Ours surely can’t be hungry. We just fed him.” They both stick their heads under the table. Her, to see if it isn’t the neighbours cat again. Him, to see if there isn’t a dead animal gift, from the garden.
Cat: “You look a lot like the Chief Invigilator.” the cat says to the man. The man looks across the ceiling of the underside of the table, towards his wife.
Owner: “It was you, wasn’t it, Dear?”
Owner: “It was me, Dear.” The wife suspected the husband was being caught up in the school matters, and even remembers been invited to a function.
Owner: “You saw me and the invigilator together. You’d think we weren’t the same person.”
Owner: “So what made you do it?” asks the wife. Not that she cares, but she has to say something. The husband looks down towards the cat, scratching up the floorboard, getting more red perforator vein Thread tied up in its claws and paws.
Owner: “Don’t tear the cord!” the man shouts at the cat. The cat shoots down the other side of the kitchen, pulling up meters more Thread, leaving the husband an escape route. A tightrope from the foot of his chair, to the foot of the dressing table in the front room. He looks over at the wife. Her, and her flared nostrils start pecking, stuck in the coils of their daughters jack-in-a-box, they can only land on his face when gravity happens to swing them in that direction. He takes the opportunity to write his mistress a letter, detailing the full throttle headbutt swings the wife aims at him, even when the coils send her to the opposite side of the room, and how it reminds him of his dashboard drinking bird when they’re fucking in the back. The wife’s pecks occasionally land, so he feels obliged to flee. The cats having gone to so much trouble. He passes The Thread, ducking his head towards the floor, no longer getting cat-clawed. For the first time, he notices the chess pattern lino she asked about last spring. Corridor Stem Cell Hosers cut across his path, bobbing for an exit through hot Trial Tar. Before getting a foothold on the tightrope, the wife’s claws pierce the back of his shoulder. Her eyes are The Horse Prefects. The tightrope suddenly droops into the cat litter. The man looks up and sees a macheted TV kangeroo paw alternating with the drinking bird toy. Both in the place of the cats arm, the macheted TV kangeroo paw down, the drinking bird up. The drinking bird down, the macheted TV kangeroo paw up. Neither have good aim, so hit and miss the cord irregularly, making balance and climitising impossible. The drinking bird looks down at the already cat piss stained husband.
Drinking bird: “I prefer this view to the one of you laughing at me with your whore.”
Macheted TV kangeroo paw: “Enjoy the cat litter. We’ll toss it out into the snow if you like.”
Owner: “If I’m the Chief Invigilator, then here’s your instruction, Dear.” She pulled his head back and prised open his jaws.
The Horse Prefect: “There’s a young boy out there. In the playing field. It’s going to be cold tonight, and he only has the shortest of shorts on. We can’t let him stay outside. Go out and hand him this paper.” The husband flutters his free hand around the kitchen table, clutching anything resembling the texture of paper. He raises a fist of tablecloth, paper napkins, and loose papers the wife keeps phone numbers on.
Owner: “Here you go, Dear. Make sure he gets a copy of the exam paper.” The cats look on. If the young boy’s the afro twin bust, it could lead to them being allowed to stay indoors in the warm, and possibly with the twins for company. The wife grabs the tablecloth, and walks out into the snow. The twins see her approaching, and mistaking her for one of the nocturnal cats, shout for Underling’s mother to bring them back in. Does the wife beat her to it? She doesn’t care either way. If the young boys mother’s turning up with some warm clothes, there’s no need for her and her tablecloth.
The Horse Prefect: “I guess you don’t need me anymore.” To the afro twin bust.
Afro twin: “You’re still better off on the landscape, regardless of whether we’re out in the snow.” The Horse Prefect isn’t getting anything further from these two. The two he’s now after, are both fugitives buried in his snow. Underling brought them to him the first time, maybe he’ll bring them back again. Passing through the swing doors, Underling sees his mother playing cards with the twins. He steps up from the field, and swims back out to sea. First having to wade through The Stagnant. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s made it easy for him this time. His outspun body belongs in the red perforator vein Thread of The Benign Soil, so grabbing hold of it, he only has to wait for the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head to retract himself, and he’s already on the surgical banquet.
Underling: “I don’t suppose there’s anything left in the larder for me, is there?”
GWARBWH: “Everything’s still in there. Nothing’s been touched. No Shin Detonator can burrow through a hull as laminated as this. Least of all sick little ones force fed pensioner meat. The only way in’s over the top, past all the party goers, and down the steps. The same the boat hands take.”
Underling: “I took The Limpets aboard when I first rescued them, Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head. If The Horse Prefect can’t find them in The Sea Bitch, they’ll have boarded the boat again.”
GWARBWH: “Last time you were there, you had to make pretty stark conversation with the old wicketkeeper, to stop having yourself chucked overboard.”
Underling: “He’s due back about now. Out the cocoon, and on his way. The Shin Detonator won’t have made him thirsty, leaving his body on the first whiff of semen chalk dust. It didn’t take ‘em long to smell the larder though. That’s the Dean, that is. Keeping them all under wraps. Let ‘em out, and they go crazy. If anything, the other guests’ll be wondering where he is.”
Resident: “No we won’t.” interrupts one of the other local orthopedic residents, from the surgical banquet. “He’s already here, pissed as a fish. The Shin Detonator didn’t stay long. Didn’t think his meat was too fresh. I guess that makes the old wicketkeeper a liar then. I’m telling the wife. She won’t mind snatching a drink or two out his hand.” All up to him, as far as it mattered to Underling. He just wanted the wicketkeeper back aboard, and with him, an excuse for staying put long enough to round up The Horse Prefect’s Limpets.
The cat’s drawn to the lakes edge, hearing the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s close. Nothing this side of the lake stays white long.
Wife: “What a shame it is for a woman like me, to marry a man like you.” The Dean arrives back from Underling’s mother. It felt to her, at the time, like the cat must be on guard for The Horse Prefect. Better than returning home to the husband she sees unravelling sticky tightrope. She sticks her head through the window.
Wife: “Who put the chimps nappy on too tight?” The Horse Prefect’s earlier instruction to everyone to form two battalions, was now retracted.
Cat: “There were eggs in the air. My whiskers itched, so I came to see what you’re doing. Or more to the point, where all the powder seems to go. The blue semen chalk’s monopolised the white over this side. Keeps it for itself and ovarian pollen spores to feed on during the winter.”
Other cat: “ It’s not our fault, it’s the swing doors. The chill runs in and out the house as it wants. Try that at school! No locks, nothing. White semen chalk’s left nothing to feed off, so the blue takes over. The Horse Prefect likes to divide armies does he? He’s got two growing under his nose, that’ll wipe out, not just the kids, but anyone who can’t make it back to the cocoon in time. As I reckon, there’s space in the cocoon for one, and procreation takes two. Levitation only works till you have to come down again. It’s hopeless.” The Horse Prefect overhears, and calls back the ovarian pollen spores.
The Horse Prefect: “Freeze the fur covered flesh of Underling’s pets brittle. Then head for the cat and its equally despicable owner.” The ovarian pollen spores ignore all this, and spins straight into the larder, ricocheting into its targets faces. From the red perforator vein Thread, to the pulsating web, dragging the branches of the school’s Beeches, to flesh. Already impatient, the afro twin nearest the edge of the water bellows down.
Afro twin: “That’s a mighty fine young man!”
GWARBWH: “You know, I can weave you two flesh down to your shins, but ankles round here, you wanna think twice each about that.”
Afro twin: “We already have, and want them. Four ankles, four feet, everything. Two each for me, four for her.” said the nearest afro twin, jolting her head left towards the other.
GWARBWH: “I don’t think much of your sister. Looks like a schemer. You won’t stay five seconds, once I finish your bodies off.”
Afro twin: “As long as you keep us away from Underling, you’ll have us as long as you like. If our ankles aren’t our own, they could take us anywhere.”
Other Afro Twin: “Go on Mister, please. Don’t worry about what you’ll do in the meantime. Our neck muscles are good enough to set spasms in. Hold them down ok, like they taught you in school, and Bob’s your uncle, you’ve got yourself a fresh arsehole.” The old wicketkeeper can’t see the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, the larder, or the rising ovarian pollen spores, as between the end of the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s toe, and himself, is the grey shell of his cocoon.
GWARBWH: “Don’t you remember old man? We were together, arm in arm. The Shin Detonator entered your body. You won’t drown full of exits.” The Shin Detonator had all long left his body by now, but the spores, wiped out their fur as they tunneled out, remain lodged in his inner hairs. Each spore carries genealogy trails of the lab birds, so The Horse Prefect takes an interest, in wrapping some of these fur lined innards over his peak. They’d grate plenty harder against the rough bushes and foliage poking up out the snow, not to mention clear him of the those bone clamps Underling ditched there earlier. All The Horse Prefect needed to do first, was send the two Limpets, also dumped there earlier by Underling, down slope for a while. On their return, each could swab through the bushes, recovering plenty old man DNA to smuggle back in to the birds lab. The joy of it for The Horse Prefect’d be whistling in their ears. Roaring drowns out, whistling’s more for distraction. The birds wouldn’t be researching kids samples in dedicated silence. One eye’s for the dishes and lenses, but the other would be out the window. Windows all painted shut, but still all letting in drips of Stagnant waves from above. The Horse Prefect could identify each betraying bird with their own research.
Rattler: “I’m sorry, young chap. Try The Horse Prefect. Goodbye.” The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head isn’t to know the old man’s not the wicketkeeper of before, so’s mistaken. The old man wouldn’t drown at all. But neither of them know. Two that do know, are the afro twins. Unbeknown to the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, the afro twins are listening from a swabbing factory.
Afro twin: “I knew you’d betray us.” the nearest one said. A puff of Stagnant bed clouded up, glistening between the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Heads eyes and the drowning heads of the afro twins. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head stood motionless, allowing the twins time to merge the skin of their necks with the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s cord. If he moves, the cord breaks. The afro twins, for once, say nothing. Instead, they slide down their gullets, and wait at the transparent cells, now solid between them and the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head. Bubbles of darker blood seep through the wall, joining those of the twins. The old man could be walking around nearby, and snap the bond with a single misplaced foot. Hanging withery like they do. The twins push down the remainder of the transparent wall, and hurry up the coil. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s waiting around the first corner. The afro twins ride through, catching the crest of each pump, as Underling’s rescue squad did catapulting the pikes.
GWARBWH: “The old man went off, looking for The Horse Prefect.” The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head reassures the afro twins. The three of them sit down on a nearby boulder.
Afro twin: “You know, The Horse Prefect’ll cast shadows over The Stagnant, under The Stagnant, along The Stagnant bed.”
GWARBWH: “If you want the tap Infirm Protein Coat, in case we need to keep warm, you only have to ask.” A good offer, as until now, the afro twins were the only two people he knew, who’d be immune to the goat tap. The afro twins climb up through The Benign Soil, and neutralise the ground-bound Stem Cell Hosers Braithwaite mutilated. They didn’t suppose The Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator could do anything about it, despite their planned journey cutting straight through his main prison block. It’d no doubt start a war, but this time, The Horse Prefect won’t need to declare it. It’s between the afro twins, the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, and whatever army The Dean can rustle up without notice.
GWARBWH: “If you wanna be properly hidden, move deeper up the coil. Everything’s red. There’s this cellist, she plays in every corner. Wherever you wanna be, she’ll go. It’s too hot for an eclipse, and too dark for ovarian pollen spores to spore.” The nearest twin snatches his hand from his pocket, grabs her sister and heads the three of them up the tract. They let the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head lead them further down the intestine, round several corners, and deeper on.
Afro twin: “Keep walking.” orders the twin furthest back of the three. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head sees the doormen, but loyal to the twins, carries on walking. The afro twin goes straight for the back of the bar, sitting at the table set up right outside the swing doors leading to the kitchen. By the time she sits down, the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head hasn’t even stepped inside. Braithwaite takes out her chopping knife from the inside pocket of her cooking apron, and sharpens it on one of her jacket shoulders silver buttons. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head turns right, so Braithwaite can’t see where he’s looking. He’s out for the correct afro twin. Underling turns full circle, locking eyes with Braithwaite.
Underling: “You can’t keep me out the kitchen.”
Braithwaite: “We’re still in the Beechtop. I’m not Braithwaite. I’m the second afro twin. D’you think I’d go back to what we were before? I’m with you, Underling.”
Underling/ GWARBWH: “So I’m the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, Braithwaite?” asks, who is now known to be, the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head.
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twin: “Yes! So, Braithwaite and Underling are no longer in the scene, and back on the Beechtop. They left the other afro twin and the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head to sort out the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Heads suspicions, about The Sea Bitchting position of one of the siamese afro twin girls.”
Underling/ GWARBWH: “Why’s your sister laying a trap? Still thinks I’m up the tree with Braithwaite, I guess. You think I don’t know you’re in on it as well?”
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twin: “Your vision’s steamed up red. Too much red tint’s making you paranoid. Too much not listening to your mother. Too little blue semen chalk, too much white. We’ve had three seats reserved since five minutes ago. No-one knew we were coming. You think you might be suspicious how we jumped the queue, past all these city boys. Not about us, your only friends in this place. There’s three seats at the table. She’s sat there alone, while you’re checking out the waiters. You don’t even notice, they’re serving from the bar!”
The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head looks. Food’s going out from the bar alright, but waiters are slicing every ingredient in two, and stuffing in fistfuls of white powder. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed. It’s all being carried out from a hatch, lowered from, what must be, a kitchen. This is where it’s all seeping from! Underling wasn’t to know, pulling grass up all morning. He might as well have walked on past the field, and gotten to the waiters directly. Blue semen chalk seeps out the intestines all day here, waiters or no waiters. The only way to the elite will have been through their food, and by the time any had coughed up semen chalk, it’d be too late. The blue’d be dust. Still not convinced, but his confidence shot, he trusts it must be his rosey vision making him light-headed, so goes along with the other twins excuse. Neither afro twin had earned a man’s trust before. It’s enough just to encourage, most of the time. Trust’s for wives and control freaks.
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “What’d you like to eat and drink?” asks the afro twins in unison. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head looks at the menu. It’s the exam paper.
Underling/ GWARBWH: “Underling’s in the Beech with Braithwaite. I’m the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head. I’m sat here recognising the paper. How’s that, if I haven’t seen it before? I must’ve seen it.” Underling, on the Beechtop asks Braithwaite.
Underling/ GWARBWH: “I’m in a restaurant now, with the afro twins. My blood’s in the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, he’s sat in his own blood, trying to work out who he is, and isn’t. The waiter tossed our plates under the table, and ovens over our heads. He screamed at us, that the semen chalk was all the same. He turned us up, and slammed the door.” Braithwaite nods. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s sat at the table. He can’t get past, into the kitchen, and the party-goers block everything. It’s the party-goers from before, hiding the food hatch. The afro twins confess.
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “We’re showing you the exam paper, so you’d see what you were, and give us a direct line back to the playing fields. Could hardly have you running away, could we? Underling’s not much of a Infirm Protein Coat, but sat out in the field alone, was all we could get hold of. Sitting there like a wounded rabbit. It’s nothing to do with the Infirm Protein Coat not being able to spread there. It’s the grass repelling the kids. The Horse Prefect sent the Infirm Protein Coat out into the field, manifested as a child, to overpower the cavalry ridden grass repellent.”
Underling/ GWARBWH: “So the red perforator vein Thread was born of the goat tap Infirm Protein Coat?”
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “Like we said, we couldn’t have you run away. Anyway, it’s been a bad decision for you, hooking up with us, but it’s nice here, your coats dry, so you might as well enjoy it.” Underling, back on the Beechtop, feeling the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head slip down the front of his chair, and under the table, almost slips himself from between Braithwaite’s arms.
Braithwaite: “Bearing in mind the condition of the roads, I’m surprised to see you so eager to let your cock get away. At least before rush hour.” Underling liked travelling on public transport during rush hour, and would always boast to Braithwaite about how many people he had sat next to in a single evening.
Sat the other side of the main trunk, on one of the thicker branches is an employee of the Dean. His job title, not even he’s sure of, but it’s something in planning. A civil servant, quite low down, who keeps the same post, regardless of who’s in government. He was brought in and signed up to this job, not long after the crimson red Rembrandt man was ordered to take control of all plans. Planning, on all matters, is centralised. From meeting schedules, interviews, stationery orders, all departments in every field, submit their planning papers to the planning department for approval and execution. Executions also go through the planning department. The employee scratches his quill on his paper, even through his sleep. He hasn’t written a word. Hasn’t even sent out for ink, but’d rather bleed himself out into pots and hand them out round the field. Braithwaite lets Underling slip down to the lower pubic branches, she trust’ll hold their interwoven form till she’s tossed the employee over in Underling’s place. If it doesn’t hold, Underling’ll be torn apart for sure. The ground bound Stem Cell Hosers’ve been circling for days, and till now, not been fed a thing. Shin Detonator fattened employees won’t keep them out. Not long till they’ll toss his branches bridging one Beech to the next. Either kick him over, or snap it. Ground bound Stem Cell Hosers can smell Shin Detonator in any breath emitted from a branch lower than Braithwaites. Braithwaite can’t be sure what the other chefs might have fed Underling when he was alone with them, while she was planning mutiny up on the top window. It may have been Shin Detonator, maybe not. What a younger Braithwaite wouldn’t do for another shot at the stem cell lab. The ground bound Stem Cell Hosers are only circling out of boredom, and aren’t even hungry. Despite this, the employee’s savaged and eaten as soon as he hits the grass. The labs injected some small science rules, again under Braithwaites supervision: Protect Underling. His new desk, adapted from a beer cask, has three years of unread application papers, that now, Braithwaite and Underling have exclusive access to. Underling nudges the cask to the edge of the branches most outstretched Leaftop, turns, and buckaroos it overboard for the Stagnant to process. Applicants now only float with the Stagnant uses, the cask and its contents are a bargaining tool with The Sea Bitch, and from there, maybe The Horse Prefect will have a look at the begging tool papers directly and get back to the Dean. The Horse Prefect and the Dean often discuss administration matters, when the rest of the school are asleep.
Listening from the ground, are the ground bound Stem Cell Hosers. A couple of them had worked in the Craft, Design and Technology department, until being demoted to assembly duty only. Effectively ex-Stem Cell Hosers, their only job’s to sit on the stage every morning, as the headmaster reads out the schools sporting achievements. No kid’s taught by all the Stem Cell Hosers, so it’s never been noticed by any students, that Stem Cell Hosers are present at assembly, that never teach. Each assumes these Stem Cell Hosers, to be Stem Cell Hosers of classes they’re not in. The reason these Stem Cell Hosers’ve been kicked out of Craft, Design and Technology, but not the school’s down to a misunderstanding between The Horse Prefect and the Damselfish, dating back to before The Horse Prefect sent Underling to run big science in the school, but after Braithwaite changed the exam paper to include the question about the guitar amplifier. The guitar amplifier was, for as long as any current member of staff had been there, always been there. Always present, but never used. It’s Braithwaite’s understanding, from her parents, that the amplifier belonged to The Horse Prefect. The ground bound Stem Cell Hosers watch greyhounds and stallions race around the surgical banquet. The Horse Prefect wants Underling to rid the school of all but the Stem Cell Hosers, so he can get the Craft, Design and Technology department to fix the amplifier for free, rather than pay at the music store. Outlandish perhaps, with ankles hacked to Braithwaite’s design earlier in the day. Braithwaite, only meters above, has access through Underling, to the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head.
CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “Tell me,…” one of the former Craft, Design and Technology ground bound Stem Cell Hosers shouts up at Braithwaite
CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “…d’you suppose that amplifier repair store’s still owned by the same owner.” Braithwaite hears, but doesn’t respond. So another former Craft, Design and Technology ground bound Stem Cell Hoser tries.
CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “I say, Braithwaite…” Again, no response, so he raises his voice.
CDT Stem Cell Hoser: “I say, Braithwaite. D’you suppose the music store down the road, still has the same owner as before? You know. From when you must’ve gone in with your amp.”
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “I’ll leave you to fuck The Horse Prefect if you want an answer.” Braithwaite climbs down from the Beechtop, and returns her useless fists of shallow yellow grass roots to Underling.
The groundsman’s savagery, and execution of untried detainees has made him a favourite amongst Craft, Design and Technology department. Those sent to him by The Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator didn’t know, the first Shin Detonator sent to him, had only hurled worms in. The insensible groundsman’d murder the worms, answering to The Dean of Undersoil Shin Detonator that the execution was finished. The Dean’d then ask the groundsman to keep the bodies in his draw. It’s common knowledge to the Shin Detonator, who listen to these conversations through other listening portals of the red perforator vein Thread. The ground bound Stem Cell Hosers, in discussion with the Shin Detonator as of late, as they were ground-bound, understood the groundsman would have a healthy supply of bones in his draws. Substitute ankle bones. Their pass to the music repair store, without needing Braithwaite or The Horse Prefect. Stains in the draws red checkered wallpaper’s of little help to a ground bound Stem Cell Hoser looking for substitute ankles. As elbows hit The Benign Soil, in the familiar rhythm the Shin Detonator recognised from the chefs ushering the rain from their cadetesque actions in the sun, the Shin Detonator that changed their identity since fleeing the groundsman, fled upwards. Expert sharpshooters for the following elbow crunch. The crunch soon comes, and with it, the teeth of the Shin Detonator sink in. Stem Cell Hosers rip their elbows up from The Benign Soil, each with a bolt jawed Shin Detonator fluttering on the end. The main population of Shin Detonator underground are unaware of any of this happening, as it’s Cabin Pressure tonight. Ground bound Stem Cell Hosers hysterically shake their arms. Several Shin Detonator fling up to the Stem Cell Hosers, who are looking out to The Stagnant. None had been looking downwards, since before the ground bound Stem Cell Hosers set off on their elbow march. Not seeing that the blood soaked Shin Detonator were being flung from below, the Beechtop Stem Cell Hosers assume they’re falling from above, and are therefore being aimed at them by The Horse Prefect. All, except Braithwaite and Underling, who were watching the ground bound Stem Cell Hosers from the start. Braithwaite and Underling hadn’t found reason to look beyond the coil. It kept them glued enough to watching the local orthopedic residents surgical banquet sinking into The Stagnant. The Beech top Stem Cell Hosers, unlike Braithwaite and Underling, didn’t know the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head had long since left. It turned out the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s been holding the boat for long enough for his organic coil body to fuse with its underside wood. Not being able to read the menu, as it was the exam paper Underling’s been unable to read, since back in the playing fields, only adds to the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’s distraction.
Underling/ GWARBWH: “A fat lot of good rescuing the two Limpets, has done me!” The afro bust twins take offence, as they thought it directed at them. Not the two Limpets Underling rescued in the waves, ditching face-first into the snow. The Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head, deep in his own thoughts is oblivious to this, so undeterred, continues, much to the afro twins further disgust.
Underling/ GWARBWH: “I ditched their faces in the snow. At least I got something right!” Underling had flung the twins out into the snow, in scratching distance of the neighbours cats. Back come tearful memories of the completely uninsulating wooden-swing doors.
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “When we peered down into the water, perched on the edge of The Stagnant lake, we thought too well of you.” The words got back to the playing fields, and into the ears of the chefs, who are by this point, out in the field, rounding up fallen Shin Detonator to cook as “goat meat” for the kids.
Underling/ GWARBWH: “The two Limpets I rescued, weren’t you two.”
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “Course not. How many people have rescued two different sets of two Limpets and dumped their faces in the snow, in two unrelated, isolated incidents?”
Underling/ GWARBWH: “I have! Honestly. As two different beings, granted, but I have!” They had seen the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head decomposed beneath the boat. He wasn’t new to being kept in Stagnant.
Underling/ GWARBWH: “I was in the waves of The Sea Bitch, so I guess, must’ve been quite a way out. I had my exam paper with me, but still managed to cradle these two lost Limpets. They landed in the peak of The Horse Prefect. That’s what I was referring to. Not you.” The only one undergoing a character assassination now’s The Horse Prefect.
The Horse Prefect: “Those Shin Detonator aren’t coming from me.” protests The Horse Prefect to the Beechtop Stem Cell Hosers.
The Horse Prefect: “Look beneath you, like the local orthopedic residents on the boat should have done about ten minutes ago.”
Stem Cell Hoser: “So you watched the boat sink! Where was your roar then? You could’ve alerted the people on the boat. None of them needed to drown!”
The Horse Prefect: “Calm down. They’re drunkards. They wouldn’t have paid any attention. The Sea Bitch and I became well acquainted when I sat briefly in his bed. No thanks to the Damselfish. The Sea Bitch, and the old wicketkeeper, with the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head’ll take those drowned bodies, and turn them into further Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Heads. Each of these organisms’ll also be Underling, made of red perforator vein Thread that the Damselfish’ll pull up from the plates. Underling’s consciousness will spread plenty further than the goat tap. The Sea Bitch bed’ll cover its reefs with pulsating coil flesh. The Shin Detonator’ll pay to come and watch. Thank you Stagnant for your cinema tunnel.” The Beechtop Stem Cell Hosers saw the first transformation of red perforator vein Thread to fleshy coil. To make the transition complete, needs blood from the now ground bound Stem Cell Hosers.
Stem Cell Hoser: “The Thread’s no good to you on its own. You can pull up thousands of meters of it, but where you getting the blood?” To stop anyone in their tracks, to stop them discovering the extra ocean that’s The Horse Prefect’s sea, The Horse Prefect needs the kids to sit an exam like the one that stopped Underling. But The Horse Prefect can’t trust Braithwaite to come up with such a paper twice. He’d have to go straight to the music repair shop, where the ground bound Stem Cell Hosers are trying to get, but are hampered by the Shin Detonator.
The Horse Prefect tells Underling to infect the kids ankles with the goat tap Infirm Protein Coat, but this time, hit them properly in their knees. The ground bound Stem Cell Hosers re-recruit the music shop repair worker, who as far as The Horse Prefect knows, might not even work there anymore. The music repair shop owner has one paper that’ll stick The Horse Prefect in its horizon peak down, and send the Damselfish corralling round his old base till he blows its load down into the plates, and takes The Beeches and all its groupies sliding down through, and what about the cells? The pollen big science cells Dean’ll surrender to the worms, he thinks they’re keeping The Horse Prefect of his back. Swallow the lot back into its own drain, swallow it for him, down his own throat. The shins of every kid infected with goat tap, shatters into black shards, and hides amongst those of the blackboards. Goat tap yells up at The Horse Prefect.
Goat Tap: “Make a rugby squad now!”
The kids: “What work’ll we find for ourselves! You’ve left us Braithwaite, left us alone with goat tap. Even on our hands, what kind of mechanical nanny’ll brush our swinging feet out our faces. We might as well burrow down with the Shin Detonator and make lives for ourselves with the Dean.” The kids march single file on their hands in the direction of the playing field. The kid at the front’s still twenty or so meters from the grasses edge when he, and a few others behind him, notice what a tidy straight line they’re making.
Kid: “Too bad no satellite above’s tracking this. We haven’t made a march as orderly, since before Underling arrived back from his discussions with The Horse Prefect. When was that? Must’ve been this morning. Not since yesterday have we marched so tight.” Braithwaite, chewing an apple on her return from an unrelated activity off campus, shouts across the field to the kids she thinks are still quarantined on the hard surface of the school, kept off the soft by the Underling Infirm Protein Coat and grass cavalry.
Braithwaite: “Oh yeah, I should mention. Your shins might explode.” The kids shins split into two camps. Those thinking they’re better off taking advantage of being rid of the Underling Infirm Protein Coat, and out on the soft field. Surely they can’t be reinfected there. Against those convinced they should stay on the hard surface they’ve been kept to all day, but from now on, with the ability to move in controlled straight lines.
Kid: “It’s win win on the grass. No Infirm Protein Coat is no Infirm Protein Coat anywhere.”
Other kid: “It’s only win win if you’ve already resigned yourself to not being able to collect what’s left of our shins from the pile of blackboard shards. And I don’t fancy what’s left over from the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head. Who knows how any of that’ll react to Underling?”
Kid: “The shards all look the same, and the ground bound Stem Cell Hosers don’t look any the worse off for the red perforator vein thread flesh. Their pains are all down to having their ankles ripped out, and whatever else Braithwaite did to them.”
Other kid: “Black’s black, but bone isn’t slate. All we need to seperate the two’s the Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hosers.” The Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hosers approach in crimson red smocks and Rembrandt hats. There’s five, all betrayers of Braithwaite, and therefore more than happy to keep the kids away from her and Underling up The Beeches. With each step, they double in number. After ten or so steps, the numbers start to unsettle the kids, so several smaller kids are slung towards the onslaught, blocking their regeneration. The front kid lands nose first in the front Stem Cell Hosers thigh.
Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hoser: “Are you alright boy?”
Kid: “I smell blood, Sir.” The Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hoser lifts his knee, then hammers it down, squashing the kid flat under his foot. Mechanical Nanny’d tread garottees into The Benign Soil in much the same way, but unlike Mechanical Nanny, the Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hoser only covers his hands in more cocooning sap, the more he tries to absorb the flesh into the tarmac. The other five thousand Stem Cell Hosers frantically stomp bits of the kid, but each stomp only spreads the remains further, and douses their hands deeper in the bucket of castrating Shin Detonator goo. The wicketkeeper didn’t tell you Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hosers. He didn’t leave the cocoon all intact. Every touch of gluey slop only crystals your bits over, and sucks them inside your gut. The drying shrinks, and drops to the ground with bits of you attached. You should be grateful for what balls your gut recovers, and what of them you can make stick to your bowels. As they chase the boys blood, noses to the ground, they collide with the other kids, who can now also smell the old blood hidden in the colour of the Stem Cell Hosers smocks. Mechanical Nanny tightens bells round deserters of both sides necks, and flings ten or so Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hosers at a time into The Stagnant. There they’ll be sent to dig the tunnel, bells and all, till over dug enough to collapse The Beeches. The Stem Cell Hosers’ve been given long enough to find their way down, and face up to their ground bound relatives. Finding a home in the Shin Detonator cells, at least they know now, it’s not just the thirst, but keeping your hands off yourself when they’re just out the acidic sap bucket.
Kid: “These smocks come from the Deans staff! Look underneath at the Shin Detonator sap making eunuchs of them all. And to think they chose this over Craft, Design and Technology. This isn’t school uniform! The Stem Cell Hosers uniform’s been stolen from the Dean!” The sentence for theft, being not merely an activity, but a crime, is life without parole, directly under the middle of the tallest Beech. All sentences are without parole, but carry the further humiliation of being thought to be without something other prisoners aren’t.
Deserter kids: “Are you going to let us back into your service, now the Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hosers have all gone?” They have gone. Every one of them’s in the tunnel. Shaking their fists at the ovarian pollen spores that didn’t make it into the butterfly swarm.
Craft, Design and Technology Stem Cell Hosers: “No use to us now, are you!”
Ovarian pollen spores: “Did you expect a reply? You might want to ask yourselves how you’re getting one.” The tunnel, itself an escape route, has its own escape. Follow the wicketkeeper’s crumb bubbles, and press your pupils to the holes. Press like the kids testing the sock nylon, and more than find the ovarian pollen spores’s tunnel, join the ovarian pollen spores family. The ovarian pollen spores and the squashed kid. The kid hovers now, like the Horse Prefect trapped in The Sea Bitch, but without the frozen eggs chafing his rock. Stem Cell Hosers, leppers, choose an ovarian pollen spores death over becoming tunnel diggers up to scrape out more of the ovary filling. They were never given anything to dig with. Their pupils follow the crumb bubbles, and ascend out the top of The Benign Soil, into the midst of the most photosynthesising of The Beeches, and gasp their first true breath of fresh air since the crowds of Shin Detonator stuffed their screaming cousins into the Rembrandt suits. Mechanical Nanny hands the deserters over to the other kids, who without discussion, let them off. Their bells are unbuckled, and fall to the ground with a collective ding loud enough to displace The Sea Bitchlife hijacking The Horse Prefects rightful place on the Rockwell mothers horizon. Everyone’s horizon, but particularly the Rockwell mothers. The Horse Prefect retakes his old seat, and addresses the crowd of handstanding kids he’s now indebted to.
The Horse Prefect: “Thanks kids.” Expecting more, one of the kids speaks up.
Kid: “What about our shins?”
The Horse Prefect: “Skip up on your finger tips. Reverse and beep beep.”
Kid: “Beep beep like a lorry?”
The Horse Prefect: “No, beep beep like a tune.”
Kid: “That’s nothing but a tap! No one beep beeps to a tune!”
The Horse Prefect: “I’ll beep beep like a lorry if you give me one.”
Kid: “Beep to no lorry.”
The Horse Prefect: “You’re making me virile and contaminating my ovarian pollen spores. Who’d stick another pandemic into a school already riddled with Underling?”
Kid: “You think we care about Underling now? Tap alongside the school gates, and around its fencing. Put your new Infirm Protein Coat to work. You saw what happens when you try and skip the Stem Cell Hosers. They end up butchered, or cornered in the sky.”
The Horse Prefect: “Who’ll keep my seat from the grave jumping sealife?”
Kid: “Give us our shins, and we’ll guard the horizon.”
Horse Prefect: “That’s already done. The trees’ll wither, and they’ll stroll off to Braithwaites previous unrelated activity. They’ll be fine. But no, I’m coming to school myself this time. Here you go.”
The Horse Prefect tosses each of the handstanding kids their shins back.
Kid: “Who got the bucket from the Rembrandt frocked Stem Cell Hoser leppers? I want the bucket!”
The Horse Prefect: “Thank Braithwaite. The exam question slotted the Stem Cell Hosers into those frocks. They slipped in autopilot like first thing in the morning slippers. You want the bucket? You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. The bucket’s for men.”
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “This isn’t the kind of place I’d wanna see you.” says the afro bust twins to The Horse Prefect.
The Horse Prefect: “At least I came dressed for it.” The guests bend down, each touching the floor.
The Horse Prefect: “Kind of looks like the waves of The Sea Bitch, doesn’t it?” The Horse Prefect says, looking at the Girl with a Reddened Bleached Whores Head.
Braithwaite:/ Afro Twins: “Enough to almost make me feel homesick.”

Mining in fake jungle

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The owners of “The two sciences company” built a green grass running down into the great beyond, down past the mouth of their cavern. We’re remained on one of those drift vessels to the primary fairways appropriate, amidst the stream close to it. It appears the course just has one opening. In any event that is everything we can see. The scene’s truly low. It feels however, similar to it’s an entire 18 opening course, which means, if the main gap is normal size, the land clearing they probably done will be huge. We’ll show signs of improvement see soon, when we set off. The cavern we’re made a beeline for is around 300 yards down stream. About dimension where the stick is. You would have figured they wouldn’t put the mystery cavern directly inverse where the majority of the golfers stay nearby. It didn’t jump out at me at the time. I’m retelling this in the current state. There’s Malibuy palm trees along the fairways edge. Each remained in a straight line, similarly separated in the few foot of circumscribing unpleasant. It’s direct for a green. A conscious attack against the wilderness they cut it out of. Orangutan tribes with their spirits broken. Or then again rival local plantlife. The fairway coasts in the waterways focus, leaving a decent fifty yards of pristine Amazonian nature to one side, and likely, distancewise, the equivalent to one side. The dark colored in the water reflects pink in the sky, where today there aren’t numerous mists, and you can see similar widths of pink up there, either side of the segment of blue, where the green doesn’t reflect. The nature our side’s, once more, we’re to the fairways right, is altogether submerged. Not common, purposeful submerged life. Its greater part overwhelmed and kicking the bucket. Or on the other hand beginning another, long development into a water ivy that grows up banks and chokes golfers developed attached to the ground, and palm trees. What’s not in the water’s as of now dead, aside from us and the reeds shooting up from underneath. The smell over the water’s a steam, so strangely obvious and modern. The water is turpentine. At nose stature, we can get the breeze however can even now feel the streamlined quality sneaking in the bottoms of our noses. At any rate, I can, so I accept that it’s the equivalent for the others. They don’t state much. There my nearby chaperone’s who don’t communicate in English. I don’t talk whatever their language is. This streams progressively like a repository sustaining a stack. In the event that you think about the stack as my nose. We’re in South American clan land. The streams bank begins back in Berkshire, where pleasant Eton playing fields are, yet are overshadowed by the modern scene behind. At this separation, we’re excessively noticeable from the trees at the waters edge. It’s too dangerous to even think about slowing down and overview the scene beyond what we can while moving. I lived in Berkshire my entire youth, however constantly expected the back of it would be fenced off. Indeed, even from here I can see the old BMX track we used to go to, that is most likely gone at this point. From that point, looking toward this path just looks like all the more playing fields. However, we’re in South America. A lot of room, here in the waterway. Riding down to the regular mine. Me and an English young lady are oversaw by two or three local people. One’s guiding the pontoon. We were going at some pace at that point, ten yards from the caverns entrance, motor off, we vocation at speed however pretty serenely up the ten meters of rock at its mouth. We didn’t pass any golfers and it’s a generally pleasant day, at any rate by Berkshire principles. Possibly not Amazonian. Implying that the green is still under development, and further indicating that the uncovered cavern passageway will be economically congested before the opening of the cavern and fairway. I completed a little statement with a double meaning there, with the two implications of ‘opening’. The palm trees from the fairway are extended over our heads. They should have a scope of around fifty meters. Each bit of rock is a minature booby trap justling me from side to side somewhat less than my backpacks getting. I’d state my backpacks being tossed around, where I’m simply being justled. There’s an Amazonian creature, similar to a racoon in my backpack that doesn’t care for this unexpected absence of development. The shading on the rock, when you’ve strolled in, looks particularly purposeful and human done, so I solicit one from the young men controlling us “Has this rock been put somewhere around the mining organization?” I can’t recall whether he answers me or just looks on past his light. He doesn’t recognize anything I just said.
“In the event that your light is for my advantage, don’t trouble.”
He proceeds, hauling me along. Not by power, however I’m not remaining behind in obscurity. I get the thought I should be quiet, so trott up behind and lay my jaw on his shoulder. We’re out of site of any ambushers, except if any have scaled the stones we can’t see. My chaperone shoots his light around a bit. We’re both hunch down on our toes. The young men don’t talk much. The rock’s enormous chinks and the colouration are straight line fringes, where you’d have plain rock in the center, at that point splendid red square shape outskirts, or orange. Must be shading coded for some manufacturing plant reason. I guessed it could have been characteristic, yet thinking back, it ought to have been clear it wasn’t. Thinking back, I don’t recollect the rock making any commotion. I was a vacationer, swinging my head around at so much new stuff. A great deal of my standard faculties were out of sight and not working appropriately. Stage lighting’s originating from some place. At that point the speeding begins up once more. The float pontoon scooped us up from behind. A few miles down are labs. South-East Asian specialists in your normal clean white coats. Pale blue lighting and just hard level white surfaces. The specialist at the fronts in, similar to an open arranged banquet hall, with only one bit of apparatus. A production line arm magnifying lens. It has a self-working mechanical drill that removes superbly rectangular chunks of shake from the cavern divider. The main non-level surface of the room. It would seem that a developing precious stone, other than the shading’s dull dark, similar to typical shake. Beneath where it’s penetrating is a perfect sink, tap and depleting board showing that this lab additionally bends over as the laborers kitchen. The arm at that point swings round to this turning sanding apparatus. The laborer and I oversee the machine. He disregards me showing how my neck swivels my head around on a solitary point similarly. You need to concentrate on the sanding. The bit of shake’s sanded down on a pivoting stone to turns into an extremely sharp edge. At my request we start up the magnifying lens once more, however where the bored shake was, I sit tied down with my ear superbly arranged to where the as of late evacuated chunk of shake had been sitting for many years prior. The boring takes out my upper jaw on the correct hand side, my ear trench, and the lower half of my eyes and cerebrum. Presently to perceive what the sanding uncovers. It makes another extremely sharp steel. You can see through behing gathering to the fork lifts, enormous blue plastic holders that appear as though they contain oil, and all the more South-East Asian laborers in sterile jackets. In any case, where from the BMX track, I couldn’t see the South America in the close separation, I can see through the banquet hall, and afterward back to our nursery in the house I lived in when I was somewhat more established. I would have been in my mid-twenties, living in Wood Green, yet the greenhouse I constantly accepted that was fenced off there, sponsored on to the flyover indirect as the M4 cuts throug Windsor. The enormous indirect where there’s heaps of grass. Our old nursery backs on to it, with no separating structure. There’s some tall hedges incompletely covering up where they join, however no genuine division. Hares, felines and different creatures walk around the two without seeing there venturing over into anything. Glancing through the banquet hall in the cavern, I see back to, what may host been a get-together, or on-screen characters recording in our home. It was night and me and a few others are remaining at the back of the nursery, and now I see the vehicles, hares, hedges, the flyover and the indirect. It’s certainly the one that prompts Slough. I look down the greenhouse, and can see a couple of individuals in the brilliantly lit kitchen. I’m the main Westerner. A couple additionally standing simply outside the kitchen on the solid of the greenhouse, before it goes to grass.

I can just observe the water in front as we sped down the stream, on what more likely than not been a float vessel. To one side was an American-manufactured green, leaving enough common waterway either side to be an expansion to the rainforest condition. Just to experience the setup we have the ve-20 connected to the G5. At that point the G5 goes into a PC. Receiver is only the beyond any doubt sm57. No impacts been utilized and it’s been tried on daringness for going into Google Docs. I’ve recently been perusing the narrative of the mining network that live toward the finish of the amazonian waterway. At the point when the drill was drilling into the side of my head however couldn’t see much. Likely on the grounds that it was unearthing from somewhere inside my ear waterway, and accordingly took out the lower segment of my eyes stop there was certifiably not a lot of worry from anybody working in the research center. Actually none of them removed their gas covers to check in the event that I was alright. So I returned to the pontoon with my chaperone who were much more converse with you in transit back and they’ve been en route there. It appears that the ambushers weren’t intrigued any longer so it will appear to be moderately protected and laid-back. In transit back anyway we wound up in this hall. Where in the center was this African looking function which I believe was a wedding and obviously I had some task to carry out in that wedding. It wasn’t something I needed to do and it wasn’t something I truly thought about, other than clearly I was hoping to accomplish something and it was basic for me to do it, generally the service couldn’t proceed . there were heaps of my family there and they were sat in the streets above me. Presently in light of the fact that it was an assembly hall as you would envision from Greek or Roman stories, or possibly increasingly like a bullfighting Arena. As a result of that I could see in all respects unmistakably the general population in the Roosevelt new and they would diminished in size so I could have a full discussion with someone 10 individuals from me, and they could hear superbly what I was stating. Indeed everybody in the Auditorium could hear all that I was stating. It was obvious to me, yet nobody was exceptionally content with my absence of understanding that what it was I should do. Notwithstanding looking down to the focal point of the Auditorium it was param that nothing is truly going head. There was heaps of clamoring around and individuals talking however you could tell no genuine advancement is being made with the service. I investigated and I saw a leave I saw the mechanical arm that would penetrate into the side of my head minutes sooner. My shack rosewood all betrayed me so I needed to move down venturing on everybody’s head and one out the exit and expectation that the float pontoon however it’s taken if there is still there, and the driver of the vessel you willing to remove me. It was my obligation to deal with anybody tired of the assembly room I was mostly down the stream when I understood this. The hoverboard couldn’t pivot . I hopped over the edge and took hold of the reeds my feet was still in the float pontoon so I utilized my influence to swing the vessel round 180°. You couldn’t see something besides water and peruses the pontoon has decreased in size. The pontoon was presently a similar size as the group of spectators individuals in the Auditorium. I had the two feet still on the vessel and I could utilize my body weight to drive the pontoon back to the passage of the Auditorium. When my body was over 90% edges, and I was all the while holding the reeds similarly situated, I’ve lost my body weight influence with which to push the pontoon forward. By then, I was depending on the tides of the water to convey the pontoon forward which fortunately arrived in the nick of time. Similarly as the waves hit the vessel when I was doing the creatures to ocean where they would get readied to the pinnacle of the frigid administrator mountain head. I strolled once again into the assembly hall, however this time as opposed to sitting down up in the Rafters, I ventured into the center of the field where everybody can see me. I was the focal point of everybody’s consideration the Auditorium was quiet. Everybody was seeing me, anticipating that me should plan something for permit to Sarah me to proceed. I looked very consoled about my explanation behind being there, however actually I was filtering the group of spectators searching for a wiped out part. I didn’t see anybody . so we have these two occasions. We have the boring in the side of the mountain. Furthermore, we have the occasions in the theater. In any case, this point is anything but difficult to overlook that a large portion of my face have been evacuated by the industrial facility on. however, shouldn’t something be said about the goings on behind the gathering of The Laboratory. What was happening in those days? I couldn’t see however the time what they were doing. Possibly they realized what I should do in the Auditorium. This is humiliating for me. In addition to the fact that I had to leave the Auditorium, when everybody is seeing me peacefully, however I needed to proceed to inquire as to whether the drift pontoon to return me to where I have pulled him again from. I did this, yet this time chose to take everybody in the Auditorium with me. On the off chance that I wasn’t going to find any solutions back in the mine, at that point in any event I needed the individuals from the crowd and the members in the function to see that I had in any event attempted my best, to deal with their issues. For having gone once previously, and not experienced any noteworthy risk from ambushes, I may have been smug in believing this was a smart thought. First time you went there the ambushers haven’t contacted us. Be that as it may, on the off chance that I oblige a huge number of other individuals who don’t know where we going, he ambushes could exploit that and begin shooting individuals. There could be mass shootings riots, fires, this would all be my issue in the event that I didn’t avoid potential risk for the individuals on the pontoon. Indeed, even the driver of the vessel, who is an astute neighborhood, would be placed in huge peril by my idea this activities. Be that as it may, there was an answer, in the event that I could get the ambushers to accompany me, at that point they wouldn’t most likely snare us. So I said to the Auditorium despite everything you’re taking a gander at me. I said to them pause. I revealed to them all to hold up here. Once more, I looked extremely consoled and loaded with myself, and this went over well. Everybody in the Auditorium was consoled that I recognized what I was doing, and I was going to deal with things. So I head off with certainty back to the exit of the Auditorium, and cold over my nearby collaborator to drive a hoverboard back to the mine. The driver set off straight away, so I needed to get back to him. I needed to instruct him to not commit the error I had nearly made, and moved toward the mine with lack of concern. I last mission had been fruitful, yet simply because we were watching out carefully for aspiring. I said to the man driving the vessel, to ensure that you give as much consideration to goal-oriented as we did last time round. I at that point asked him where every other person was. The first occasion when we went there were loads of individuals there, however this time it was simply me and him. By then it turned out to be evident this is a cost cutting activity, and I needed to clarify that I wouldn’t represent it. Be that as it may, for I had the chance, as companions showed up from the reeds and fills me with a decent warm inclination as we as a whole jumped on the pontoon together. It felt like a homecoming for it felt like a gathering with old companions we got back on the vessel. The driver headed down the amazonian waterway. I needed to recognize the sentiments of warmth and fellowship and solace and nature I was feeling from the organization I was in, and the cool cruel perils of the circumstance with respect to aggressive. Or if nothing else, potential and brambles. We travel down the waterway, apparently quicker than last time. We cleared up the rock, as we had done previously, and now I was so agreeable I had overlooked or I truly can go on there. However, as we walked, this time all the more certainly, down through the mines burrows it returned to me. I remained amidst the Auditorium alone with everybody taking a gander at me, and that inability to discover anybody sick, and I understood that I was returning to meet the general population behind gathering. Those individuals behind gathering when I was having half of my face bored out. I expected to see them to ask them something. Be that as it may, that is the place my memory blurred me. My memory fizzles me rather. I realized I was returning to meet them, yet I didn’t recollect what I was going to meet them about. Goodness it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I was going with my companions to the Las, yet I had overlooked that I was truly going to meet the driven, so I could be companions them. Here I was in another troublesome, and conceivably humiliating circumstance, as by this point we could effectively gone past the ambushers and will Well down the passage in obscurity with lights and I needed to clarify that I’ve committed an error and overshot our objective. I disclosed to my shopping that we needed to turn back and return to the mouth of the cavern and some way or another discover a method for gently meeting with the driven. This I did , and to my failure they were not as understanding as the participants in the amphitheater. These were solidified amazonian local people, we used to living in all respects effectively. They had straightforward lives and nearly had no understanding of wastage. Individuals in their networks would kick the bucket in the event that they didn’t have centered direct deadpan musings. So my distraction and jettisoning it went poorly well by any means. I’m heartbroken. In any case, I’ve neglected to stop off and consult with the Ashes. Anyway they did in any event welcome that I was in the end settling on the correct choice, and after they had valued this they thought it was great that I concocted that thought, since it was an excellent one and they didn’t have that thought themselves. So I assume, they understood the in spite of my ineptitude, I could in any event fill some valuable need, which they proved unable. They knew enough from the amazonian ways of life yet you can remove what’s significant from something without getting too distracted with the futile part that you’re going to toss in any case. You don’t have to pay anything to discard something, and it doesn’t take exceptionally long. So it merits enduring a touch of drivel for someone, if there’s something significant in there that will take you a lifetime to discover in any other individual. Furthermore, the stuff we realize it is this is as individual as we seem to be. I don’t think I said that appropriately. I was attempting to state that what we can pass on to individuals is as unique as we seem to be. Something to that effect. However, whatever it implies it implies that the amazonians got over their resentment and disappointment, and it resolved itself such that I believe was instructive to everybody on this little escapade. So we met with the amazonians. This was another humiliating circumstance, in light of the fact that when we met with the amazonians, I had overlooked what I was there to talk about with them. So as I did previously, I cast My Mind back to being in the Auditorium and rationally followed my means. I don’t have the foggiest idea about what’s my obligation to take care of him. He’s nothing to me. The amazonians holding out their hand and it has a dim fix that spreads a large portion of the standard and creeps I guess like nobility, the four fingers. I slap the hand, in some kind of kinship . the auditoryit’s presently here, it’s cool to suck like the drift pontoon did before. I’m wearing coaches, as I did when I was an adolescent. By one way or another they state Romance . some way or another I get a sweetheart out of this. It’s for the most part down to recalling what it resembled a school, to how I can some way or another fix this service . I don’t blow up concerning for what reason I’m obliged to do any of this, I guess this is on the grounds that they’re my family. They have a serious elevated standard of somebody who just has half of face, as I would see it. Be that as it may, the amazonians some reason is by all accounts thoughtful towards this, I don’t have the foggiest idea why. I figured they would be creatures. I thought they were simply covers up. My face must resemble a type of monster innate checking. Like some cutting, some skin cutting, turned out badly. Some crazy person on an excessive number of mushrooms hacks away at myand, I guess it currently bodes well why I required that Vietnamese ear cleaning for the situation. It’s down to going with my gut Instinct with the time, and later on my gut tells the mind what it should do. Furthermore, the Brain will ideally have the option to state to the person that it did what it was told, not that it’s idea it knew better. My cerebrum never appears to know better. What’s more, the gut never appears to realize what the minds doing. Most likely deliberately, to stop it getting dirtied by thoughts of its own. So it worked out well getting my face slashed up. So the amazonians perhaps accept me as one of their own, even. Who knows? In any case, they appear to like me, they may even have been watching and taking notes from the individuals from the amphitheaters group of spectators. I guess the expert sharpshooter Instinct of the amazonian Hunter could well have prompted some of them being in the group of spectators, when they’re all so inspired with my quiet execution amidst the stage. At any rate I carried the groups to quiet. Carrying things to quietness will make you a decent Hunter and again I guess this may have played to support me when it went to the gathering we’re all presently sat amidst. They give me some sustenance which doesn’t appear to have any toxic substance in it. It’s enveloped with a type of leaf . so to move the story on, we’re all strolling down the mine . the amazonian to taking a gander at the shaded rock and after that looking to me, and in some kind of Brotherly mental comprehension of one another I simply rehash their own face back to them,anymore of this PR stuff I don’t know . be that as it may, we get as far as possible of the passage and we touched base at gathering. I’m trusting they won’t see the mechanical arm is what hack my face up, as I think part about the reason we jumped on so well with in light of the fact that they presumably expected it was something that transpired in my youth. On the off chance that they realized this was a willful grown-up choice, and even were something I made up all around as of late. That is the point, I was still new? In any case, the amazones didn’t take note. Yet, in the event that the amazonians were to discover that I got my face cut up in this mine, simply after I got some answers concerning this danger, it could give my story some major issues. My entire notoriety with them depends on some kind of credibility.this would make me resemble a joke. The secretary is a similar special case is 2 just like the first run through, which isn’t uplifting news. I don’t need this gathering is Blackburn to the amazonians about our last visit so I can make some I motions towards a secretary. My non-verbal correspondence is getting really great at this point, and the secretary comprehends to stay silent about the way that we’ve at any point met previously, at any rate while these new individuals are near. Where is the group of spectators for the Auditorium? There appropriate here with us so it’s the group of spectators for the Auditorium the amazonians, local people and myself. Truth be told, everybody from the story so far is as of now remained here with me. The Auditorium is standing void the wilderness is standing void the waterways are unfilled of everything except for fish. Fish appreciating the Freedom. I’ve entered a lot out into this vehicle. The gathering is hands me is tea kettle. Presently I need to go round and offer everybody with me some tea. This takes a few hours, however is a fundamental piece of the inviting daily practice. I sense the this is being looked on from a circle the Laboratory function as in the background. These are the general population of basically come here to see. I know nothing about them, other than their uniform. Some way or another I’m reliant on these research facility laborers having the solutions to my issues. My issues are commitment to the individuals from the Auditorium, the service, and now the Amazon. the amazonians must begin ask themselves, why they’ve been brought down into the profundities of this cavern. There’s nothing here for them. There’s no sustenance here there’s no nourishment here, there’s no creatures here. I can see them totally obvious, I mean. It’s not all that a lot to ask, to ask where the light source is originating from. I took a gander at local people, and now I’m back where I was. Seeing his still face peering past the light of his own light. On the off chance that this person needs a light to see, when he doesn’t. He can see superior to anything the light he sees past the light. I could look tell by his face. I can guess by his appearance that he’s looking past or more the light emission he’s investigating the dim. As though he doesn’t need the specialist comprehend what he’s taking a gander at. Or if nothing else, however the amazonians don’t need the dull to know which part of the dim they’re taking a gander at. Or on the other hand perhaps it’s me they’re attempting to escape. Perhaps they don’t need meI truly taking a gander at, and this entire free overseeing of me to the profundity of the case is something there just doing to study this bizarre outsider that is simply turned up with bunches of cash, weird close, and some physical inability that implies he can’t care for himself in the outside world. Not that they have any idea, in a Western sense, of what an inside world would be. You can whistle in the event that you like. No amazonian is going to let me know, the vacationers, when you can’t whistle. The secretary has progressed toward becoming something of a companion. He gets some teaand attractive round to the amazonians. I request that the assistant show the mechanical arm. I’m trusting that the assistant really tried to understand that the mechanical are can’t be demonstrated to be what did to my face, what it did really do to my face. The secretary, mindful of my aim or not, presses the catch on the mechanical arm and everybody, the amazonians and the Auditorium group of spectators, look on in shock as the mechanical arm penetrates another chunk of rock from the side of the confine dividers, and after that a pivoting bit of Stone Roses up through the floor of the table, and transforms the piece of shake into an extremely sharp edge. Another for the heap. Another disposable cutter for The Laboratory fill in as off camera to gather and do whatever they do with. Presently it appears as though you’ve achieved a point past we did on our first visit. Presently we really get the opportunity to stroll off camera, presently I’ve carried an enormous enough group of spectators with me, to examine see what goes on off camera at this processing plant, and possibly find a solution about why the rock is so peculiarly shaded. Such straight and intentional, clearly high quality direct examples in the rock tinge. For what reason would a research center laborer try to do this, particularly thinking about that under ordinary conditions, the passage is Pitch Black. We asked them very forthright. What do you do here? For what reason are there such huge numbers of lab laborers, and for what reason do they give off an impression of being in a type of radiation suit. The extremely sharp edges don’t remain as disposable cutters. Whatever the disposable cutters transform into is something that tops off these blue barrels. They look like oil compartments, however blue plastic. They’re not customary inside they will Bubbles they seem as though they’ve been intended for some significant reason. Along these lines, I asked the research facility function as in the background what the blue barrels of each of the four. He reveals to me simply that the barrels are loaded with the liquidized extremely sharp edges. I don’t perceive any reason why? For what reason does the chunk of shake should be in the condition of a strong razorblade between being in the cavern divider, and in the blue plastic oil drum. Furthermore, what’s a radioactive about it? That research center laborers don’t offer any clarification about why they are in radiation suits, and we as a whole appear to be fine strolling around as we may be. Be that as it may, at that point I see some of them strolling down certain means. There’s no spread to the means yet unmistakably there’s something going on with green light beneath the floor level. I saw that the opposite side of the room where the means come upwards. Similarly as you have a Down elevator and a lift. Be that as it may, these aren’t elevators, yet they are still assigned to being either up or down. You strolled down into the radioactive region where you are closest the mouth of the cavern. You stroll up when you are uttermost far from the mouth of the cavern. What’s more, the laborers at the highest point of the means at the leave steps, I taking off there asuits and running their fingers through their hair as though they’ve quite recently escaped the shower. So I accept that at floor level, where we are there is no radioactive threat, in spite of the way that there is obviously nothing between us upstairs and the radioactive light first floor. For reasons unknown the radioactive light doesn’t infiltrate up into the upper floor. So we as a whole appear to be moderately sheltered. The amazonians sense the peril however. They don’t comprehend about radioactivity, however yet they realize that this green light is something that isn’t regular and it’s not useful to their framework. In like manner the Auditorium group of spectators know from their instruction that radioactivity is terrible, however the light is awful, yet they don’t perceive what I see, in that the radioactive synthetic substances are by one way or another being kept solely on the first floor of the production line. The same number of them are beginning to escape or yell out to them, similar to I ought to have done when I was in the focal point of the Auditorium, I yell out to them to stop. Recalling the expert I have, from my absence of discourse amidst the Auditorium Hall some time prior, they all stop in their tracks and go to me for guidance. I can tell, and they are glad to mean me, however they will essentially do whatever I state. They accept and trust me. I disclose to them that the specialists in the lab suits take their suits off once they’ve strolled up the stairs, so there can’t be any risk to us. On the off chance that there was any radioactive niece in this piece of the production line, the specialists wouldn’t take their suits off. Get your cousins and your nieces, and join the radioactive nieces. Removed relatives can come and participate in the radioactivity party. A radioactivity party! This is the thing that the research facility laborers have been hanging tight to hear. They simply needed a gathering. So at this news I need to ask them, would it say it was extremely essential for me to cut a large portion of my face up only for them to host a gathering? Truly it was. It was fundamental for you to bring the amazonians. The Laboratory specialists realized that the amazonians could never believe me except if they had some sign that I had some innate markings dispensed on me in my childhood. Presently, it’s past the point of no return for me to return to my childhood and get some innate markings. Be that as it may, on the off chance that they utilize the privilege mechanical instruments, they could put some ancestral markings all over in my Adulthood, and make it seem as though they were done in my childhood. I asked why the wounds I endured to my face never look like crisp tissue wounds. They looked like old markings from quite a while back. That is the thing that the mechanical arm was made to do. Night assistant didn’t know about this. The gathering is thought their activity was to cut out shake and transform those bits of shake into raises. That wasn’t their motivation by any stretch of the imagination. Their motivation was to do that so I would feel good have in my face cut out by one, having as of late observed the Vietnamese ear wax cleaners cleaning individuals’ is by the side of the road. Get out your lead pipe pants. The lead pipe pants at perfect for a gathering this way. The nieces and cousins who are as of now at the Auditorium have a reason now. They all express gratitude toward me for carrying them to the gathering. I surmise the amazonian stream pontoon was a negligible taxi to them. I thought they were in the Auditorium to complete the cell the festival. Every cell in their body was celebrating. The festivals were beginning at this point. The Auditorium was only a holding room, and when they were taking a gander at me I thought they were seeing me to lead the function. They weren’t. They were simply seeing me to sort out the Taxes. Well I did that. Utilizing similar techniques I did to turn the pontoon around, I fit everybody in the Auditorium on to the amazonian riverboat. That was me for filling my motivation, when I thought I was uniquely on the voyage to discovering what my motivation was. So here I am having completed my obligation, and having worked superbly of it as well. The assistant appears to be glad, in spite of discovering that they were deluded. The amazonian appeared to be glad being partygoers. The nieces and cousins have come, which make great mating accomplices for a ton of the amazonians and furthermore for many individuals in the group of spectators from the Auditorium. So now my their nieces and cousins could all social affair and move they can get alcoholic they can or well they can begin organizations together they can do anything they desire. The gathering began, and it’s a radioactive one. These poor researchers in the base of this cavern having never hosted a gathering having not seen any other person but rather one another, what happens when one of them gets sick? On the off chance that a researcher gets sick in the cavern where do they go? They can’t go out into the wilderness with their new weston-jones. They should remain in the research facility a contaminated other. That sounds like some sort of blow out in itself I don’t need to remain here extremely some time before I get a type of ailment before I go along with us radioactive gathering, I need to go to the specialist to see I’m not cleaning of whatever else. I’ve been cleaning within my body. I’ve been strolling around the edges of micelles, welcoming the white ones in to tidy the up for this radioactive gathering. Every one of the Elders have assembled round and a sitting in a horseshoe shape around the adolescents on the Dancefloor. They choose a peashooter from the arm of their robes and flame it into the Dancefloor the peashooter hits their next sexual accomplice. At that point one of the help goes over and conveys a sexual accomplice to the pea shooting senior. That is the manner by which things work in the research facility, and I’m not making a decision about it. The amazonians now have a great job and they appeared to appreciate getting paid, not that they have any utilization for the cash, however I get it’s the feeling of direction that individuals were seeing me to give them when I was amidst the Auditorium giving my discourse. It took me 1/2 hours to lead that quietness discourse, yet no point did anybody appear to lose any I was going to disclose to them what they expected to do. It didn’t take too long to even think about taking them down on the bow down to the mouth of the cavern, and skim up this bobbing rock. In any case, at that point we have the account of the backpack. For what reason was the backpack on my back moving around more than my back? My back itself was nearer to the vibrations of the rock the my backpack was, yet my backpack was moving around additional. Perhaps the radioactive researchers had a response for this. Did you ever open your backpack? Solicit one from the radioactive researchers, as they were occupied on the Dancefloor enrolling their next sexual accomplice. No I replied. I never opened the backpack. It didn’t take me long to discover the backpack, and I opened it, and out exited an extremely sharp edge. Presently this razorblade hadn’t been liquidized yet. In any case, it was at that point in the back room of The Laboratory. The researcher appear to be stressed that a disposable cutter that hadn’t been liquidize would be in the back of the lab, as though this was some sort of new German segment that they had no invulnerability to so a great deal of the researcher got together and stepped on the Razer Blade with their exposed feet. The researcher were curious about with strong disposable cutters, and their feet drained everywhere throughout the floor. The move floor was getting dangerous with the blood of the radioactive researchers, and all the Young nieces and uncles and cousins and siblings and sisters what slipping around on the move floor. The fundamental issue of this was the piece being shooted from the peashooter weren’t hitting any of the artists. They were arriving in blood. So the amazonians would stroll over to the move floor, and as opposed to gathering a sexual accomplice for the Elder, they would gather up two bunches of blood and stroll back to the senior and offer the Elder the blood as an accomplice. The Elders would at that point, confiding in the astuteness of these remote amazonians, accept the bunches of blood as their sexual accomplice. The Elders impersonate with the blood in their radioactive lab flooring, the boards grow up narrow minded. They take their very own cousins and uncles and nieces, and the radioactive deck gives its relatives, presently liberal in mind-set, the move floor that was slipping around in their very own blood and missing the peas from the pea shooters of their floor board older folks. No I’ll go could duplicate numerous reflections. They arachnids numerous as they could however on the way lay a considerable lot of the cousins and the nieces. No phony bovines in here as They Danced on the Dancefloor they just got eager and Hungary up. When do we get the opportunity to eat? One of the amazonian clans individuals inquired. I don’t have the foggiest idea who neglected to bring the sustenance. Is an Auditorium brimming with individuals and they’re all ravenous for fish and cabbage. Doesn’t take long to concoct some when each had it made inside the highest point of their caps. It doesn’t bring anything to swim down there. This gathering is brimming with amazonians, yet not as full as it was as Auditorium observers they calling all of you in for supper. I thought you said you were ravenous? No that was the Auditorium. Nothing here is ravenous, just radioactivity slaughtered every one of the particles in individuals’ stomachs. Well that is not approach to go angling. You could turn up and state anything you desired it truly doesn’t make a difference in the event that they’re resting on their fingernails are not going to do much moving, or whatever else. Nothing applies it isn’t narrow minded. They have little science, they have huge science. Nothing in reality merits sitting tight for so much, that we would skip breakfast and come right down here staring me in the face and knees just to see you. Be that as it may, among here and the school is only increasingly more of these Lakes. We can’t swim over the Lakes staring me in the face and knees, regardless of whether we wanted to go to class. No educators at school needed us to get through the water, they needed us to remain submerged with the fishes. There’s no radioactivity left in this talk. There’s no radioactivity left on the Dancefloor even, or even in the swimwear. I simply needed to close the entryway. There’s very little additionally going on, so I surmise we can go out later and check whether we can have something to eat. You can some of the time get a motion picture, however you can never get a film. In case you’re angling when you can find something to eat. In any case, in the Auditorium there only steeds. Only ponies too enormous to snatch. The radioactivity is currently going right up the back to their shins. It got into the tendons in their needs. No cousins or nieces are left on the Dancefloor, and every one of the Elders have gotten so exhausted of this terrible music that they’ve all resigned to bed, the vast majority of only them. By what means can such a significant number of the Elders have hit the sack alone when they had such a significant number of peashooters to a tangle, I mean a tangle at the general population on the move floor. The part has excessively great at avoiding peas when they unintentionally slipping everywhere throughout the blood. The floor boards had nothing to do with it either, the floor boards have been desirous of the floor boards above. I mean please floor board which floor would you rather be on? Okay rather be on the floor where there’s radioactivity all over the place, or would you rather be above where you could watch the secretary? You never let me know there was more than one assistant I inquired. I mean I inquired as to why you would need to? There’s one to work the mechanical arm, and afterward there’s one to make the mechanical arm. You must have a go at all that you can with these individuals to take advantage of them when they’re grinding away. It doesn’t take a lot to put an advert out in the paper yet on the off chance that you will promote for these sorts of individuals, at that point you’re going to need to release some of them to chip away at their own. There’s no carpooling in the amazonian wilderness, when the peashooters they use on bound with peas, with a bound with toxic substance darts. In spite of the fact that expression that having a windscreen or something different in the manner which beyond any doubt planting a portion of those toxin darts. A portion of the toxic substance darts Maven ricocheted and hit one of the amazonians back in their very own skin, or face. However, what do the creatures in the wilderness make of this? They never at any point considered, notwithstanding when beginning timberland fires. What do all the little creepy crawlies think about it? It doused under 20 minutes to accumulate round every one of the creepy crawlies in the amazonian wilderness, and it took not as much as that to enable them to get some sustenance. However, the thing is the point at which you’re making sustenance for amazonian creepy crawlies, in whatever wilderness you like there’s nothing left for them to tune in to. There’s no music in the wilderness that isn’t just the music of nature. There’s no guitarists in the wilderness. There’s no westerners in the wilderness. How might you have music on the off chance that you don’t have any westerners to make it. There’s nothing left in this Radioactive floor. There’s nothing left on the Dancefloor. The most established have all hit the sack. So for what reason don’t we advance back to the Auditorium? For what reason don’t we take everybody and go there for lunch. There’s not all that much. There’s nothing in this plant hasn’t been polluted not with tivity but rather with the germs that have originated from the westerners. Be that as it may, who are these westerners it was an African function in the amphitheater. The amazonians not westerners. You’re the main westerner here it was put to me full your manual for all local people and where are we will be we in the west? No we’re in South America. There’s nothing left here, not on account of an absence of wet , but rather in view of an absence of radiation outside of the case. Be that as it may, how might the assistant need to deal with this? There’s just one way out of this cavern and really the mouth you strolled in. Anyway for the radioactivity to get away, without passing an assistant. I don’t believe that should be possible except if we uncover another passage from underneath here. Furthermore, to do that with needed to burrow far and wide to the next way, so it will take a long while. Now sand western music did our and it turns the discussion down to that that could be comprehended by the Elders, so the Elders woke up and began continuing ahead with the remainder of the work that The Selfish individuals on the Dancefloor left them to do, by slipping over in their own blood throughout the evening as opposed to moving to the best possible music. Hold tight I thought you said there wasn’t any music at this gathering. On the off chance that there was no music at this gathering why there’s anybody moving? Alright so there was music however it wasn’t western music, so we didn’t check it. Who was playing the music? I needed to ask in light of the fact that I needed to know whether there’s anybody I could begin a band with. No one would need to begin a band with, that is all you have to know. That is the sort of pugnacious reaction I’ve been getting as long as I can remember when I’ve been requesting that individuals begin a band with me and all they let me know is that there’s no one Sue transfer speed. Not that there aren’t really any artists in the zone. Be that as it may, only that there aren’t any that would need to work with me, or who I would need to work with. Anybody not willing to assume liability for these inquiries, should proceed to hold up outside and begin composing papers like the remainder of the younger students. Younger students? I thought you said we were in the wilderness, or if nothing else in a cavern that is in the wilderness. Where do you think the subject of was set? Has anyone left Windsor over the most recent 20 years? There isn’t a collapse Windsor. townspeople won’t come to suck any of these wood planks. They have their own particular manner of working around here. They have their very own way to deal with assistance to complete things and it doesn’t require much investment to do it full ranchers are largely aficionados of the two sorts of locales around here. They have much on their psyches, not that they would be part between the two. Be that as it may, they got kids who don’t have the foggiest idea how to swindle. They have wild grasping at their wallets. They have dairy animals’ passing up every one of the testings. No grocery store will purchase anything from a ranch with cows won’t be tried. They could test them for Survey lights in the former times, the dairy animals never knew any better. Be that as it may, these days it’s everything done through blood. You could be shoot the blood out of them I proposed. There’s nothing else to blow through. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t see coming, yet it couldn’t exactly effectively evade off the beaten path off. Indeed, even in their rest record can jump more than 2 foot to one side, in the event that they feel the breeze blowing through a toxin dart drawing nearer. There been avoiding train carriages for enough time to know not to be out weapons by P shooting rancher. The children may see them doing this from a separation, from the residence. Be that as it may, they’re tired of watching it. They don’t care for being told out into the field by the day’s end. They abhorrence much all the more being towed out into the field toward the start of the day preceding dawn. I mean for what reason should a human get up before the sun. How might we have less benefits than a lifeless thing. The sun comes up at around 6 in the first part of the day, and it’s 6 in the first part of the day the greater part of these children are as of now contemplating lunch. They’ve had enough of it. I’ve had enough of being the Farmers blunder is. Nothing’s sitting tight for these wicked towns. It won’t run over you know. All the resting throughout the day in the wilderness. They must exchange from western life to that of the South Americans, and that includes relinquishing that you can rest throughout the day and possibly go out to work in the field when it likes you. The train carriages turn through the fields throughout the day and night, they don’t spend through the wilderness. The children are running out in the fields and playing in the fields, and I couldn’t think less about any train carriage coming in their manner. When you’re out of The Jungle you don’t have this Liberty. You don’t have this decision to overlook the nature occurring around you. The children in the school or careless and the children in the amazonian attempt I know the benefit of remaining wakeful notwithstanding when you’re sleeping. They know the benefit of having a toxin dart to hand regardless of whether there is a cow in the manner. Goodness, bounce off the beaten path, however in any event it was stopping in advance it would have obstructed the perspective on whatever supplication may have been remaining behind it. When you blow the toxic substance dart it could arrive in some sort of meat, and it doesn’t need to be the meat you proposed to hit. I couldn’t be a human tissue I thought. Is there any valid reason why you wouldn’t eat human substance in the event that you are eager? Round here nothing is radioactive. The radioactivity remains in the Dancefloor, so wouldn’t make it out the mouth of the cavern went into the wildernesses where the amazonia . I didn’t give you an instructional exercise consequently. You meander around me think I waste money. You get up and move through my knees. You don’t have your own particular manner through my body. You don’t have your own passages, you’d veins as though they’re your very own Blackwall Tunnel. They don’t need to speed you don’t need to escape the way the white platelets. The huge science won’t assume control over it with in my veins. There’s nothing in the method for you. There’s nothing in the amazonian wilderness that would contrast with the white platelets that you so effectively avoid when you’re getting up in the first part of the day, encompassed by the divider blood of my inner parts. In this region we consider ourselves the general population of nomansland now many individuals didn’t care for that definition. Many individuals imagined that in Europe you could call something that, however I considered it that here, in light of the fact that I am in Europe truly. In the event that the subject of is set in Windsor, at that point we don’t have to remain quiet about alluding as individuals that live in the wilderness. On the off chance that we are as yet living in Windsor, at that point what is this waterway we’ve been careering down throughout the evening. Who are these local people, and where do they truly originate from. There’s no space to keep the sledges outside. The radioactivity would leave a float vessel remaining steadfast. Yet, a sledge wouldn’t endure the radioactivity, should it discover’s out of the mouth of the passage. I thought we consented to escape the mouth of the passage you need to initially move beyond both assistant. You never disclose to me why there were two gathering is cited in your announcement, when I’ve been at gathering not twice and I obviously seen that there was just a single assistant, working one mechanical r. Is it true that you are revealing to me that the mechanical are is additionally an assistant? Provided that this is true, at that point I had a large portion of my face gouged out by assistant. I don’t recall consenting to that. I thought it was a mechanical are intended for the formation of extremely sharp edges, and in that sense it helps me to remember the Vietnamese are cleaning that I’ve served in transit here before this story started. In the event that I had half of my face while out under falsifications, at that point I figure I’ll do a type of pay, from whoever it was Who Fell to him for me that the mechanical arm it was working at time was in reality an assistant, no more qualify I’d the secretary working it. However, I surmise that may be my very own suspicion, to state that the second secretary was any less qualified than the first. It’s a supposition I made dependent on not thinking about that a non-human could be acknowledged into any scholarly program where they would meet all requirements to function as a secretary, toward the finish of their investigations. I need to concede I’m not from round here, so I wouldn’t generally know one way or the other if that was valid. However, on the off chance that the case a mechanical arm can qualify as a secretary in whatever nation we are as of now in, accepting that we are not in the UK, where Windsor is. At that point I’ll acknowledge that it may be the situation, not certain, however may be the situation that I wrongly guarantee to have had plastic medical procedure done all over by an under qualified automated arm. On the off chance that the case the mechanical vehicle at capabilities past that of a straightforward secretary, at that point I’ll surrender that it’s maybe obvious that the medical procedure was not the slightest bit unlawful or exploitative. Having not much to do. However, at that point I assume in light of that you could state that I didn’t give the machine any guidance, and how was the machine expected to know the my consideration for it was for it to just clean my ears. After all I had done was observer it down only piece of shake out of the side of the mountains, and afterward connected to a processor so as to design it into the state of an extremely sharp edge. Presently any mechanical are having done that too couple of thousand x already, would have no motivation to accept that if I somehow managed to supplant the stone with my ear waterway that what I really needed to occur with the cleaning of my ears, and nothing increasingly generous so I assume in that situation, I would have been simply the person who is careless. You could even contend that I was careless of mechanical arm, and hence the automated arm with have a lawful argument against me for the agony and trouble it endured in applying a superfluous activity to someone who place themselves in the method for their activity, they’re just set of working responsibilities, of doing the generally innocuous undertaking of escaping Rock from the side of a mountain and making extremely sharp edges out of it. A serious serene activity, I was every one of the seasons of this mechanical on has some type of man-made reasoning, however accepting that, at that point I’ll expect additionally that this sort of employment for an automated arm would be very all there might be repetitive, a significant loosening up approach to spend your working day. Presently, delicate sort of man-made brainpower, may likewise conclude that they would prefer not to play out any sort of medical procedure on an individual, since it’s absolutely out of their set of working responsibilities and it’s something they wouldn’t be happy with doing. It could even be that such a mechanical I’d locate this entire task totally unpleasant, and even to the point where they would feel unfit to work. In what manner can a man-made reasoning on, turn itself off? Or on the other hand did the researcher who made the computerized reasoning autocom put a few sorts of safeguard off switch, they kept the AI unit from turning itself off? In which case I could be sued for a ton of cash, not only for the worry of working reluctantly on a person. This counterfeit I could sue me for harms for all the additional work it was compelled to complete after it did the task, under the pressure and misery that I caused it when I caused it to work on me. I don’t have the foggiest idea how I would safeguard myself against such a lawful case, that will be so watertight as to be conveyed by me as the respondent, indicting myself with my very own hypothesis that would begin as how I was an unfortunate casualty, yet end up for train the culprit, at any rate in my story, of the heart to me. It would finish up painting an image that made me resemble the Aggressor looking like to a greater degree an unfortunate casualty. That would be a finished misuse of court time, even to the point of not requiring a judge to give any sort of decision looking into it. I would have abridged my very own case by outlining that I didn’t have one. Presently can a mechanical arm be in charge of that, no I don’t figure he can. The mechanical arcade at that point proceed to sue me for bringing an absurd claim against him. Presently I have another host of claims to battle with. I have the claims identifying with the activity where a large portion of my face was evacuated however at this point I likewise have the cases identifying with me squandering the computerized reasoning units time, by causing them to go to court for a totally ludicrous court case. At that point he could likewise sue me for loss of profit, in light of the fact that the time it took for him to go to all these court cases that I put it through, would have been protected on his salary due to not have the option to invest as much energy at work. I don’t have the foggiest idea if man-made brainpower fit the bill for the lowest pay permitted by law, however accepting a lowest pay permitted by law of around £7 every hour then I figure I would be into a considerable amount of obligation if this case was to keep running over into a couple of years, particularly if its worry made the Artificial Intelligence mechanical arm unfit to work notwithstanding when the court case wasn’t being heard. You at that point have the choice of adventure time. In what capacity can a mechanical on movement to and from Cork, with no help? They plainly can’t. So they should have a partner, and who might be in charge of their expenses? I surmise that would likewise be me, if I somehow managed to achieve this fake claim against the mechanical r. So I would not have just a single individual to redress but rather I’d need to make up for the partner at all so squandered their time heading to and from the court. Also, shouldn’t something be said about the petroleum expenses, and they mileage on the vehicle. They could suit me for that too. There isn’t generally any purpose behind me to indict this, I’m beginning to think, so will we simply acknowledge the radiation can go past the gathering as long as it goes past with the secretary consent? It didn’t cost anything to tune in to my case did it? The radioactive half-existence of my advantage has gone passed more than twofold. So I believe that leaves that my advantage has now terminated, and is it not as much as that of the radioactive waste. I’ll be calling the radioactive Greenlight squander? Is it offending to do as such? The children are moving on the floor consummately content with them radioactive green light around. I’m thinking about whether those peas truly were green, or would it say it was only a green light considering them? Did it make a difference to the children in the event that they’re being entered by Greenpeace? I question it did without question. There’s nothing left to ask the Elders, if the Elders rule the rest. Possibly we should put a portion of this man-made reasoning to the genuine test, and let it go through the day sitting out in the sun alongside the wall. May listen the flying creatures with occupation it’s memory. Possibly tuning in to some Western popular music would help restore their energetic appearance. The fine art they go through throughout the day gazing at doing only make me feel more established. Only making them set aside a lot of effort to think about something over the top. They must state one way or the other if man-made consciousness will be in give it additionally structure. The Auditorium didn’t have any, except if you going to check That cow Like development. An Auditorium built like a cow? I drank how I thought. A cow have been given an excess of work to do. A dairy animals who’s evenings have an excess of extra time, cause I can’t rest, since they’ve been buckled down. Buckle down you can’t rest. Given so much liquor you can’t drink it any longer. Nothing to avoid the grass nothing to gaze at except for the children St peashooters that you. bounce out the manner in which isn’t flawless vehicle, it’s since I can’t be irritated any longer. Do you reprimand represent not being a workhorse? They didn’t have any of these cows down in the Laboratories they didn’t have anything like it. My solitary reason to escape this gathering, as I didn’t have to address the lab colleagues any longer. How might I persuade my group of spectators in the Auditorium that I wasn’t accustomed to having such sort of individuals sticking around me, and making an irritation of themselves. The children in the Auditorium all they realized how to do was to talk. The grown-ups for the ones doing all the yelling. They’re yelling at me while I was standing quiet at them. Prior I thought this is on the grounds that they’re the majority of my ring me, yet I believe they’re altogether disappointed. They didn’t stop to make proper acquaintance when I put them onto the pontoon. It took a considerable amount of work to put turn that pontoon round it took a considerable amount of work to turn it round when I didn’t have the direction once my legs have gone past the reeds I was clinging to. You can’t hold tight to reeds and push a vessel in the event that you don’t have anything to push against. You can’t push against peruses there excessively feeble. They don’t have a, dislike a cow. How much simpler it was in the times past when all I needed to push against was a cow. They state cows rest standing up on you can go up to them when you’re flushed and drive them over. When I endeavor to drive a dairy animals over, the main thing I fell over with myself. It was if the dairy animals was a tree and his legs had monstrous roots that went down to the surface she couldn’t see. The breeze would blow a dairy animals so it would twist around the years and it would been to such an inconceivable looking point. It looks so incomprehensible in light of the fact that you couldn’t see the roots underneath. You couldn’t see the that twisting around tree was really a c shape sliced down the middle by the dirt. The dirt doesn’t course. The dirt doesn’t extend. Roots root. Roots travel. They’re making a trip to the state of the ocean bass explorers the state of the size they don’t have Laboratories stowing away under them like the various children do. The children in the other school nearby to us have spiked metal among us and them. I thought we were terrified of them similar to the elegant children, however no obviously different children been called up osh children are insane people. They won’t go anyplace close us. The security fencing has extremely sharp steels that point towards the outside, not towards within. You don’t figure they don’t confide in themselves not to scale appreciate the life of the rich children. You don’t see them needed to move out like this is some celebration. There’s no music in the rich schools. There’s not something to fear on the off chance that you don’t need to tune in toward the Western guitars. Where the peashooters now? Where are they? They guitars aren’t stowing away in the amazonian wilderness? It is safe to say that they are? It didn’t take long for the tutor to turn up and see who has the propensity that I can emulate. The tutor of the land has nothing more to do, so now she’s endeavoring to emulate the activities of the towns. She administers the towns, doesn’t she guide them? Well she would yet everything she can do is take a gander at their she resembles governments impersonating her constituents. All she realizes how to do is to rehash back what she supposes every other person is going to need to hear. What’s more, I state rehash, since she tunes in the bars to what individuals are stating. She’s a genuine lawmaker. She realizes what to do is to simply record a discussion the bar, and press play When She’s in the parliament. She realizes that nobody will pose an inquiry, that won’t have any effect to the general race. The pea shooters full scale now. The Western discussion has transformed into that of the man-made consciousness Brigade. The Artificial Intelligence was she put into the mechanical arm. That was my situation. That was only a hypothesis. The computerized reasoning doesn’t exist in this research center, since like more often than not today around evening time recall, I’m recollecting a period in my childhood. There wasn’t any man-made consciousness in my childhood. These mechanical arms are much the same as those old now vintage retro squad cars, however I recollect well driving around the boulevards like they were simply made yesterday. In those cases they most likely were. The police of a protein look like Barbies. They would not like to state where’s my significant other? Where’s my Ken. What are they searching for what are they searching for other people and medications to get high with. What are they searching for on the off chance that they’re not a policeman and they’re not a Barbie. sister doll what do they do in the event that they’re not only a toy a tyke plays with, and afterward tosses a side in their play Pen. The Barbie dolls were strolling around like policeman in my childhood. They never had an arm to twist. They never had a knee joint. They are level footed however they weren’t police. They weren’t notwithstanding riding around in their autos on a Saturday evening around College. Why I recall school is a Saturday evening thing. School was just Monday to Friday. It just appears as though the sort of spot that I would have been at ends of the week. Changing from correspondence concentrates to brain science to business concentrates and afterward deserting every one of those subjects to think about stoneware photography and some GCSE tests I got him. I’m angling around for some man-made reasoning, however all I assemble is increasingly more fish. Increasingly more of these futile fish fluttering around at my feet. I don’t have the foggiest idea in the event that I ought to delicately take them over into the water, having been on my snare I don’t know whether there’s any point now. You should eat them. There isn’t significantly more to do when you’re kicking around radioactive fish, other than to help them along. I’m most likely all brimming with plastic globules at this point in any case. Light green plastic dots coasting around in my circulatory system be narrow minded individual living inside our veins, was white platelets. By what method can an individual mix-up with green plastic dot for a white platelet? Is it accurate to say that anyone is partially blind among green and white? There’s just the undeniable answer, and that will be that the red blood makes the white by one way or another reflect green if there’s yellow light going through it. So you believe you’re eating a white platelet, however it ends up being a plastic B that originated from a light green plastic sack. Folded over face of a dolphin, and now swimming through my veins like an addict in the huge sea of the amazonian wilderness. Are there any peashooters been terminated inside my body? Of the pea shooters all been sent to outside the body so they can proceed to be with the Elders? Every one of the children on the move floor didn’t appear to mind being shot stop it was in the event that they resembled in a Thai café, simply publicizing themselves toward the Western intellectual. They don’t have any enthusiasm for being inside my circulation system, anything else than I do. They have their own plan and it has nothing to do with the Farmers or it has nothing to do with the ovarian life. The draining ponies heads comprehend what’s happening. They’re discharging dust at the late spring show, and every one of the towns just idea they’re viewing the guitars play. The window ornaments fold over the back of the situation. The printer printing wipes. The falling light that shafts down from the dairy animals inside just makes it to the extent the bulldog clasps sitting on the tips of the grass. Left there by craftsmen simply sewing cigarette they couldn’t think less about what the children may exchange when they’re strolling around avoid in the cow taps promptly toward the beginning of the day prior to the sun is Risen. The sun comes up at 6 like it couldn’t mind less. How later you at the beginning of today I yelled at the sky. Not late by any means, you were early. Nature never instructed you to get up when it’s excessively dim. On the off chance that it’s dull that is nature guiding you to rest. Your eyelid to expected to ascend with the sun. Your eyelids should set with the sun. In the event that you copied nature more, you wouldn’t have green plastic dots mixing up themselves white platelets in your circulation system. Presently I’m giving the Beat and the sexual orientation of there are these plastic little dabs new man-made consciousness that that mechanical arm isn’t? The researcher in the lab may know. This may be a progressively mind boggling questions and the assistant can deal with, so I think I’ll give it straight to one of the general population in the radiation suits. Despite the fact that there could be remote ocean jumpers fall I can tell there’s nothing in their look that makes them appear as though they qualified to do anything. Furthermore, regardless of whether they were qualified perhaps this radioactivity flying around has played ruin with this evaluation. In the event that I requested that they tick a case to state that they’ve been here, would they disregard it or would they feel obliged to distinguish themselves. You expected to sign yourself into the wellbeing and security booklet ordinarily in any event so perhaps there’d be thoughtful to my solicitation on that premise, however these individuals that like Phil educated, I think they like scholarly instruction more than they like filling in structures they don’t got anything left to do yet feeling more structures, you need a pencil to fill in a structure. You need to go on vacation, you fill in a structure. You need to go to the can. You taken man-made brainpower mechanical arm with you and point it at the tissue. You trust it doesn’t gouge out half you and testing, as it did a large portion of my face. Saying this, I recall not given any guidance whatsoever to the Artificial Intelligence. I didn’t give any guidance whatsoever to this mechanical arm to do anything to my ear. However, it goes get out as though it was shaking the side of a mountain. My ear trenches clean since that was what a happened to put in its manner. On the off chance that I’d have held up my arm, it would have gout my arm similarly as cheerfully as it did my face. I don’t have the foggiest idea why it took such a large amount of my face away however. It’s at North Face away than it worked out the mountain. I think the gathering is more likely than not been liable of that. Secretary must have unobtrusively set the mechanical arm to gouge out more shake than ordinary. Or on the other hand possibly it was a delicateness of my skin that made it goes out additional. For a situation where the machine would have been advised to pass by affectability, as opposed to measurements. Or on the other hand even opposition or non-abrasiveness, may have made the mechanical arm feel that it had more to gouge out than it truly did. It may have thought this was coagulated water left over from some free his stomach precipitation. It took under 15 seconds to finish the activity all over, and thinking back on a long way from content with the outcomes. Despite the fact that I need to welcome the two most likely lead to me not being murdered by the amazonians, so such that awkward assistant spared my life. In any case, it doesn’t need to finish there. It doesn’t have the I must be a worker was the amazonians, in light of the fact that they happen to believe I’m one of them. Or then again some awful Western impersonation of what they are. In any case, at that point I take them to my nation, and see what they think about every one of these individuals strolling around with no carvings cut out of the focal point of their heads, around their ear trenches. They presumably wouldn’t be great what capabilities in the event that I demonstrated them to them. They were presumably think I was making a lot out of it. I mean I can just play guitar so much, and after that they’re going to begin being awed by my pee shooting abilities. I can a my peashooters that young ladies on the move floor, in the UK, however it won’t make any of them slip over and radioactive blood. I can’t put on the Dancefloor what isn’t there separated from Peas, before I go with it peashooter. Be that as it may, I could take some amazonian music with Me. Perhaps that would fuse a portion of the blood into the condition. So greenlit amazonian nature. Perhaps a portion of that radioactivity discovered its way up through the dirt into the foundations of the trees and into the blood of the amazonians terminating their piece. Each peashooter has in the long run discovers its direction right the world over. What’s more, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t notice any admonitions not to go anyplace close to the dairy animals. At the point when’s the PC to become familiar with it’s sitting around idly pursuing dairy animals, when there’s such a large number of increasingly other delicate substance things to stall out into the don’t have the snappy responses of a bovine is accustomed to avoiding chain carriages for its entire life. Is it accurate to say that we are prepared to go into situation 2 yet? I opened up this roundabout roll the Pizza Company so pleasant looking into the headings from the train station I was at which should have been on the Uckfield line at the same time, at the Windsor and Eton Central Station. I opened up the chamber and saw a white springy pressing material. I’ve just rung it and lifted up the top and it was some paint brushes. Some way or another I need a will for acrylic paint, however I don’t think this was indicated anyplace. I was very disillusioned to see them, since I was searching for the train course to the station I couldn’t recall the name of. There more likely than not been a serious look of frustration all over, and I have two or three companions with me who were endeavoring to help. Be that as it may, didn’t generally clarify where station was. This is Rachel. This was correct, or I ought to have been paid to me, on the grounds that there is a mark joined to the highest point of the chamber, dark colored paper name tied on with a bit of string, and it said to Paul in capital letters. Very little capital letters in the upper left hand corner, yet underneath it says from Rachel in a lot bigger letters. She twofold composed over the word from Rachel in gold glittery agony, and pink highlighter. It is unmistakably from a young lady, who is plainly an admirer. She offered it to me to look for with Valentine, and I can possibly envision would have been looking out yonder when I opened up presents. I feel extremely regretful now since I’ve looked so frustrated when I opened it up, and she probably been taking a gander at me. I didn’t have any acquaintance with it was a present. I thought it’d some way or another leaving my telephone when I was taking a gander at the headings to the train station, so I just look baffled since they weren’t bearings I was searching for. As it occurs, I truly do like paint brushes as a present. I can utilize them, it’s a smart thought, it’s a decent present for someone to give me. It was a mindful blessing from Rachel, considering we haven’t cooperated in the years. I didn’t realize she realized I was a painter. The more I consider this, the more blameworthy I feel, and the more grounded the picture of her taking a gander at my face being disillusioned and all that, you more likely than not been very terrible. It doesn’t make it simpler that I don’t have any method for reaching Rachel now. There’s no contact subtleties on the present. I surmise you should be truly bashful. This past the point of no return was I made for my past. Miracle young lady used to know in Windsor, who haven’t found in decades, so it truly wouldn’t be hard. In spite of the fact that the train station I mean both appear to be Windsor and Eton Central Station. Be that as it may, I am 99% persuaded that it’s the other way that used to take a shot at this manager with me in Ealing. I ordinarily have something of a memory of me and her being as one this train station, perhaps today, or potentially yesterday. My mum was altogether shot to pieces now. I can’t trust I can’t recall the name of the train station I ought to make a trip to show his young youngster to communicate in English. I’ve been going there for over a year, consistently or now and again every other week I go to this train station. I have the new St Margaret latched onto my subconscious mind, yet I realize that is not the correct answer, infant, can’t think about the name of the station I simply get some a greater amount of its prevailing in my contemplations. There are a few showers close-by, quite the station Park train station which individuals allowed to utilize. They men’s possibly showers, I don’t know whether there’s a different one for ladies, or they just give showers to me. Matthew Wilkie it’s quite risky environment. There’s many strolling around tails around their abdomens, however it would appear that the sort of spot you like to get thrashed. I was in another room, which is to a greater extent an open shared sitting area. I was in there taking a gander at the mentor, endeavoring to discover the train line with my stock is on. It’s so difficult to get all your erased seeing this man, it’s loaded with adverts. It’s very be in the outskirt and seem to have any edges. Your finger only pants on one train line which is on a topographical looking guide, what legendary Resembling the Wind. Political looking that would be a lot simpler to peruse, yet for reasons unknown they shrouded in Green Hill zone blue streams. I can’t see truly where the train lines are. There is some highly contrasting direct looking piece of information drawing superimposed onto the highest point of them out, however I don’t have the foggiest idea where the stations are, I can’t even image Ember the names of the enormous stations around the littler one I’m searching for. It truly is I’m searching for a train station you don’t have the foggiest idea about the name of your name after topographical guide that is difficult to infiltrate.. Around to help, however they don’t generally do without question. I can’t give them any some data, however there are at any rate attempting to help. I went to the woman a window, there isn’t excessively adorable, and I inquired as to whether she could some way or another assistance get my ticket to show this youthful youngster. She can’t generally do. She’s thoughtful to me despite the fact that she’s bustling accomplishing something different while I’m attempting to converse with her. There’s a companion of hers the opposite side of the window. They both big fat black ladies. Again all around benevolent and they assume I’m charming as it were. I rest easy thinking about my falling flat memory, and I can’t do what’s necessary with these two women to come clean. About the time around 10 years back now, despite the fact that it doesn’t appear that long, where I could recall my own. I was lying dead and I couldn’t recall my very own name. In any event that is the thing that I thought when I remaining at the window. Presently, thinking back, I understood it wasn’t my own name I can’t recall that day, yet it was my age. I have no clue how old I was. I was lying in bed thinking and 23, and 30 I still 90 I couldn’t recall that I hadn’t the foggiest how old I was. assessable birthday events. Do I turned 30? I would have been around 30 about this time, I think I was all that I’ve most likely around 23 years of age. Which was path more youthful than I truly was. It probably been very baffling to acknowledge sooner or later that I was in any event 5 or 6 years more established than I suspected. As I remained at the window conversing with the woman behind the glass, and heart conversing with the lady remaining by me. No she was plunked down, that is the reason, she was plunked down with her arm on the counter so she was at 90° ready to me so she would turn her head in her shoulder, to converse with her companion working behind the glass. I at that point attempted to consider things around the name, to attempt and get in a little bits out of my head. What was the structure I thought the kid, that is correct it’s his Chinese takeaway café. Obviously, is in Oxted. I pointed my finger towards the lady behind the glass, and I said yes it’s Oxted. Oxted is the station I have to get to. She was clearly glad that I recollected the spot I was endeavoring to get to. No stress over as Rachel young lady was an only ancient history. I would not like to inconvenience the decent woman behind the window, to make her print me out of my own ticket, when is splendidly working ticket machines I could do it without anyone else’s help on. So not having any desire to inconvenience her, I wanna to the collective holding up territory will I need a ticket machine was. As I did this I heard the train moving toward Windsor and Eton focal. It’s currently obvious to me that I am at Windsor and Eton Central Station. I ordinarily travel to Oxted by means of London Bridge, so I don’t know how I will arrive from Windsor and Eton focal station, or what amount was going to cost me. Be that as it may, I can just accept that is going to take me long time. Particularly on the off chance that I missed this train, since Windsor and Eton focal is the keep going station hanging in the balance, and prepares don’t leave their all around much of the time. What’s more, notwithstanding when they do they just accept me one stop the extent that Slough before I need to change once more. I wouldn’t have this issue in the event that I’ve just been reasonable enough to ask a woman working behind a window to demonstrate me ticket. It is her position at the genuine. Be that as it may, I have this Aspergers he sort of thing where I keep doing what I am doing, despite the fact that and I will be additional time effective so it’s not what I’m doing now and return and accomplish something different. This kinda need to oversee one activity to finishing before I begin another regularly causes issues. It is office issues for me when endeavoring to set aside cash. I won’t put any cash into stocks and offers until I wrapped topping off my excellent Bonds account £50,000. That is going to cost me a great deal of cash, on the grounds that the rate of profit for premium Bonds is averaging out of 1.5%, and on the off chance that I was going to put some cash into speculation ISA that was connected to the securities exchange, well in 2009 more seasoned presumably made over 30% premium, 2016-17 out of made over 15% premium. Be that as it may, this thing get done with completing one thing before beginning another medium as yet placing cash into this superior Bonds record despite the fact that I realize it is anything but a reasonable activity, and I’m conveyance attempting to be reasonable with my cash. Far to go before I come to the £50,000 target, so I need to drive myself to conflict with my tendency to wrap topping off my top notch Bonds account first, and simply begin putting customary cash into a speculation ISA on the off chance that I can get one from my bank I was just herself to the possibility that I am giving my top notch Bonds a chance to account simply sit, rather than developing it like the dazzling kind of a developing tree out of sight was, I need to forsake that. In any event attempt and legitimize to myself by believing that any rewards I make a speculation ISA, I can move to my exceptional Bonds account, and in this way it’s far and away superior for my top notch Bonds represent me to quit placing cash into it now, and letting the venture ISA be a feeder into the top notch bonds. On the off chance that likely the main practical load of each the top end target £50,000, and afterward I can begin proceeding onward with the following period of my venture technique. Be that as it may, by the by I proceed onto the ticket machine. It’s sort of inescapable that I’m going to miss this train, however it won’t be my train so I don’t stress over it to an extreme. I stroll into the way sitting area yet for reasons unknown I don’t see the ticket machine there. Possibly I was mixed up in believing that there was a ticket machine there. In any case, rather I meander into the shower room, yet like I said before is a pretty thing that expected to be, particularly in case you’re continuing ahead with your wallet to put into a ticket machine. In any case, it appears to be unmistakably there and again they smoke you. I’ve seen it would appear that an extremely out-dated thing, no PC or contact screen joined if it’s okay, Scenic into a stopping meter. Where was spots called hahaha that is the reason you see varieties with her refitting looking coin opening excellence sticky coins into some orange paint, the film from the 70s. I put some cash in what truly even recognize what I’m perspiring. I’m staying with you all. How’s the silver ones, and shoulder and see two individuals most likely about my age. For reasons unknown they age in these situations is in every case some place in your 20s, despite the fact that fundamentally more established than that now. We are companions, as well. Visiting to one another without about dimension with me. Delay over to him and said sorry there’s no young ladies permitted in this room. I understand he’s kidding. So I’m going to stop individual strolling, and state you’re not here for your lady. By his seat and he’s unmistakably a man. I trust I haven’t affronted him, or most likely end up getting rebuffed. The person goes up to his companions and they make a major joke of it, and I understand that im the one that resembles the thought once more. I gazed at the ticket machine I can’t be abandoned having the option to get the right ticket out of this thing. I continue disclosing to you the go around at the station I have to get his Oxted cos I will however on the off chance that I overlook again it will be so hard to peruse a number. I made a major ordeal in the event that the certainties on exchange take it off, at that point I can just conjecture that the train is left at this point. The reasonable activity with the return to the lady at the window. Simply ask her to a ticket to refresh, yet for reasons unknown I can’t. I’m going to proceed on this trailer conduct where I’m leaving her and I will get a ticket myself, through my own methods. I burn it I feel like looking at me from a distance. Still sad still heartbroken at the fact I didn’t hear her presents. Before I remembered Oxted, it’s worth pointing out that I did remember at least it was on the upper field line. So when I was asking people to help, there was a point where I was at least able to say is on the road to Uckfield. I even looked at the train map to Uckfield, looking at the names of the stations, but they all seem to be names of stations that were on the line. I want to print the list of trains on the line on this cylinder is cylinder list until the very end to the brushes.. Walked away from the two friends serious at trying to help, that I realised that there is a label attached. At the time. What causes to myself, I recorded it, and I said, that I thought it was a free advertising gift that you get when you download something. So, I think that’s what I thought. That would explain why some credit Russia’s just appeared out of nowhere. I don’t know I don’t see the label. The singer scenario lasso.

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Fisher

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Interrogator, one of the kids Ol Fishers mum babysits out in her barn knows Underling’s her favourite. Nothing of the inner engravings though, other than the sounds they all make clanging against each other when she’s out ringing that bloody thing before, and for some reason, throughout dinner. The other kids are told about its engravings, the parts each play. They’re given dances, sequences to fill their days with by Ol Fishers mum, that’s her, the one to remember. Ol Fishers mum, the dinner lady come Braithwaite, the girl that started at school the only one. An only girl at school would always end up head chef. So Ol’ Fishers mum became Braithwaite when not in the village. Mother of the author and putter of Underling in front of the tree suspended invigilators Shin Detonator brought an end to the Deans run incharge under the soil. That’s all history now. Braithwaites back in the village full time, and the school’s moved on. Full-time Ol Fishers mum busying herself now putting the two labs work first. Before even, her duty as a mother. Edgeworth’ll look after the kids in the dorm ok. He gets initiated out in the field. Your bullied kid takes him out when the others are asleep, and from there on it’s just the spectacle of steaming trains spinning past and ducking bullet splinters from the new decking.
Your bullied kid: “The decking’s all opened up now Edgeworth. There’s a two hour window ta gather supplies before the next shift’ll have to come along and start nailing it all down again.” Ferrying instructions between the big and small science, for example. Everything the inner engraving’s do’s in service of keeping the two sciences apart. Like the schools and the farms, and those little shin deteonators undermining the soil. Because Interrogator hasn’t been told, he’s been chosen to gather information on how small sciences move between school, the school Underling’s at, and the village. A village further out the school grounds than the one the party boat people spend their weekends in, and so unknown to the school, or anyone associated with it. Likewise, the villagers know nothing of the school. Everyone deemed to have ripe enough libidos have been hooked up in their sleep and drained out through the thread, back in shin detonators pots. Villagers don’t know anything about anything. The holes in their arms are just bites from bugs they must think only come out at night. They got used to the idea of inner engravings living inside Ol’ Fishers mums bell, so the bite mark theory isn’t that surprising. No mention of sex can be allowed in the farm or the village. Or the school, if you’re one of the kids living in the village. The sciences of big and small’ll be brought together at the right time, at Ol Fishers mum’s instruction, over the course of theatre plays she producing, where the village can all get their lives back. Apart from Ol Fishers mum, who goes by the name of Braithwaite in the school kitchen, and the owner of the music repair shop. Apart from those two, and now the kids Ol Fishers mum looks after. All the kids, except Interrogator. Interrogator’s kept in the dark, and’s the only kid sitting to the immediate right of Ol Fishers mum, Ol Fishers mum being right handed. The Interrogator’s trying, but’s of no use to Ol Fishers mum. Interrogator’ll be reduced to prompting the stage at this rate. A play without script, he only has to sit there and sop up blood in his shirt for the three small science performances. And for the big science performance, just sit there, and not get any fluid in his shirt at all. His own sweat’s small science enough not to worry about in the eyes of the village.
Ol Fishers mum: “Don’t get any of your sweat in your shirt.”
Dinners last half an hour unless it’s Interrogators crab. Catching the fleeing inner engravings, which shouldn’t be too difficult’s his only job. Interrogator isn’t allowed to eat at dinner. He’s there to catch. Let the engravings, the ones making it past the bell handle, land somewhere they’ll stick on his face, so at least when he’s prompting from down there, on stage, the actors of the big science play’ll have some small science matter to refer too, in the absence of the bleeding horses head they have in the other three.
Ol Fishers mum: “Prompters are never needed in small science plays ‘cos small science has the pollen.”
Interrogator: “What? There’s nothing saying that in Drama class! You weren’t the same Braithwaite teaching us. She said, as there isn’t any intended bloodshed in the big science show, you don’t need a prompter for big science productions. You lied to us!” Bloodshed releases pollen scent, and the villagers’ll have enough of it to deal with in the other three shows. There’ll be enough floating in the air of the fourth to save one more poor horse from having the kids having a go at it.
But Interrogator isn’t there now. He’s running an errand for Ol Fishers mum, mining information out the local station master. The train station nearest the village. The school has the Dean supervising the undersoil world, as the village has the station master sending out the empty carriages at night. His only shifts are at night, after the last trains have cooled down and are waiting for sunrise.
Interrogator: “I can’t smell anything in the foyers tubes anymore.”
Ol Fishers mum: “No one’s asking you to bloody smell anything! Just look out to the tracks, and count the carriages. Quick! The station master’ll be back from the toilet soon. He’s pulling up his zip. These’ll be spinning down the banks soon enough. If you can’t even count em standing still, my dinner bell’ll be ringing till morning, and getting the markers up, and for all we know, getting them back on their normal sleep schedule.”
The markers have been stalking the barn for weeks. Some make it as far as inside Ol Fishers mum’s bell, but to date, none have managed a grab at a single engraving. The engravings get right up in the top, past where their elephantine fingers can scrape at. It’s enough to look around, and just tell me and rest of the barn “Can you count the carriages from anywhere in the station foyer?”
Ol Fisher’s mum’s getting rather tired of Interrogators uselessness. Interrogator’s brother’s been sniffing around in that crutch for a good twenty minutes, and turned out nothing. Sent in, he’s been, with a lot of belief and in much confidence.
Ol Fishers mum: “The foyer, Interrogator. Pay attention to the foyer!”
Interrogator regroups his thoughts, and focuses as he’s told.
Ol Fishers mum, nice and slowly: “How many carriages can you smell?”
Ol Fishers mum watches Interrogator answer without once taking breath. Not through mouth or nose. In preference over a lot of the other barn kids, Ol Fishers mums pecking birds’ll be sent in that station. The kids have known for a while now: Ol Fihers mum’s too old to hold small and big scinces apart. Too old for looking back at her days as Braithwaite, school chef. She’d been at that school a while by the time the undersoil world needed pulling up into Underlings life. “You can’t smell anything without drawing breath.” She tells him. Announcing that he can’t smell anything in the foyers tubes anymore, this to Ol Fishers mum was the Interrogators last definite sacking offence. He’ll have to be pulled apart.
Ol Fishers mum: “Give him to the horses.” She tells his brother. So it is, Interrogator’s now horse food. His brother’ll take his place in the prompters pit. Interrogator’ll return to the village as small science, but not in the play Ol Fishers mum wants him to. Ol Fishers mum wants Interrogator to puff up in the second small science play, with the flowers and the bees. But Interrogator’s brother won’t prompt the actors properly, and’ll puff him out the leads pocket flower in the first. Interrogator, murdered as he is by his own brother’ll sat pretty at the top of the village hall, floated up in the small science breeze of the open barn door, watching his brother shout lines to the audience in frustration of the small science actors ignoring his prompts.
“Interrogator, tomorrow afternoon, you’re putting on four performances for the village.” Ol Fishers mum announced all this to the rest of the barn months ago. Big and small sciences are to be separated no more.
Interrogator: “Governess Fisher, tell us, ” He thinks they’re all just getting the news. “What makes small science pollen behave for you? You think putting on a play’ll bring everything to order? You think them dumb villagers’ll get whiff of unified science in a town hall?”
Ol Fishers mum pulls the station, the one closest to the village, in front of her crowd and stuffs her Interrogators nose, taking some care to angle both nostrils deep in the foyers crutch, and up to where her eggs shoot out the small science scent.
Ol Fishers mum: “Count the carriages hanging round the foyer!” She gives hard orders, this woman, still gripping the back of his head, bending his neck at its base, she has to ya know, if she’s to face him at its ovaries. He has a face like a torch.
Interrogator: “I smell four Governess.”
Ol Fishers mum: “Four carriages?”
Interrogators hair slips out Ol Fishers mum grip and gives him a ricochet shove between the back of his shoulders. The foyers automatic doors shut behind him, keeping out any interferring small science movements in the breeze outdoors.
Ol Fishers mum: “Interrogator Three trains’ll ride past, and what the onlooker cows’ll make of it, won’t be looking to derail’em, or spike the tyres, but if anything to steady the first few back on course. Then wait ya time Ol Fishers mum said till ya see the pecking Underlings dipping their beaks down between the wheels. None of em like being hidden behind Ol Fishers pecking bird, but to be sent scattering around the field in pieces is worse still. Each dips its head for a bit more grass every time a carriage shuttles past. Blowing the winds up its neck, with gaps in the train. Between the carriages against their necks and the small science breezes coming through the windows go straight into the eyes, as if from straight in front with a hand fan and making’em blink daisy eyelashes at The Dean in the soil. Ol Fishers mum can set her clock by em pecking cows as long as the trains run on time. Like they do under the Dean. One cow for a joke, lines up his family in view from behind the pecking Underlings in Ol Fishers dashboard and waits till the member’s completely, Moose & Chairs begins here, hidden. Pecking in metronome unison with Ol Fishers dashboard Underlings. Drive every passenger home, back to brink, on cliff face they all set off. Between each mahogany lined carriage’s a separate room only ticket inspectors know about. You’re not spinning between cows yet. A huge lot, taking Goat Owners begins here, out Ol’ Fishers mums decking. tops of decking wince, pulling their moonlight filled pupils from atmosphere. Small science records drop in pan evaporation in labs under a slope. Ol’ Fishers stash bellows through inner decking, crusts and central magma, to earth warming winter above. first ticket inspector enters first of secret rooms.
First ticket inspector: Tickets please!
Contents: We’re kidnapees already. You told us we’d be skidding around in mud by now. What’s this out window? Nothing but gently passing trees. I thought you said they’d be closer up. They are. But she’s sat much too far away. Go and nestle up by window more. rooms in carriage expand out a couple of miles before they’d be squashing up against door wall. Floors nearly tunnelled through, we’ll have escaped before pecking cows are back in sync with Ol Fishers dashboard bird. If there’s only one, we’ll have to climb out one at a time. You saw no rain did you? Wait till we’ve derailed again onto circle tracks, and then when on an in-sync round, maybe another’ll drop through between wooden sleepers and wait for rest. Ol Fishers mum watches the rain storms like an old woman seeing if the villagers have arrived. A villager falling from the sky won’t know why they got caught up in a gap between the sciences, but’ll find themselves in her hay and cow fields nonetheless. A baby telling the spring’ll know when rains coming. It knows when rains’ll end. It makes a sharp turn on the tracks where the points got carried left in the babies last frost. Frozen villagers all stepping up to the house from the barn’s garden. Nothing under the soil here to pull up. The villagers, weren’t in the garden though. Was just their voices. Ol Fishers mum supposes they came from the cows. A villager talking in the field won’t happen till they’ve be rained down first. The good thing about the villagers round here, is she sees them coming, and hasn’t seen any yet. Looking after the bullied boy doubled her staff in one night. Now, it just ain’t Edgeworth pulling up decking at night. From the clouds a villager’ll see a team of carpenters on the decking. Will look much more likelier story than ol Edgeworth on his own. With the barns roof holding strong, the clouds give no view of the bedroom. The kids in the barn have no view of the decking at night. No one person knows the sleeping times on her son and your bullied kid friend, other than Ol Fishers mum. That’s the way things are to be kept all through scene 1 of the last play. Scene 1’s a call for the exit. The audieces shirts’ll be infectious only as long as it’d take scene 2 to be over. Underling, you hear, get them out early.
Ticket inspector: Why d’ya need to hide from a pranking cow? Ol Fisher don’t even mind, even if cows told him, and he were to believe it. There’s no trouble being immigrant on Ol Fishers farm. He’ll put you all to work. Put y’all in his shed. We’ll be out as you pass over Ol Fishers mums decking. Split in two from hanging their waists with its knees muddied. Both sciences cross from one to the other only when the horses and cows are treated like dogs and cats. It played out in rugger soil and’s results seen in how it changed the scores between the kids playing for the cows and the kids playing for the horses. For a true result, Ol Fishers mum gets rid of the ref and linesmen, pulling up Thread from the school like trip wire pulled out of view instantly by tieing em all on passing inner engravings. The ones missing the bells handle.
First ticket inspector: £20 please.
Contents: Each?
First ticket inspector: No. £20 each for the playing fields Thread. Who you thinks Ol Fishers mums going to make more Thread from? Making those two communities one took miles uprooted from the soil. Keeping em together’s twice as much a year. Each year turning each spool into the managing organism keeping watch over it all. It won’t be much for you lot to be thrown in and darned out to her barn. You can pay the fare in napthol red dye cos I’m a marker. Not one of them invited in Ol Fishers mums dorm.
Ol Fishers mum: “Just keep it down in your gullet boy!”
Your kid: “No way miss. What, cos you kicked out my bullies, you think I’m keeping this down?”
Ol Fishers mum: “Down and out. Take some inner engravings out, there’s too many coming in, and the days of me holding back when I’m ringing you all in for dinner are over. You’re keeping the news down, and the inner engravings soaked.”
Ol Fishers mum may have looked at widening the base of that bell handle of hers, but when have these kids ever pulled their weight. If any could fashion a decent enough handle out the fence wood, ok, one mightn’t have to be picked to swallow her formula. But kids can’t. A grateful kid can at least keep their food down, at least take a bit of humiliation, so in goes her paper. Your kids taking it.
In this first remark the first ticket inspector gives himself away as one of the diagnosed cows the bullied boy from the dorm window invited in. They’ll break the rules, the markers, to get at those inner engravings. The big science methods catch up with the small science, but the small science’s more nimble, clawing up the bells innards. The twins scream all this out at Ol Fishers mum but she’s too distracted playing Braithwaite in the playing fields. Small science gives any big in its path away to the ground. It won’t just be to pull em down, big don’t know any better. They copy reflections the bullied boy sees in the cows. Some stand out to boys. He’s still on an excited edge from seeing his bullies kicked out, so back he goes, Ol Fishers mum about the fake cows sleeping next to him. Ol Fishers mum pushes a sheet of rolled up newspaper down into his stomach. She tells him to keep it to himself. Not even my son’ll keep the big and small apart, given the chance. This is for you and the cows. There’s no better time you’ll have here, than at night now. It’s just you staring over at your cows sleeping right where that new girl was. The cows brought in some of the ticker tape caught in the grass with them. Everything that comes in this house is like a disease. It gets put on you, has to be noticed by Ol Fishers mum, well not now you’ve got her paper. So like Ol Fishers mum decided, in go the inner engravings. Don’t the tubes into your kids stomach like lemmings they are. All corroded when they come out. Ol Fishers mum plans for a virus in her formula. The cows’ve been carrying loads. The barn has em, inner engravings caught generations and generations back, not even wiped out by the sun. It’s a simple barn and life, but a specimen of everything, and control experiments for every portal where small and big science may skip a bridge, and start jumping over to each other of their own accord, is done. To detail. The ringing of the dinner bell isn’t too hard or soft. The pulling up of the decking every night, who’s blamed now Ol Fishers son’s excused. No, he can’t be pulling up decking all night if he’s working all day. Ol Fishers mum put her formula in him too did she? Ol Fishers mum can’t make Thread out of all these extra inner engravings getting under everyones feet. Buckled, or corroded once they’ve been through the guts of her two new underlings, there everywhere. No one has to be killed for Thread, of the ol cow’ll us the inner engravings. Rather, even the cows in the field. It’s even her cows. Her field. What’s she keeping them all for? For your bullied kid to stroke and feed when he’s lonely. That’s all. Bullies gone, but still looking out for people. We get through to her through the neighbours. She don’t listen to anyone else. No one in her barn. None from the village can get anywhere near the station. It’s not the barn moving away from the village. Not even the two of them moving further apart. It’s the village moving. Just the village. She’s no interest moving the barn way from everything else. It’s only necessary to keep the village, not only from the barn, but from everything. A villager in a carriage is, potentially, a villager spinning through her field. Landing in her hedge. With her inner engravings. She wants to keep the villagers out her property, she can’t have carriages skiddin’ across her fields with villagers spilling out. Trains are for townsfolk only. Now two kids have it, so she did. Edgeworth, and your kid. Ol Fishers mum set of for the teachers in the hills. Inner engravings feel a different ring. A different distance between themselves and the ground. Doesn’t help, even with the slower ring, as by the time they’ve re-thought they flight from the outer tip of the bell to the barn, the base of the handels still the same, so with everything else changing but the handle, their jump does too. Jump one hits the prompter. The time it takes to replan’s the same time between Edgeworth and the kid exchanging bell ringing duty. Jump two lands in the crowd. The inner engravings can’t plan. Jump three has to be for big science, as four performances, all laid out to demonstrate Ol Fishers mums unified theory, can’t unify anything unless there’s at least one of each type of science. By the time they’ve planned for one, it’s back to the other. Jump four’s the pollen scent. Even nearer the ground, their flight into the base of its bell handle at same rate as before Ol Fishers mum leaves. Doesn’t leave many inner engravings making it in the barn, now base of the bell handle’s claiming more, there’s two stomach’s corroding them in the kids stomach acid, one doubts about who’s pulling up the decking, the other thinks he’s a criminal for doing it all behind Ol Fishers mums back. Not many’d try proving it in court, they don’t even shimmy there anymore. The more hungry they both get, the more they find Ol Fishers mums been weaving flesh out the Thread. “Please, take us out to the playing fields.” the rest of the kids plea with Ol Fishers mum. Other than her two clear favourites, at least twenty or so others are just left to sleep off dinner, then sent on their way home. Leaving the barns dangerous until they’re past the furthest point the inner engravings make it to. The roads all dust and ice berg bricks till, where the tarmac survives the corrosion of the inner engravings trails. From above it’s gradient leads Underlings to nose dive to the ground, looking like a deep crevice from any higher than the barns roof. Ol Fishers mums covered, as far out as where the Underlings start thinning out. After the last one, any kid’s sent out alone beyond there. Villagers stay at home. Inner engravings getting endangered. They meet at the top of the bell, deciding not to fly out for a few meals, and work out if one of their three problems might be relatively easily fixed. Finally putting the blame for the decking being pulled up firmly on Ol Fishers mums son. He can’t live without sleep, you reckon? Anyone seen your bullied kid sleep since having the same formula pushed down his neck? No, only twice the amount of decking being pulled up. So we lose a few more on the base of the bell. With twice as much decking shards lying around, we’ll make up for it there. We land at various times, and make sure we all sleep at different times of day. See, this is where the markers went wrong. They all sleep together. We have shift rota surveilance of Ol Fishers mums decking, and reckon there’ll now be two night time supply gatherers and one less cow stroker at work. Won’t go down well with the cows. They like a little grooming in the early hours. I see them getting on a lot better with us this week. The cows and the inner engravings’ll make a solid team.
Your kid: The markers are in the dorm, Miss. They got in. I can’t have you letting more bullies in, sleeping next to me.
Ol Fishers mum’s kind, so she kicks out the cows your kid points out to her. The one leaving for the train’s the only one sent to be a ticket inspector. There needs to be some left sleeping in the bushes if the carriages are to miss them out. Too many imposters from the markers will start their aboriginal training to kick in, and gravitate the flying carriages too close in to the proper bushes, and away from the safe brambles. The markers have this small science understanding from the teachers up in the hills. The markers, even knowing the small sciences dating back to visiting aboriginees, still don’t know as far back as your bullied kid. Ol Fishers mums learning from the kid, but the real cows do too. Like no kid ever asks why there’s new decking every morning. Now the cows know more than the markers on manipulating the small science, they know more how to find the markers, and stop chewing up the brambles the villagers sent them to. The villagers are the only ones missing out on all this teaching, moving Ol Fishers mums house further away from the neighbours. She’s growing an alienated community in and around her dorm, and the only way of the villagers telling, is if the notice their kids getting back from down later and later each day. They won’t notice before their kids notice they’re getting home more and more tired, so as long as not enough of them are getting bullied, it’ll only be the bullied kids that end up learning the pre-aboriginal small science Ol Fishers burial stash need to fit through the gaps in the decking, back up your bullied kids window, and joining forces with the inner engravings to fight back against the poor markers. Your bullied kids and your inner engravings’ll all have the small science knowledge. The carriages flying past’ll pick them all out. All the ones that don’t know. All the victims of the train crash were killed cos they didn’t know the small science. They didn’t see the moonlight in bulging eye’s, the spinning of inner engravings flying past the base of the bell handle. They missed all these things. Rust, can you hear me? You’re all put in charge of training up the inner engravings to flee the markers fingers. You hear me? Ol Fishers mum sounds more like Braithwaite when she gives orders out like she’s back at the school. She never had anything to do with the levitating teachers, so wasn’t any help to the inner engravings, when it came to dodging the base of the dinner bell handle. It’s becoming a more serious problem as time goes on, as the inner engravings remains are crusting outward towards the tip of the bell so much, there ain’t enough space to launch out at the proper angle. More are surviving the collision, but more are colliding, and of those colliding, more are getting stuck. Second generation fliers are eroding the crust back, the ones’ve been through Edgeworths or your bullied kids gut, the ones who for whatever reason find themselves back in the bell. It’s curing itself and growing inside the bell more small science information each time. Dissolved in the gut with the corroded inner engravings is the newspaper. One in Edgeworth and one in your bullied kid. Small science information can, not only work as airborn particles, but share itself less than one morsel at a time. They’re injested passively. The inner engravings inside Ol Fihsers mums bell learn the formula from her notes evaporation. Ol Fishers mum would be put under big science. Small science’s indepedant, it’ll adapt, you’ll see, with more evolution generations behind it to draw on.
Inner decking: Napthol red dye, or maybe I keep looking to moon. Looking to the moon sees nothing napthol. All white. Any markers have a problem with white?
First ticket inspector: You ain’t made enough of this play yet. You got one head, the Underlings mask any blood spilling off stage from the villagers. Moon whites just like any other colour. Not napthol. If you wanna cheat for the inner engravings sake, moon white’ll show up on the paper by the time the parcel’s reached the markers. Cockled paper doesn’t just re-shape, it re-colours. A moon white paper’ll be off white by cockling alone. Moon white’s off-white by dawn even without moisture. If you know what’s good for all of us, you’ ll pay your fare. Moon white isn’t napthol red. Napthol red’s not even blood red, not that the markers up in Ol Fishers mum’s dinner bell know. Too much time hid in the bushes, you forget your aboriginal stuff. You forget blood reds like rubine, not napthol. Pretty pink when it’s spread out over transparent plastic, but dried and crusty’s darker. It’ll look sienna brown alongside napthol. You wanna try paying for a ticket with moon white, you might as well try paying with rubine red, or prick out some blood and try and pass it off as your kids exam paper. Keep your townees in their carriage. Keep your villagers in the village. Every pollutant in the property’s only safe if Ol Fishers mum keeps their laws, the laws of big science. People bashing into each other like particles splitting the raindrops in the storm’ll rain heavy on Ol Fishers mum.
Passenger: You can’t pass anything off as your kids if there still at Ol Fishers mums having their dinner, sick of having to watch these plays to the end, she is. I brought those birds in from school for a reason, you know. It’s too long. The spores are all stale by the time the audience finally get out of here. It’s all running too slow! Fresh spores, fresh small science. It’s got to be alive when the audience leave or nothing’ll spread. It’s your duty Underling, or there’s no point you pulling up anything. The Threads there to be pulled, and you’re sleeping with the audience. Two hours they stay and play. Don’t tell me the engravings aren’t telling the ol girl to keep them there. Weathers money in the village. It’s money in the hills. The markers think they’ve come all this way to catch out the inner engravings. They’re better off smuggling themselves in under the decking and getting the weather chat off the kids in the living room before tea, and taking it back up the hills before Ol Fishers mum lets them out running to their nosey families. They’d make it back to the bushes for bed time before Ol Fishers mum makes it back down to the decking, seeing the kids on their way like she does. She a considerate ol girl Ol Fishers mum. Looks after those kids, she does. Not the cows so much, now their night stroker and feeders been put on decking duty. The cows call for an undersoil community, for the barn.
Ol Fishers mum: “How do you cows know of such a thing?”
Cows: “Small science travels in the air.”
Cows’ll run from a tidal wave, so guess some news from the playing field could’ve hit them. As long as it’s just the cows, it’s all as harmless as telling them they ain’t getting any undersoil nighttime help. No markers are pulling up too many wheels by the trains boot straps. Minding not to ruin her sons burials. Sometimes it’s useful bits for around house, but, this time of year, and with the babies mood not being in season change right now, it’ll be supplies, food rather. Real supplies. Carriage supplies. We’ll have knocked most of panelling at least, back together by time any of trains pull’emselves out Ol Fishers mums brambles. The markers are sleeping in the bushes when, moooo, the first carriage of spring flies past. Mooooo, and another. Who d’ya think planted em cows back there all those years ago? Someone you didn’t think’ll care much for Ol Fishers herd. Mooooo, the third carriage of spring finds the markers asleep in the bushes. Ol Fisher, you sent just the right number of carriages off the tracks. The cows are out eating up all the summer berries. Spring’s come back, when it was only here two seasons ago. The babies been fed wrong, and now autumn won’t happen till the cows are back on the tracks, and kidnapees make up with ticket inspectors. Braithwaite and her exam buddies? pecking bird has an interest in what game follows the kids acting out the two sciences. Ol Fishers mum pulled up the trip wire taking out any officials from biasing what the unified theory naturally lands, but you can’t take out the kids without anyone noticing, till the games over and they’re drinking on the party boat. The balls left on pitch by Ol Fishers mum. Not Braithwaite. In these parts its Ol Fishers mum. Her and Braithwaite won’t be reunited till after the fourth play when any unifiers left can do so without changing anything. The village’ll still be kept separate though. The kids’ll bring their families into the barn, the cows and horses’ll be eachother. Carriages won’t split from their trains no more. Ol Fishers son and your bullied kid’ll just have one on night shift and be able to sleep all day. A kid has to find a tool to use at night. Next doors bunker digger? It was me. It’s me seeing all this, seeing you’re better off sticking something in its path. Three carriages don’t hit any markers if you’re leaving the station at the time of day they’d just be waking up. If it means em seeing our carpentry, there’s not much they can do about it, all tangled up in thorns. Sloshing around pats. Without those bushes, ok, they’d be a good hundred yards further in black, but only if they happen to miss every tree trunk between here and where they’d otherwise roll till. Why give any trunk chance to save em? I stuck that bush at front. Planted it when I was two years old. Here I am, eight, first of five, and Ol’ Fishers mum can’t stop telling on how it’s her idea. Inner engravings already know all about it. She’d always ring till each had made it to the inside top, out the clutches of any marker’d been awake enough to get past the carriages, Ol Fishers mum, and time their jump inside the bell well enough. But when she’s counting, she dings the dinner bell slower and more regular. Whatsmore, she counts out loud when she counts. It’ll be three carriages Edgeworth. Three to keep em sleeping, and the mooing down low enough. Two carriages deep in the forest black. Cows ambling up the decking for weeks, depending on how far their carriage made it without hitting a tree face on. Inner engravings knew, so they’re equal with the markers. Got a bargaining chip at least.
Marker: “My hands won’t get up there. But should they anyway? What’d be left of us if there’d been four carriages.”
Inner engraving: “It’s not us making any decisions. We just recorded the three counts when she rang slowly for dinner. If it were four, you’d be sliced up by the wheels. You know that. But it’s no thanks to us.”
Markers: “We know, but you could’ve taken the credit. We’ll see you later.”
Nothing dropped between the wooden sleepers. So there you have it. How the markers and the inner engravings ended up on good terms. Credit to the markers, seeing opportunities like the cows did making it into the dorm. Was a shot to nothing for the inner engraving, and you might say, there wasn’t much the markers could have done, even if the inner engravings had tried to wriggle out under false pretences, but it’s heartwarming, not only that the markers gave the inner engravings the chance, but that the inner engravings didn’t take it.
Ol’ Fishers mum: ‘Don’t my brambles look lovely dear?’
Me: ‘Sure mum. Well done.’
My shards of train ridden decking, Ol’ Fisher runs along when he can’t find anywhere else to store his winters gatherings. Once, they all did so at same time. There was Ol’ Fisher, clawing away at varnish, having just started, when along came lunchtime express. trains scavenge around at night, sniffing and sniffing till breakfast. ‘Where’s hoard?’ I hear em ask each other. ‘Where’s Ol’ Fisher put his hoard?’ Could have been there earlier, when I saw Ol’ Fisher lifting up third plank from house, between front door and window to living room. That’s where Ol’ Fisher dumped his walnuts, not that train could smell em. They could if they were there, but being busy carting town between Muswell Hill and Highgate, I had time to watch Ol’ Fisher from Ol’ Fisher’s mum’s bedroom window. So that’s where hotpot sauce is. Not that Ol’ Fisher could make it tasty enough to call a sauce, but I know how. I can make a hot pot sauce from walnuts and golden frosty aftershave. Me and other kids, Ol’ Fisher’s mum, and if he joins us, Ol’ Fisher himself’ll be supping on my walnut sauce this and every dinner time, following late-morning’s/ early afternoons I can get to Ol’ Fisher’s hoard before sundown. Ol’ Fisher’s mum, you see, starts making hotpot day before, so train has night to beat me to it.
Until Ol’Fisher’s mum steps off last fence wooden step, thumping her spoon bell, calling time on our Swamp Adventure. Of course, no train really steams in on Swamp Adventure. It’s too cold. Train drivers prefer it in warm. Far too cold for Ol’ Fisher to rally off his rails, and for what? sake of hiding his dinner? Even if it meant never even seeing Ol’ bitch decking again, Ol’ Fishers mum wouldn’t be thumping on Ol’ fence wood, thumping her bell’s all she’s interested in. One bell toll for peckers. But do cows family hear it. Never. Ol Fishers dashboard’as more stood on it than dumb Underlings pays twenty pound to black sheeps of and cow herd’ll stay away from the horse at night. One bell tolls and no blip in peckers rhythm. Two bell tolls and then third has a rhythm of its own. If Ol Fishers mum tolls bell long enough, even these rogue trains can tell she’s locked further into nature than Dean, who’s supposed to be expert. She honed her skills with Damselfish Ol Fisher’s mum left out in playground. One flaps one way, another other. kids all get bored of em in a while, just like Ol fishers mum won’t bother checking under bell every time engravings kids step out of line either. And what about her? For what? For sake of warming serving spoons? No, serving spoons warm up, and soon, enough once dipped in hotpot. She’s good to the dinner. The markers are sleeping out in the bushes. The small science smells kicked out their sleeping noses by the aboriginal teachings. It’s only worth being so hungry when your hunting. A sleeper isn’t hunting. It’s no use being hungry when you’re asleep. Inner engravings work, sleeping or not sleeping. Markers aren’t. Examiners might. Napthol red doesn’t. You want your dye to show up answers, it’s in exam hours or wrong answers. She does it honestly enough, to let us know dinner’s ready. Dinners served up Dean of undersoil. No spring food’s to be found hiding in engravings hotpot. It might be too cold in the grass for you lot, but it’ll never be too wet. Ask the villagers the last time it rained round here. Ask the baby when rains due. It don’t rain here, but the passing trains are wet often enough. The kind of wet you know’ll dry off in two stations. Ol Fishers mum don’t just have the two staff, she’s got that baby as well. The villagers are at bay cos of Ol Fishers mums paranoia of what might turn up in the rain. Two young stomachs and an old head, you’d think could keep a secret. Why don’t she stuff another copy in her hotpot?
Markers: “It’s Ol Fishers mums hotpot!”
Other markers: “You’re waiting out here in bushes, and wait even smelling inner engravings hotpot?”
Marker: “No one told me there was two hotpots on the go. Not two kids out at night now.”
Other markers: “Put their sticks down! Pick yours up, but drive them under the decking properly this time, draw something useful. You’re competing against both those kids. One got bullied. There’s a direct path out Ol Fishers mums barn, and out into the playing fields. Ol Fishers mum allowed, no one else, going between the school playing fields and the barn. Then she goes and stuffs it all down those two boys necks. It won’t last. Braithwaite one day, Ol Fisher’s mum the next. Why’s only she allowed to be the two of them? Cos she’s twins as well? Inner engravings hotpot ain’t gonna smell the same as Ol Fishers mums. Put your end in the dirt, and draw out a picture for each. Can’t be too hard to split these two. If it’s napthol red in the air when inner engravings are letting the steam pass under their cheating fingernails, it’ll show up in the dirt when you move the stick. If it’s Ol Fishers mum, no napthol’ll be caught in her steam. Only if the cheating kids help with the cooking, but if we get the smell drawn out before they arrive home, we’ll know no cheating kids between us and the steam. Napthol reds the picture stroke’ll tell us if inner engravings cooking or Ol Fishers mum.”
Other markers: “What if they’re cooking simultaneously?”
They’ve got nothing. Only information. Ol’ Fisher once tried, back when he was food. Got nothing, without seeing small science. Got nothing’ll stop Ol Fishers burial stash. ‘Hiding to be found.’ Ol’ Fishers mum says, ‘He’s a scurrying Ol’ goat.’ Buried walnuts deep in our hotpot, and who’s to say if it were even winter. Ol’ Fisher’s mum didn’t taste any different, Ol’ Fisher not being much of a chef. But winter, or no winter, it’s a frosty morning, I remember. Ol’ Fishers mum had on her gloves as she smashed her bell, that girls gone. Rattle-tat-tat it goes. I guess is metal one. wooden one sounds like a big dull bonk. Ol’ Fishers mum held him in her arms when he’s a baby, but only ever remembers him stinking of spring. Ol’ Fisher was born in spring. Must have been a frosty spring, Ol’ Fishers mum says. A night of frosty spring. And so there it was, how Ol’ Fishers mum was said to have a baby who’d let weather out in an exam paper. You wanna know the weather, sit the exam. It’s the only part you don’t need the napthol red dye to cheat in. Everyone deserves the weather. Ol Fishers mum keeps churning out the kids at six year intervals to make sure she alway got one at school to tell her what to wear when she steps out on the decking. The inner engravings have to know as well, unless more rust’s made room for. One kid’ll bring the news to the village for sure, but not before dinner. Ol Fishers mum likes getting the news ahead of time. The only reason she bothers feeding the neighbours kids. Getting the news before the rest of the village involves, not only having your kid straight from school first, but keeping the others from their families a couple of hours too. Even the markers in the bushes got the weather before the rest of the village most days, even in their sleep it finds its way in their heads. Some of the aboriginal teaching on sleep absorption comes into play. They get taught more than they think up in the hills. He’d bring on seasons. It’s a frosty spring, every morning, when hotpot arrived. She came out with her metal spoon, scratched off a protective coat along patterned engravings of bells outer design. poisoning bell, it was. Sunk its claws deep in underside of spoon, it did, as I remember. Guests’d compliment Ol’ Fisher’s mum on how hotpot tastes of copper. Enough to make inner patternation of Ol’ Fisher’s mum bell jealous enough to bore through inner copper crust, endure central magma, feel cooling relief of outer inner crust, assuming perspective of inner patternation, and then gliding through upper soil. Stopping, you’d have thought, to enjoy Shin Detonator, since relieved of Dean’s tyrannical rule, but no. Straight past. Straight past Shin Detonator territory, and yes, at last, at base of outer bells engraving. Do they need claw their way up engraving, for a face-to-face? No, those confrontations are for likes of homosapians, neandertharls. Inner bell engraving need only pierce underside of outer engravings toes. Loiter around, encourage oxygen flow from their movements, small science, to base parts of outer engravings skeleton. Encourage em enough, inner engraving’ll flee back down tunnels, who knows? Maybe this time, stop a while, enjoy company of Shin Detonator. If not offended from being skipped first time round. Yes, flee, inner bell engravings can, flee back to inner bell, let outer engraving rust from their bases. You sit pretty in Ol Fishers mums dorm till your bullied kid catches the moon in his new friends eyes. So copper taste made it into our hotpot, no thanks to complacency of outer patternation of Ol’ Fisher’s mums dinner bell. Is it fair though? I heard from Ol’ Fisher, that outer bell engraving isn’t aware of inner patternation’s existence. Who’d be? Who’d bother carving patternation into inside of Ol’ Fisher’s mum’s dinner bell?
‘Can we have some summer please?’ we all ask baby. ‘And what do you think that’ll do to outer patternations rust?’ baby replies. Selfish us. Only thinking of wearing a few fewer layers, when outer engraving’s struggling to keep rust at bay. ‘At least give outer engraving a few more months to stem rust growth.’ pleaded baby. Not that it needed to, we can’t make baby get up some summer. ‘Ok’ we agreed. Selfishly again though, as we said it plenty loud enough for sound to travel out to bell, who was at time, being battered on decking again by Ol’ Fisher’s mum, it being nearly dinner time again. ‘I don’t want to upset kids.’ thought outer engraving, so got to it, with anti-rust work. Flocks of anti-rust were sent down to nether regions of outer engraving, and beat off, they did, much of advancing rust. And would you have it? They did it with same metallic spoon Ol’ Fisher’s mum was using to alert us all to dinner. rust tried a counter attack, and not having any strategy of their own, took a leaf out inner engravings book, and started digging through, first, outer crust, then magma, past Shin Detonator’s warrens, being careful not to ruin any of em, then outer crust, from their perspective, and out to advancing spoon cladden anti-rust warriors. Didn’t do em any good, as only ended up where they started, only more tired from having done all that digging. What to make of soldiers without a mind of their own. All kids, including me, watch the engravings unfold from Ol’ Fisher’s mums bedroom window. Resting on our elbows, we are. Some heads sticking out window so far, we land on the exam cheats decking. One of us, landing on an end of one of the planks Ol’ Fisher pulled up night before, when he hid his latest stash of red ink walnuts, sent it flying up like a rake a small person steps on, who’s so small it isn’t stopped by end of his nose. We all saw its rust, so retreated up with the examiners. It could lead to a much tastier hotpot, if they used food colouring, instead of the dye. The invigilators broke into song. Every word of it from papers they had to submit early. If they put rubine red in, for the cheats, it doesn’t show up well enough when it arrives at the markers. Ol Fisher put napthol in to blend it down. But it’s no use, unless you tell the engravers first. Ol Fisher didn’t listen to this when his mum told him, so the entire cohort lost their marks, and the invigilators had to retire in disgrace. Most of my engraving lines hid inside the bell. If a marker wants his hands on a line, he’ll have to break Ol Fishers mums arm to get his hands on her bell. A month long stake out. Three markers in Ol Fishers mum bushes sat there all night, not knowing dinner rings in the afternoon. Where the markers live, dinners in the middle of the night.
Your bullied kid: “At this play Ol Fisher” he only knows of one, the one the village’ll be at. The last of the four plays. “What rhythm’ll we listen out for the night before.”
Ol Fishers mum: “I’ll ring it slower before the villagers show. It’s not just the one show I have to put on. There’s ones before you’ll be on stage for. Ones without horses heads. Ones with no bleeding, prompter or audience.”
Your bullied kid: “I know miss. It’s three rehearsals then a play.”
Ol Fishers mum: “I’m not talking about rehearsals. There’s no rehearsals! It’s four plays, one’s already happened. The horses head let out the first batch of small science out into the audience. I’ve got three more. You can’t rehearse these things. Or you can, but you needn’t. The only part making any difference is the bleeding horses head, and that’s unrehearsable.” Shut off, they were, from the rest of the village. There’s is a different culture. It’s mostly from aboriginal trends, and the Australian ex-teachers, that had the biggest influence. It wouldn’t have made any difference, but they shut themselves off up in the hills. After two weeks stake out, they only caught her in the afternoon when one of them woke up early. Sleep out of sequence of one another! It has to be done in shifts. You’re all caught up in this togetherness high. You ain’t together when you’re all asleep. Someone has to stay on base.
Marker: “The dinner bells never woke us up! Not in two weeks of stake out! How can that Ol bag ring her bell like that, and not wake us up?”
Ol Fishers Mum: “Dinner! Dinner! My bell’s calling you all in for dinner!”
Markers: “It’s not dinner. It’s afternoon. I’m going back to bed. She won’t give us the newspaper to eat. It’s food or nothing if you ain’t on her staff list. Our aboriginal sides won’t remember in the morning. But staying on base’ll stick.”
Marker: “No, you gotta stay up. Aboriginal teachings aren’t any good outside the hill village. In Ol Fisher territory, the bells for afternoon dinner. Falling asleep, is a teaching back to small science. The village only know the teachings confined to Ol Fishers house, and out in her fields. You’re at square one with the teaching starting in the hills. The markers are only taught what the teachers in the hills know. The markers only know them as the best, as there’s no one in the hills knowing any better. Your bullied kid seems to know from before the hill teachers know. That must have got into the cows if we assume it’s your bullied kid climbing out his dorm at night. If it ain’t, it’s still gonna be a kid from the same dorm. The cows, you reckon, can keep it from Ol Fishers mum? You don’t think she’d tell her son? When’s that night thief sleeping. You reckon every inner engraving clambering up into that dorm stays on Ol Fishers mums gounds. Be nice and simple if they did. The village won’t stay ignorant long.” But they will, ya know. They’ll stay in the dark, and Ol Fishers mum keeps that house of hers, it’s more of a barn, at greater and increasing distance from the rest of the village knowing those tired ol inner engravings spend small science energy flying through, even the ones beating the base of the bell handle, land exhausted on the ground, and’ll be dead long before they can caterpillar as far out her state, way short of any of her neighbours. But what about the neighbours walking closer to hers? What about their pets, or the wild animals? The cows are sent to market. What about them? Ol Fishers mum knows her villagers well enough. But that’s her gap, it is, between big and small science. Inner engravings hold the small science, all those neighbours, animals and farmers are all big science. Ol Fishers mum keeps it all in her barn cos the bridge between small and big science ain’t moving. No neighbour’d think being flung through the air’d kill your energy like being pulled all day to the core of the earth’s not accounting for everything. Small science’d be thought to do it all for you, like gravity can’t pick and choose when it does all the work, can it? It’s to them, she wrote it all down for them, everything in the neighbouring villagers houses of big science. And here it’s left for the Shin Detonator to finally bother walking up to the music shop, get that ol exam paper, and see. Ol Fishers mum, Braithwaite at school she is, Ol Fishers mum keeps the big and small science separate in the villagers exam. What a run around it was keeping the exam papers split on this. But if Ol Fisher had her way really, really got what she wants, you’d move all your kids into her place, all your cows out the the slaughter houses and butchers, have it all under her watch at home. The big and small science are split for as long as Ol Fisher’s having to put up with the markers in the hills, the villagers and then you got that family at school living under the mountain and the Dean. One family there. Not going through all that again, but they got pulled together up out the soil. Ol Fishers mum atleast got them two together, but it’s a long way from having the two sciences brought together under one household. You might have known it, had you not been sleeping all night. Who’s measuring how much energy you’re making back in your sleep? You wake up with more. How much more? How closely has any villager recorded their energy against what they assume gravities doing for them?
For the first time the exam markers let their upbringing slip, and pulled on their trousers. Now we get that ol girl. We go up to her and pull that bell out her hand. The markers got far enough to be up the bells inside and up in the face of the exam cheats. Each engravings shifted up to the top. The markers finger ends are too big to grab them up there, so they have to work out a couple of things. One, are they up there of their own accord, or is Ol Fishers mum bell rattling shaking them up the top involutarily. Two, if their up there because they want to be, how are we gonna shave the ends of our fingers down enough to know when we grab them, if it’s their cheating dye we find, or our own red blood?
Markers: “You don’t think the engravings don’t already know that? You don’t think they hatched this little escape plan all along with Ol Fishers mum?” They think back to your kids pleas at Ol Fishers mum to kick those bullies out the dorm. There’s only one tree round this barn, Ol Fishers mum can’t let villagers see from a distance anything suspicious’ll keep them away from the towns play. Maybe a joint third performance’ll bring the cricket town, the village and school kids and masters together. One each’ll make the joint play the fourth. Underlings have all gotten used to the idea of the village lab having a second beneath in, like the ones under the schools shoreline. Now they might find out for sure, now she’s trusting two of her orphans with the big and small science news. Your bullied kid’s meant to get on with Edgeworth, but they don’t. The myth of em never sleeping came true when the bullies your kid had Ol Fishers mum kick out got replaced but this time, not fancying more shoved down his neck, your kid didn’t say anything. Wasn’t even his to day, as this time it’s Edgeworth. Edgeworth and your kid are sleeping at night.
Edgeworth: “I’m putting on rehearsal now for the second play. Cowhorses’ll do instead of real ones. But your bullied kid, you’ll have to put back the decking from last night. Chairs’ll be brought in from the village. Mum has this idea the village is drifting away, like at sea, bit gone from breathing in the spores of the last show. The village’ve been told eight o’clock and’ll be coming in on the first spinning carriages. It’ll be helpful if we can line up mums horses to get wiped out. Just say you’ll go back to cow stroking and feeding if she wants to save her horses again next time. The play goes ahead. The village arrive. The horse soaks them through and they sleep in the dorms in the beds, on the floors and under the beds. Ol Fishers mum walks in ringing the dinner bell. You soaking villagers are here are you? So you put on the play without me. Ol Fishers mum’s out with the bell now, the inner engravings can’t miss the crusted base of the bell handle in the dark. Not without the markers advice from inside the bell, before they take off. What’d they wanna help them escape for. The fingers grate closer each time. It’s only worth the markers telling the inner engravings anything if the inner engravings’ll take them with them. Now you got something happening close to what Ol Fishers mum put in those digested notes. Markers being big, belong to big science. Engravings to small. Between the two groups, they’d suss it out before Ol Fishers mum big unifying play performances. Four performances, one horse dead at each. That’s three more horses Ol Fishers mum needs to keep out the path of the skidding carriages, and any others in their path. No bullied kid looking after the cows at night, now he’s sleeping through supplies gathering duty, no wonder Ol Fishers mums thinking she saved the wrong kid, your bullied kid. Little runt was some use propping up the cows at night. No, the horses run wild without him.
Ol Fishers mum: “Ding-ding-Dinner, dinner! Dimmer time! Come and have your dinner now, it’s dinner time! I’m ringing the dinner bell now to call you all in for dinner!”
Your bullied kid: “It’s four in the morning you stupid ol bag.”
Ol Fishers mum: “Ring! Ring! It’s dinner time! Dinner time! Be hungry now, it’s time for our dinners!”
You’d think there wasn’t much lost between them to, if you think, the kid hadn’t learned the first thing about small science back then. How come Ol Fishers so kind to your kid? It can’t be your kid waited till the cows were all laid out, even when it was just the first cow, no way did he wait till then to get the pre-aboriginal info on small science. Those bully kids didn’t have as closer eye on yours as they must’ve thought. It could be, your kid was out in the fields at night before. Your kids out stroking and feeding the cows long before the bullies took any notice of him. You say all this like the markers weren’t all awake by then. If their sleeping all day, don’t tell me they’re not up all night. Nothing else’s going on in that field at night. A boy, no matter how small, ain’t going unnoticed climbing out Ol Fishers mums dawn, unless they’re dodging carriages every night. The decking keeps getting pulled up by something. The whole time we’re blaming Ol Fisher, but Ol Fisher doesn’t grass your kid up, maybe he ain’t out there either. Maybe is simply that the carriages are flying every night, and the small science noise’s kept out the villages sleeping ears, so Ol Fisher gets the blame. Consider Ol Fisher being awake all day, and awake gathering supplies at night. If Ol Fishers not sleeping, even the cows and Ol Fishers mum have to sleep, Ol Fisher himself must have the pre-aboriginal small science teachings to draw on. One at a time, it seems everyone in Ol Fishers mum knows more about the small science than the markers from the hills, where the only known teachers are. The villagers don’t even know enough to ask who the teachers are. They’d sleep all day too if they could.
Who’s to say the mother know anything about it. Ol Fisher’s taking all the money from it. The mother ain’t gonna check the inside of her dinner bell every time she rings it. Once the engravings feel the warmth of indoors, they know it’s ok to shimmy back down into position before Ol Fishers’ mum any the wiser. The only way to find out if these engraving boys are honest or not’s, to question them from down here. As far as we’re concerned, silence is giult.
Markers: “Do you get that boys? Silence is guilt!”
Inner engravings listened enough. It’s teamed up with trains, deciding they have a common enemy in kids, and in outer engraving. outer engraving’ll mock trains on deck, but not that they intended to mock em, little do trains know, but only meaning to face up to some of passengers. passengers screaming only in direction of outer engraving, but what’s to make outer engraving think it’s not all aimed at Ol’Fisher’s mum. Or handle indeed, or what’s that thing that clangs in bell. You don’t hear inner engraving moan about clanging of bell itself. Nothing against bell clanger, no hate at old woman. It’s just an excuse, don’t let em make peaceful entry! outer engraving shouts back, ringing in inner engravings. inner engraving’s team’s doubled, it has rust, and rust’s growing. Not a problem for inner engraving’s, rust’s attached itself to skeleton of outer engraving, so can it be trusted? inner engraving’s split. Inner engraving didn’t leave home, so guess anything outdoors’ll attack. They’ve left home now, dropped out on end of bell clanger. ‘Get inside now! It’s dinner!’ What’ll fallen inner engraving make of orders now? They can hear em for once. There’s something they can hear that has a language, and nothing to keep em stranded on sand, only a few steps to fence wood steps, leading up to house. They can sit there for a while, and remember their brothers still at home. Could almost look up right now and see em. They’ve never left home, don’t trust the views from the top of Ol Fishers mums bell. It’s gone, most of which is born after they got infected. All most of rust knows, is life inside outer engraving. engravings have enough trouble keeping their kids from playing near to where Ol Fishers mum can see em. dropped inner engraving only sees now, and what’s more, they know inner engraving ain’t gonna still hide in bell, won’t be aware of this at all. Their poor brothers, now in kitchen with Ol’Fisher’s mum. A quick stroll up steps, and back inside innards of dinner bell’ll put it right. Or would put this right, had they not all overbaked in sun. A few dropping from ringing following day’ll blow under porch in time. It’s windier tomorrow. Today’s are first, but trap won’t spring twice. A windy cooler day’ll give a few crumbs of inner engraving a chance to at least sit out in cool of night, before entering house. Being witness to train robbing Ol’Fisher’s sons walnuts won’t hurt either. These inner engravings are about to get quite an education, a real Swamp Adventure if they make it out house afterwards, and into clothing of kids. Some inner engraving yet to be smacked out of position’ll be those with no experience of being away. It’ll be better for em to bake in sun. Dislodging em enough, and knowing weather day after, make sure they get knocked out on a day they don’t stand a chance in, might need some befriending of baby. inner engraving saw baby bring out last two seasons, so let’s say we just want one day of summer for tomorrow. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem, considering how long this babies being breastfed every day. A well travelled inner engraving can dislodge at any moment. If some happen to survive, they’ll play along. If they don’t, we’ve got enough anyway. The markers heads are bouncing off their chests like helium balloons and you’re telling me it’s only the old that never learn. What are they? Late twenties? It caught up with the Dean at school, it’ll catch up with them too. Too many classes missed. Not even without any disguise, Ol Fishers mum and Braithwaite stay separate in every markers theory on what’s wrong with the barn, and what the school should be doing. Might be easier to dislodge lot all on same day. Make men of ones’ll make a dash for it. Who knows? Some’ll make it under decking. project starts, rust rusts onto itself, dropping crumbs of its own inside outer engravings veins. Rust in blood better be kept away from hotpot. Rust in blood moves back in to inner engravings quarters, and makes short work of first lines of defence. Let’s assume rust’ll stay loyal to inner engraving, despite making home in outer engravings bottom. After all, they’re there for a reason, put there to punish outer engraving. If anything, this section of inner engraving would have rust living inside its own bell, but slowly making their way up outer engraving’s bodies, are more trustworthy and loyal than local inner engraving living on their own doorstep. Not doorstep of Ol’Fisher’s mum. She won’t have fence wood calling itself a step. A step was what they had in New York, when she was a kid. Muswell Hill has fence wood. ‘Go out play on fence wood’ she tells us, rotten Ol’ bag. Inner engravings all push up the top of the bells inner bowl, eroding a small escape dot in its peak. The small science pressure builds with every scream of the markers. One shoots out, only to slam flat into the base of the bells handle, as Ol Fishers mum happened to be holding it straight down by her leg at the time. Another shoots out as she’s waving the bell overhead, shifting the base far and fast enough to move out the way of the second inner engravings path. This inner engraving lands on the decking. The bells innards has plenty of inner engravings to spare. Enough for, over the years, a colonising population of first generation inner engravings to land on deck, and even some survivors of the base of the bell handle to crawl along the grass, and clamber their way up to their new neighbourhood. Inner engravings reproduce at a faster rate than Ol Fishers burials, so soon leave few plots for Ol Fisher to prepare his hoard for next summer. Yes, we put on the play without you mother. Get these soaking villagers a dish rag, and your horses. They all got killed last night. You need to send your bullied kid out to be with the cows now. He’s no use to me, pulling up decking all night. We sleep all day. The trains pull it up just as ordered as I do. Mother, you need to give me the nights off. The stomach bacteria of Ol Fisher has a stark choice. Cannabalism or adaptation. Adaptation involves cannabalism in its initial stages, so cannabalism it is. The stomach decides to wait and see if anything adapts, as even adapting on purpose doesn’t tell it what it needs to cannabalise. Could have done with some pecking birds at school Underling. One peck gets a shallow root, but that water tipper’ll last all day. A Thread a day’d take out an undersoil community in one school term. A village’ll be down in a week. The shops’d be a mud bath.
Ol Fisher: My stomach’s honed for innner engravings now, so I needn’t scurry round the garden no more.” He calls the woods his garden. The Afro Twins screamed at her they did. Voices fall under small science, but mouths under big. Will that count as a bridge between the two? No, but’s enough to make them her. Three of her, for Ol Fishers mum, counting the twins as one, and three staff, not counting the news she stuffed down them as small science beings in their own right. Too much for Ol Fishers mum to sort out their sleeping times though. She trusts your bullied kid to keep one of the six awake at all times. Makes the markers look even worse. Four of them, there are, all out there snoozing together like puppies. Would’ve worked out quicker for them to have been sleeping in the brambles after all.
Ol Fisher: “ It’s enough for me to sit pretty eating mums dinner, son long as she still rings that bell of hers, and keeps shooting out inner engravings for me to stash away in my tuck shop. You wanna know how inner engravings get so good at shimmying up the inside of my bell, look at how many years they’ve been doing it from the rust. I kept those boys hidden and in training, and you wonder how, in the playing fields, I as Braithwaite knew better than to leave the exam prep to the teachers. I mixed in with them, like I’m teaching the kids of the villagers. I’ll be my own undoing one day. Too good ta survive me own barn.”
All well and good, for as long as the markers are still finding their way inside the bell to give the inner engravings what for. But a period of clumsy over-sleeping, could see Ol Fishers supplies dwindle sharply, should his burials suffer from the strength of aboriginal teaching the markers may be getting up in the hills, that time of year.
It wasn’t long after I turned two, Ol’ Fisher asked if I’d flavour mum’s lunches a bit. He got creeps, it tasted so bland. It’s not good for your head, all this health food. ‘Put some goat meat in.’ he asked. So I did, but what seeps out of goats, under watch of Horse Prefect’s not what comes out elsewhere. ‘You got me tapping like those kids at school.’ I didn’t know what school was. First time they sent me, I thought it was just for day. They thought it was funny, how I seemed alright about it at first. ‘Come on, you got to go to school today.’ ‘No mum, I went yesterday.’ ‘No, you’ve got to go everyday.’ So it was day two, I remember, when my brother sent me out for goats. ‘I can’t go to school, I’ve got goats to slay.’ My brother took over, and sent mum up to bed. ‘Just go out and kill what you can between here and school.’ A two year old isn’t going to come across anything on way to school, but what d’ya know, I’m halfway along our playing fields, under bridge, where public are allowed, and this young girls knelt by water. An inner engravings, she is. Young girl, you’re prettier than the fields. Young inner engraving, you weren’t under Horse Prefect, so I wasn’t to know this goat had goat tap.
Young girl: “Have you come to shovell me up for Ol Fisher’s breakfast.”
Me: “Yes, but I’m not going to. You’re so beautiful.”
Young girl: “I’m only the same as the other inner engravings shooting out the tip of Ol Fishers mum bell.”
Me: “Are you one of the ones that got hit by the base of the bell handle?”
Young girl: “A little bit. I was grazed. She was ringing, but it was one of those counting rings. She goes too slow when she’s counting.”
Me: “She shouldn’t have been counting, if it’s after the markers were invading the bells innards. Why’s she counting, if it’s not to gage how many carriages we need to fly past?”
Young girl: “She got the habit of it. You see those batsmen, replaying their final shots? Ol Fishers mum, never sure three was necessary. Could have saved some mooing, had two been enough to rouse the markers.”
Diseased goat, I fed my brother, mum, and come to think of it, that girls arms reach too far down below water. But Underling put something in. Goat Tap with walnuts, in golden aftershave, with mums hotpot, my brother got better in no time. She’s prising open route to Deans cells. girls fingers held there by Damselfish, they needed her knelt down anyway to reach that low. Silence is guilt in these parts Damselfish. Got nothing to do with her legs being tired, though they were. Don’t your parents look out for you? She’s been looking out over waters surface, and sees crickets boats, reef animals paddling round in a circle. girls keeping track of any jumping out of line when one their friends gives out and sinks to lakes meat reef. It’s your skip forward horse that caused your partner to lose its footing, so you go to back. Ol Fishers mum liked taste, and didn’t notice tap, as she dances everywhere anyway. inner and outer engravings lost out most. She was clanging plenty harder with Goat Tap in her blood. Up climbs Dean.
“You heard my rhythm for that bell of yours did ya? Turn it off. Turn back cows, and either pull em out mud or ship em out to slaughter.” No inner engravings budge much, regardless of what cows ask ‘em to do. man running through forest set a bad example for inner engravings kids. They’ve always been told to stay put, and not budge around much, or Ol Fishers mum’d see scratches she’s been leaving weren’t all of her own making. At least, she didn’t have full control over em. So seeing him run amok, hopping over logs, does nothing for parents. kids see him, he’s a chastity man. They took his belt of years ago, but he’s no memory of it. They had to pin him down with a tranquiliser, and when he got up, went straight back into rage he’s running around in before. anesthetists didn’t hang around for him to wake up, and being a recluse, nothing happening to him would make any difference to vote anyway. Markers didn’t get the vote being from up the hill. Chastity men don’t look down after a while. They don’t even engage with their muscles, nerve and skin after a point. They can shift their entire consciousness outside, into their view. They can tie everything up in what they’re looking at. After a while, they don’t have a choice. If they don’t have memory, and their eyes are shut after tranquiliser hits, they don’t know their belts been taken off. They just know sky, Underlings, trees and clouds. Wolves and streams, they’re no better role for kids without belt on. parents are paranoid anyway. Ol Fishers mum doesn’t even look at scratches anymore. She’s too used to her son obeying everything to fret about what engravings and their families are doing. kids of engravings though, don’t face same from kids of Ol Fishers mum. Those kids know engravings kids and their families. So as long as kids of engravings don’t sabotage any families, going back on their parents, and ask kids of Ol Fishers mums son to grass em up to Ol Fishers mum, then Ol Fishers mum ain’t gonna find out about any unauthorised movements of engravings hiding on inside her dinner bell.
Ol Fishers mum: “Slaughters done in town hall. You think I’d waste cash at market? There’s stage! Set up, waiting, for a bloody village? You come this month, see small science put to use.”
Dean: “There’s nothing about any monthly town show. You made all this on its way into Thread? That’s Braithwaite. In with everyone, even back to when our music stores in safe hands. Safe hands of exam cheats!”
Ol Fishers mum: “You overrate that woman. See her in the town hall, this month. She her with the village, and yes, the whole village’ll be there. She’s filling in exams for cheating engraving masters, who don’t even know the leave the engravings to pattern themselves. Who don’t know that? You’ve got a town hall full of cheating exam engravers, carving what into the paper? Answers? Might as well be. Pour the right colour ink over the page when the invigilators not looking, and re-dye it black before they stroll the corridors collecting them all in. You want a good job in the village, you need to listen here. Red, the invigilators can’t see red. Pour your red ink over the engraved exam paper when invigilators gone for her tea, overwrite it in black once it’s dry enough. Wipe off the red and stick it in your sock. Exam paper doesn’t cockle till it’s in the brown paper pack on its way to the markers, and by the time it gets there, everything’s cockled anyway. Postmen in the village cockle everything. Braithwaite won’t. Come and see your dancing horses, dancing with heads on sticks in their hands. Come and see why abattoir don’t take livestock from villagers anymore.” Another of your neighbours kids starts sharing out Ol Fishers mums dinner with the cows. The rest of the village sends them out after the markers, thinking they’re sleeping in the bramble bushes, but Ol Fishers mum just said ‘bushes’. If she means bramble bushes, she says ‘bramble bushes’. Ya can hear em in the regular ones if you bother to listen. The locals just see bramble as meaning bushes, so send the cows out to chew at the brambles. If anything, only softening the markers noises. Only help them hiding further. The cows are chewing but ain’t gonna swallow brambles, so your kid starts calling em over to the dormitory window with savings from Ol Fishers mums dinner. He flutters it out the window like ticker tape onto the grass, so the kids behind him start bullying him. The bullies don’t think, them being newer to the dorm’ll count against them, but they’re wrong. Your kids grasses them up to Ol Fishers mum.
Your kids: “D’ya remember the name of that new girl, that sleeps where the old girl did when she left?”
Ol Fishers mum: “I know her name. Why?’
Your kid: ‘“The kids are bullying me when I throw food out to the cows.’
That was those kids gone. Ol Fishers mum doesn’t like the look of her food, now it all looks like ticker tape, but won’t stand for bullying in her dorm. Your kids got an empty bed beside him, and Ol Fishers mum won’t notice if he invites one of the cows in to keep anymore of the bullies friends out his life.
Your kid: ‘Why d’ya eyes bulge and shine so much at night?’
Cow: ‘cos i’m lying on my side, and the moon. I can stare in your eyes like a baby. Babies reflections go whiter in bed.’
Your kid: ‘I think it’s the neighbours, not letting you eat where you want. Inside a Thread in these parts, there’s no corridors to wander down. Just ticker tape in the grass. No menus or Afro twins making a fight. I’d only fight, if I were one of you. Only hold Ol Fishers mums stash under the decking till the masters were awake and out the way. They couldn’t see it, the exam cheats. Nothing under the decking makes it from Rubine to Napthol red. The two kids are out before dawn stashing it away. The trees above, they fall from, bud them out like canons. It’s no drooping for weeks. It’s straight out and down before their predeators get them. The kids burials explode once the deckings up in the sun. Then you’ll see the reds darken and the fruit wither before anyone eats it. Ol Fishers mum put the labs under the burials, you know what, cos the fruit above’ll wither and fall on the labs roofs. Carriages can fly every night with staff using it to protect her precious labs. But even one crash a generation’ll take out the lab ceiling, with the carriages getting under the decking on their own. There’s labs under labs in the shores of the school playing field. I don’t know, maybe there’s labs under the lab under the decking in Ol Fishers mums barn. The top ones for small science. You’d think, if there were another, it’d be for big science, but Ol Fishers mum’s part of the big as it is. She’s always seen the particles pushing every angle.
So your kid calls in all the other cows, and they all line up, lying in bed. Their eyes all look the same. Chewed up brambles collect on the floor, not a marker chewed up with them, still sharp enough to carve more inner engravings into the dorm. Meeting like two species of human, one with jewellery and one from the freezing mountains. They too initially just stare at reflections, they look like little rats, in each others bulging eyes and stab out at co-existence. Over the next two years, they’re assumed to interbreed, of course they did, so inner engravings flying into windows from Ol Fishers mums bell at dinner time’s not the same as the inner engravings that feel safe enough to crawl back over the decking, skip over Ol Fishers burials, and back inside the bell. There they all still reckon gravity’ll come back and help them out. More’s gone on since then. It ain’t so hard anymore, climbing up that dark interior, away from markers stumpy fingers. Markers don’t stand a chance anymore. You don’t move big science physical evolution much in your sleep. Your big science’s like a big dril. Only bed down your mental evolution into your muscle memory, and learn, what Ol Fisher wrote in her exam paper, how to grab each engraving from working out which of the pack hasn’t been out yet, and returned, from Ol Fishers mums dorm, and grown these claws of theirs. So there she is, with it all tied up. Inner engravings shattered from the start. Landed finished. Ringing that bell only brings more soldiers inside. More for Ol Fishers mum against the village. The village’ll soon be over, and spun into Thread. She never told you why she left. Just upped and off. The barn’s left cold after dinner. No one around. No space for anymore formula notes. It’s a horse trodden graveyard. Cows and horses mate when the bullied kids sleeping under the parts of decking the passing carriages haven’t pulled up. Ol Fishers mum figures both species are big enough to belong to big science, which they do but how much of a cow’s really cow? Horses parasites crossbreed with cows into village specific horsecows. Horsecows outside the village don’t cross any bridges between the sciences, but villages ones have the suspicions the villagers have. Ol Fisher made em keep looking at that lone tree of hers, and now it’s got into the pets. The cats and dogs suspicious cross breeds don’t get far, cats and dogs being so small and almost the same size. Ol Fishers mum didn’t give Edgeworth any time off, she weren’t sending your bullied kid out in the field either. Ol Fishers mum knows her son lined up them horses like tenpins. Ticket inspectors all work for her. The Threads go back from before her first exam paper, who at that school’ll lace the soil with Thread she knows Underling’ll pull up from the ground in front of the birds seeing everything in mirror. Birds see Underling pulling up thread in the field, They see themselves nosediving through barn roofs and scuppering plays Ol Fishers mum put on just to see the opening scene, and bring its crescendo forward so the audience leave the room with small science in their clothes fresher than it’d be waiting for the encore to finish. A horse put with a cow has abnormalities beyond and cat and dog problems. Village ones especially. Ol Fishers mums been pretty good at keeping the village out the same pool as her barn, but there won’t be much time to join the two sciences at the school play, she’ll have to make it a school one to get everyone else to attend. No, there’s no time to bring both together, if she’s using crossbred horses in the play. The small science’ll be in the leaking blood. Over the prompter and soaking up the audiences shirts. They’ll be sniffing Ol Fishers mums formula through their noses. Even Ol Fishers mum wouldn’t stuff her newspaper formula down the noses of her son or your bullied kid. A sinus bit to run down’ll leave a trail like the inner engravings trying to make their way up the brick iceberg road, starting nose-diving, this time real nose-diving Underling down at the audiences noses before the small science’s threaded its way round the warrens in the audiences faces and safely down corroded into electrical outages in their stomach acid. The acid won’t touch the small science of any face with a diving Underling sticking out of it. Ol Fishers mum cuts out any arteries in the faces of queuing attendees at each of the three remaining plays. Can’t afford any squirters if the Underling break through the roofs. Ticket inspectors push the tipped carriages doors up to the birds, give them something without a gradient to aim at. Several nosedive safely at the chairs and are taken in as pets by passengers. They come with you know, ticket inspectors. The first ticket inspector kicks open the kids bedroom door, throws in one of the passengers carrying a nose diving bird. “There any kids?” “No, their out, you don’t have to ask, the birds were hurtling down at them minutes ago. Ol Fishers mum don’t leave any in at home time.” Her bells sat there on the pillow the kids all share. You know, if take that bell, you take out the whole barn. Everything here happens through the ringing of Ol Fishers mums bell. Only she’s ever rung it. The ticket inspectors steam up red. “The Threads made it over, into the barn.” Nothing makes it from the playing fields without being watched over by the mountain. The division line between the school and the barns crossed, once your high enough to see over the slip road Underlings never made it past. He thought he did, when he took the Afro Twins out the grips of the neighbours cats, but those neighbours weren’t villagers. Past the provincials, up in the hills. There has to be a route to the music repair shop from somewhere other than the cricket party boat people. A separate set of people never crossing with the schools locals. Braithwaite wouldn’t keep anyone from talking, living so near the undersoil and dinner ladies. The hills are enough of a buffer to keep generations out. Only one point of connection between the two, a music repair shop the barn can stay in touch with, and never venture any further. Braithwaite becomes Ol Fishers mum midway home after passing the markers community, so its Ol Fishers mum by the time she’s told the aboriginal teachers what the markers’ll be learning that day. Something of a control freak, Ol Fishers mum. Covering over ten miles a day between school kitchens, ten miles, to the music repair shop, ten miles up the hills to the markers community, ten miles to the barn, ten miles and ever increasing from the drifting village she’s protecting the barn from. Ol Fishers mum walks a hundred miles a day. The ticket inspectors missed the bell, so Ol Fishers mum’ll keep them all synchronised ringing it in order. The inner engravings learn to push the rust out as Ol Fishers mum does the same to the villagers. Hotel Braithwaite keeps that zombied girl, the one you never told us about, the one villager Ol Fishers mum brought out to school. Put a hat on her if the ticket inspectors show up. She ducks her head on her own now, but Ol Fishers mum took inner engravings when she booked the poor girl in, stuck em on the ceiling and left her there at reception.
Ol Fishers mum: “Get that theatre show rolled out!”

Cadets

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The younger students are contaminated with a state of the legs called goat tap. Goat tap given by a mountain to one of the youngsters. Truth be told, that’s not carefully obvious. The Goat tap was showed into a youngster and afterward sent to the school by the mountain. Nobody truly thought they were going to stop you did they see shoreline said the shin detonator. No however then what’s it to you answered the supervisor official. It’s to make sure you been sending everybody down to the Sea Beach since last Wednesday and we haven’t had any extra teeth since a month ago. Shouldn’t detonator don’t for the most part talking this Manor to predominant workplaces. Well I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re discussing said the course official. It has nothing to do with the children up over the dirt. It’s likewise got nothing to do with their instructors. The instructors are altogether driven by Braithwaite, she’s the head gourmet expert. Presently the head culinary specialist takes out the entirety of her indignation on the red Thread. She hauls it up out of the ground. Blare signal like a lorry says the child. Blare like no lorry said another child. You don’t have a clue in the event that anybody thinks about Underling as you did in shin detonator. They’re all going near and need to go tab tainted in their shins. They don’t look any more terrible off for it however do they said Braithwaite. No the steed prefix been sticking around with Underling excessively long. It’s a little assistance to any undifferentiated cell hosers. The shin detonator are being acquainted with numerous new characters. Simply out of the acidic sap basin they will climb. The flames are underneath yet the water isn’t getting any more sultry. The pony regent has essentially let them off without any penalty. He used to continue sending them upstairs however once the shin explode to leave the dirt, who realizes the end result for them. The pony administrator has it on great expert that no disciplines are truly issued over the dirt. In this way, the red correspondence string has been hauled up out of the profundities of the dirt and now every one of the privileged insights of the skin detonator uncovered. The insider facts of the pony consul uncovered. Indeed, even down to what he jumps at the chance to eat and drink. Braithwaite can’t pick between this. She’s solitary a head gourmet expert for the children, she shouldn’t help him detonator set up the supper for the steed consul. You continue coming into the kitchen horse consul, said Braithwaite she should address another person, as a steed prefix won’t hear her. The astrotwins ordinarily convey between the head cook and any other individual who happens to be human. In any case, the astrotwins have gone on vacation. So with the application star twins on vacation, there will be no correspondence between Braithwaite the head gourmet specialist for the school, and the pony regent. The Two Worlds the universe’s of over the dirt, and the universe of underneath the dirt, or, in the dirt, won’t speak with one another today. That is exactly how it will must be. Presently shouldn’t something be said about the limpet? The Olympics were all over the place however at this point they’ve all returned home. Nothing to do with the afro twins. They’ve been too bustling fleeing from felines. Felines in the snow. Braithwaite doesn’t educate anybody concerning the feline. She knows the astrotwins my here. The entire things fart two damaging for them.

They didn’t by and large look like cadets. You couldn’t on the off chance that you will get by in the school play territory. Cadets are the enemy of more youthful understudies. Undifferentiated cell hosers know this. The teachers know it. In fact, even Braithwaites assistants in the kitchen. In any case, if an undifferentiated creature hoser were to pay uncommon personality to a substitute educator on a Wednesday before casual breakfast… Well. They’d have available Cadets, and difficult to reach cadets swimming for the duration of the morning. By then cadets it is. School kids’ll suffer it. Regardless, not in the big-hearted soil. These more youthful understudies have goat tap in their knees. The soil is for the shin detonator. The thoughtful soil, some of which got pulled up when the strings were pulled up by Braithwaite and her assistants, is by and by most of the way in the shoes of the more youthful understudies, who have been playing in the play territory. It doesn’t take much portraying. No photographs need be drawn. The thoughtful soil is in the shoes of the children. By and by these children are the enemies of the Cadets. Where have the Cadets been? Have the Cadets been rampaging the earth like the children? No, they haven’t. So the Cadets are without altruistic soil in their shoes. Nothing the shoes can do about it. Nevertheless, I’m soil lives just in the shoes of the more youthful understudies who have been playing on the field. What’s more they more likely than not been playing in the field that particular night. That night. Braithwaite called the red cotton hang from underneath the earth, and put away much ideal seal over the grass. A couple was passed on by the pollinating of the Summer Breeze, onto the arrival zone of the play region. Kind soil laying there outwardly of the strong play region. Being trodden on by rampaging youths. Regardless, not cadets! No, cadets don’t have any thoughtful soil talk about.

This educates to play that they place on in Fisher. The other book. It’s an a lot shorter book, Fisher, than this one. Be that as it may, in that play they are altogether doused from what tumbles from the stage. What made it past the brief has doused shirt. The poor guide sat underneath the phase with a Trapdoor full stop and his head standing out of that trap entryway. Endeavoring to lead a plane from when your shirt has been splashed. Soaked as well as pollinated. He should be included. He should be a piece of the story. In any case, this poor guide is currently soaked in all that tumbled from the ponies head shot up in front of an audience before the town for all the town to giggle at. The towns diggy look basically anything. In any case, with this dust noticeable all around, or this insidious dust that has nothing to do with honey bees. With all that noticeable all around, the towns are going to stay silent for one minute.

Craft design and technology stem cell hosers all stand to attention. All Stand to attention as the horse prefix is coming up from underneath the soil. The craft design and technology teachers know their livelihoods the generosity of the horse prefect. But he from the craft design and technology teachers can see red ribbon all strewn around the soil isn’t really red ribbon. It’s the shin detonator communication thread, pulled up from underneath the soil by Braithwaite in another one of her rampant rages. That girl can’t contain her anger. She’s an angry little thing she’s been hanging out with a Sea Beach too long. The temperature is boiling now in the water, but all the shin detonator of runoff, where for? The shin detonator don’t like to explain their whereabouts to anyone other than the horse prefect. The horse prefect is hiding underneath the staircase, what staircase? It’s not too resentful to ask these questions is it? Stem cell hosers don’t ordinarily get involved in all these questions being bantered around. Nothing is on the bonfire anymore. Nothing, I said nothing, is on the bonfire anymore. No SIM detonator have hung around to listen to this electricity outage. You see what you’re doing Underling? Underling can’t hear you horse prefect! You’re not ready to be talking to people, until the afro twins have returned back from their holiday. They’ve been stretching injured parties all aboard the boat on the lake. You forgot about the boat on the lake! Where is that man where is that man? It’s not too late for him. He was down on the soil he was down in the boat. Was he down everywhere? He was down at the bottom of the river bed. I remember that old man at the bottom of the river bed. He could keep himself in Archer set. Archer? Archer are called shin detonator now. Don’t you remember changing Archer to shin detonator?

It’s the Horse Prefect, and his entangled association with another steed official and the shin detonator. More often than not the shin detonator are sending their very own kin to the teeth of the Sea Beach, while additionally agonizing over themselves provided that as ordinarily happens , before the month’s over there’s insufficient warmth to cook for one another detainees then they have a difficult issue. What’s more, that is , that they may need to give a few detainees a chance to free early and trust that the steed official doesn’t take note. In the event that the steed regent notification that a few detainees have been let out right on time, at that point the jail watches we’ll be in a bad position.

It doesn’t take much wrongdoing to go on under the side of the school, for the pony official to begin sending detainees pell mell to jail. However, before they get to jail every detainee needs to invest some energy something on the teeth of the ocean b****. There’s solitary one seat for every day. So what are the shin detonator expected to do, when there aren’t any nipples left for that month? They don’t have any decision however to either break into one month from now quantity, or let a few detainees who have been sucking on the teeth from earlier days of that month to go free. In some cases a steed consul will stroll around the warrens and see The Prisoner he realizes he sent to imprison inside the most recent month strolling around free. What at that point typically occurs, is the pony administrator will bring his increasingly favored watches, and distinguish which jail gatekeeper would have let this specific detainee far from the ocean b****** teeth early. So the shin detonator need to work in Great conspiracy with one another, and in Great mystery. In the event that any data discovers its way to the steed official they couldn’t just be sent to jail, however even be executed.

Presently, the individual responsible for executions is effectively influenced. There’s not a great deal among pay off and genuineness in the realm of Shin detonator. More often than not you can reward an authority of any position. The shin detonator who have been giving detainees out early a chance to have been doing as such effectively for at any rate the most recent a half year. Be that as it may, they all know it won’t be long, until the steed consul is meandering near or Warren and sees one of his detainees who’s been let out ahead of schedule. once in detonator said to another we have no more tears left to September so the other shin detonator said all around we should break into October, in light of the fact that there’s awfully numerous detainees strolling around the warrens. We can’t chance the steed regent finding a detainee that the picture will know has just been in prison for not exactly a month.

At that point you have to change to the following piece of the story where the red strings are being pulled up from under the dirt. Yet, before we arrive, we have to present the afro twins. The afro twins are joined heads. Quick. They don’t talk much except if they are disturbed. Tragically they’re always bothered on the grounds that they don’t feel comfortable underneath the dirt living with the shin detonator. So the afro twins have made companions with the pony regent. The pony regent doesn’t get disturbed by the afro twins talking in light of the fact that nobody talks horse prefix language which is English underneath the dirt. Everybody separated from the pony consul in the afro twins talks shin detonator. Which is a language just as an animal types.

So in their weariness the afro twins and the pony consul have assembled plans for a theater execution. This Theater execution should occur before a town, this town is alluded to in my other novel Fisher. It’s where the town are being told about particles noticeable all around that have been pollinating their brains. Who is fleeing from who? They don’t have the foggiest idea who they’re fleeing from. The shin detonator that is. Someone has been endeavoring to smoke shin detonator out of the dirt. The steed consul is the principle guilty party of doing this, however he must work in intrigue with another person. The afro twins will definitely know who this individual is, on the off chance that it isn’t there. Since the steed consul can just speak with the outside world through the afro twins. In spite of the reality the steed prefix can talk immaculate English, just the afro twins can yell sufficiently noisy for them to be heard over the dirt by a portion of the younger students going around the shower. Presently this conveys us to the younger students and why there may be a shower in the play area.

Lentils don’t cool down as quickly as the shin detonators porridge. What’s more, the horse prefect isn’t even in the building! He’s run off with the other horse prefect. Poor old braithwaites heartbroken. She was up in the tree with Underling. Ok, her recovery can start now. Underlings come back from the guitar shop. Where are the stem cell hosers? Ask sanderling. He’s been too busy looking after the teachers at the foot of the trees. Those teachers needed his help when brathwaite came and stole their ankles. She was running around Ray bed. She’s got too much going on in her head. As it’s shin detonator steps over the Warren thread, the red Warren thread. Do you remember? It isn’t too much to ask. I shouldn’t detonator Step Over the red cotton thread. That’s right. I forgot to mention it’s cotton. The cotton thread can still transmit sound. Underneath in the soil the laws of the pollen have penetrated down but a mutated into other laws of the small science, and the big science.

Who are the alcoholics? Who posed this inquiry? It was the main invigilator. The kid, not the main invigilator was a lush. An alcoholic kid. They don’t do their tests in the late spring in light of the fact that the alcoholic young men, dependably get alcoholic in the late spring. The dust is likewise to fault. It had thought of itself into the story. The dust was alcoholic. The youngsters were all drunkards. It was missed through Underling reconnaissance. It was Underling who should screen the kids’ drinking. Who’s a consul? Who’s the screen? These are on the whole Awards to the best youngsters. Be that as it may, a large portion of these youngsters currently have goats up in their legs. Goats have biting within their bones. Making them because of her around like they’re moving over a hot vehicle. It’s an excessive amount to look for poor brathwaite she hasn’t had the option to climb vehicles since she was a tyke. the play area is a miserable spot for Braithwaite. Indeed, even the kids are more joyful than her. The afro twin break boom out throughout the evening. the shin detonator don’t have the foggiest idea what to express who will freed you of the afro twins? No one prefers the astrotwins. They’re excessively uproarious. They’re in an ideal situation down in the dirt with the pony official. At any rate the pony regent appreciates tuning in to their meandering throughout the evening. They some of the time wonder if that is the genuine motivation behind why the shin detonator officers once in a while sold out the pony official, and end up running down to the part where they should like the Kindle each hour. It doesn’t take a great deal to put a capital K on Kindle. However, in this occurrence we discussing the stuff that begins fire nothing to do with programming. The pot has been bubbling, however as we brought up before, the shin detonator have left and gotten away not through one of the warrens, yet by venturing more than one of the warrens. In the dirt the warrens were sufficiently huge to resemble a tremendous passage. Like the Blackwall Tunnel. Passages shin detonator could walk around. However at this point they’ve been pulled up over the dirt, they are little red cotton string. You can venture over them. You can most likely more probable, stumble over them. It’s an excessive amount of pulling up of cotton string by Braithwaite and her partners. A portion of the harmed educators, the Braithwaite left when she denied them of their lower legs, have likewise been made up for lost time in the tangling of the red cotton string. The trees roots have even been made up for lost time in this tangling. It’s creation a portion of the trees less enduring. Presently a portion of the educators are up in the trees. These educators escape braithwaites hatchet comma yet they may finish up getting considerably increasingly harmed if there are verse, and the tree tumbles down. In any case, having said that, you additionally wouldn’t have any desire to be on the grounds without any lower legs, with a falling tree around, in light of the fact that you may finish up being underneath the tree that is tumbled down. So there, you would need to wounds. You would have your lower leg damage, in addition to you would likewise have the intrigue used to recolor from being hit by a falling tree. The tree itself would get harmed. In any case, remember, the drifting individuals floating close to the trees. Might they have the option to connect a hand, and relentless the falling tree? It depends how solid they are. Be that as it may, brathwaite didn’t do any of this deliberately. She didn’t realize she was agitating the dirt when she was ransacking the instructors of their lower legs. The lower leg ransacking was absolutely matter of fact. She required them in her trading in the kitchen, when she expected to get Underling to go out to the trees and figure out how to drift by them, so he could persuade the instructors to disclose to him the mystery about Braithwaite affecting the substance of the test. Since you need to recall, again recollecting is significant here, the Underling was the kid who left the play area, and sat in the field alone. When he was out in the field without anyone else, he was pulling up grass like there was no tomorrow. Presently these grass cutting edges prompted the Cadets coming into the story. In any case, Braithwaite is a kid, and we said prior that kids don’t care for the cadets. So it appears to be unusual to brathwaite the Underling would coax the Cadets into the story, when he himself is an offspring of the school. So Underling wasn’t care for the greater part of different youngsters in the school. It’s currently trusted that Underling had no hamburger with the Cadets. He may even have been a cadet sooner or later. Since certain cadets are additionally younger students. It came round full circle.

The alluring educators had performed one more character Assassination on Underling. Them three will hear their very own Laboratories. Presently these Laboratories had been sectioned into three separate labs. A portion of these Laboratories were situated underneath the shoreline where the waves smashing. Presently the vessels Stood Still, despite the fact that they were exceptionally close to the harsh oceans of the shoreline. Cricket appears to have a quieting impact even on water. The general population on the pontoon were drinking endlessly cheerfully, even the elderly person who might finish up moving down to the base of the ocean and being in the case that started off another red string. The other red string that connected itself to the base of the pontoon he was drinking in. Presently the elderly person didn’t care for the Sea Beach without a doubt. He saw the passage that they were burrowing from underneath the River see line that was burrowing in through the shin detonators prison cells. This would just further destabilize the trees, and perhaps cause them to fall and hit yet much more instructors. Some of them on the head. Branches were at that point being tossed down onto the grass, get a portion of the instructors from above. A portion of the instructors have turned without anyone else. Possibly this is the means by which a portion of the younger students likewise turned on the Cadets. The instructors in the trees had overlooked that they had ever even been educators. The kids had even overlooked that they were once cadets creeping around in the dirt. Slithering around between red cotton string, meshed into spot by Braithwaite and her widespread pulling up of the red soil string. This red soil string was the correspondence system of the shin detonator. The correspondence organize that had them all conversing with one another stealthily, in undercover work mystery, when something well known was on the TV. All things considered, we call it TV. They didn’t actually have TV underneath the dirt, yet it was some other type of mass stimulation that was intended to invalidate the minds of the shin detonator into tolerating the manners in which the pony consul had set in the law. No, he didn’t engage in sexual relations in the law. I stated, set the law. You comprehend the contrast among sex and set. Such an excess of discussing sex is simply moving the subject further far from that of Shin detonator. Shouldn’t detonator were talking through the correspondence system, and arranging how to get away from the dirt. Not that they disapproved being in the dirt. They didn’t. Actuality, they very loved it. Yet, what they didn’t care for, was the standard of the pony regent. The job of the pony administrator, and the consistent goading of the astrotwins. When the red cotton string progressed toward becoming exemplified, and the astrotwins wound up strolling around in the veins of the recently made creature, the more joyful the shin detonator would turn into. The shin detonator were a lot more joyful without the astrotwins around on the grounds that the afro twins did only not them and grass them up to the pony official, at whatever point anybody did anything incorrectly. Furthermore, in addition, even a portion of the allegations against the shin detonator or false. Presently were they for some reason, or were they just erroneously blamed for things by afro twins who didn’t comprehend what they were discussing. How might you expect shin detonator, sorry, not appearing, afro twins. I intended to state afro twins. How might you expect afro twins to comprehend the network of Shin detonator, when they consume their entire time on earth living over the dirt, and they’ve as of late been acquainted with the world underneath the school. The world underneath the school is the dirt world. In the event that you need to comprehend anything about the dirt world, and you just communicate in English, you’ll need to address the trees. Since the trees have roots underneath the dirt. Likewise the trees have a trunk branches and leaves over the dirt. So the trees comprehends life over the dirt and furthermore underneath the dirt. Be that as it may, trees don’t talk in all respects effectively in English. To comprehend the English trees talk, you initially need to figure out how to converse with them. The most ideal approach to figure out how to converse with a tree, is through music. Trees react to music. They develop better with music. They appreciate music. When they begin getting a charge out of the music, and you play them the right sort of music. Not established, or instrumental. In any case, music with English verses. Clear, reasonable, articulate, verses. The trees will begin tuning in to you. At that point, give them two or three years, they will begin to get you. At that point they begin conversing with you. They begin conversing with you with their mouths. Their leaves are their mouths. They make commotions with leaves. A great many people don’t hear the words tree express through the stirring of their leaves. They don’t hope to hear words originating from a tree, so a great many people don’t exchanged that piece of their mind on. Not that they can even control that piece of their cerebrum. That piece of their mind works naturally. In any case, the programmed tasks of the cerebrum don’t anticipate that trees should begin conversing with them, so all individuals here is a theoretical stirring of commotion. In any case, on the off chance that you are conversing with trees, the subliminal piece of your cerebrum that perceives what you were doing, will likewise condition itself to anticipate a reaction. So on the off chance that you take a gander at a tree and you have a ton of experience conversing with trees, your mind will enable you to translate the stirring sound. Which isn’t too troublesome in light of the fact that the stirring sounds will be in a similar language as the music you’ve been playing to them. What’s more, the vast majority don’t tune in to music that is over unknown dialect to they talk. Also, in addition, most good music is sung in English. Thusly most trees communicate in English. Which is a tad bit of reasonable on individuals that don’t communicate in English on the grounds that regardless of whether they are available to the possibility that trees may talk them, they most likely wouldn’t comprehend it in any case except if they have been preparing there trees utilizing music where the verses I found in their local language. Having said that a great deal of music is that tune in the local language of the nation wherein the music is sold and basically tuned in to so it isn’t that quite a bit of an issue.

The trees we were discussing prior have been talking in English since the start of the story. The leaves have been deciphered in the Minds of two of the harmed instructors, who are as of now creeping around on the grass searching for their lower legs. Presently, these educators have discovered bunches of telephone calls, however I experiencing difficulty recognizing their own. All things considered, who can distinguish their very own lower legs. We never observe her lower legs. At any rate not under ordinary conditions. The lower legs the instructors have been snatching may be there, yet on the other hand may be somebody else’s. Who even knows whether coordinating sets of lower legs are indistinguishable. Would you be able to even from a basin of lower legs, choose as well yet have a place with yourself, however at any rate have a place with a similar individual. Do lower legs come in interesting sets? Braithwaite knows yet the educators don’t have the foggiest idea. The educators who have the most time staring them in the face, I generally the instructors that invest most energy conversing with trees. They have a favorable position over different educators. The trees are telling the educators where the prison cells are situated underneath them. In the event that the educators need assistance discovering it lower legs, they would improve enlisting a portion of the shin detonator from the correctional facility cells beneath. However, so as to do that you first need to know where the correctional facility cells are, and after that. I misplaced my thought process. The educators need to not just find the correctional facility cells containing shin detonator, however they likewise need to work out how to break into the prison cells. All the more critically break out of the prison cells, and take the shin detonator with them. Be that as it may, even once you’ve done that how would you recognize the accommodating shin detonator, from the unhelpful shin detonator. They all appear to be identical. In any event that is the thing that individuals who aren’t shin detonator think. The shoe detonator are slanted to enable educators to recognize the right lower leg bones. They are likewise ready to illuminate educators that you can distinguish two lower legs as being from a similar individual regardless of whether you can’t determine who that individual is. So first you need to gather every one of the lower legs and place them in one pot. At that point you’ll need to scavenge through that part and begin hauling out lower legs as you would choose in bits of a jigsaw. You at that point need to combine up every lower leg with its sibling or sister, contingent upon whether it is from a male or a female instructor. These lower legs would then be able to be probably credited to the ideal individual, by seeing sexual orientation size and weight. I isolated size from weight there, as they are two unique issues. I mean hold up as in the kind of weight that is about how overwhelming you are, not weight as in to what extent you would hold up in a specialist’s sitting area for instance so a portion of the spelling of weight may be conflicting.

The most lower legs any one individual has, is as well. A few people stop when I state 2. It could be spelt in different ways, I’m alluding to the number 2. The vast majority have two lower legs. Furthermore, the most lower legs any one individual will have is likewise as well. None of the educators have under two lower legs. So when the shin detonator found that they had an odd number of lower legs in the pot, they understood that they didn’t have the total set. So before they began dispensing lower legs to anybody, being socialists, they chose to hold up until they had every one of the lower legs of everyone before appropriating them. Not many individuals like this. A portion of the instructors grumble to the shin detonator, yet the shin detonator didn’t help them since they thought it was uncalled for on the educators that didn’t have the two lower legs accessible, for different instructors be to be given both their lower legs while regardless they’re pausing. So the educators shaped an association. The Union permitted to educators, under 1 law, to state to the shin detonator that they needed all instructors who could have their lower legs given to them, given to them. The educators they didn’t have lower legs to be given, would simply need to manage it. It’s important now that none of the instructors new right now whether there lower legs were in the pot or not. So every one of the instructors were tolerating the way that they will be unable to have their lower leg straight away, and a portion of their companions and adversaries would likewise have both their lower legs come back to their, while they were all the while hanging tight for their. This may have been worried for the shin detonator however once they had understood that the educators approved of it, the shin detonator were ready too.

This takes us on to the general population on board the pontoon in the River. The stream was getting uneven yet the pontoon was remaining still. Be that as it may, in any event the waterway was getting uneven, not at all like previously. It’s not simply the wave slamming in the shoreline. The remainder of the water is ending up exuberant too. It’s notwithstanding getting somewhat stormy. A few vessels of flying through the air, yet not the pontoon with the Cricketers on full stop the gathering the Cricketers have gone to stays undisturbed, while these pontoons are flying through the air. Not exactly sufficiently high to achieve the mists but rather low enough to smack shin detonator in the face as they fly through the sky. The drifting individuals over the Sinn detonator were investigating their shoulder and saw a portion of these things flying through the sky. What are they? They are both obviously. Pontoons running off base, obviously would it say it isn’t self-evident?. The pontoons are obviously, obviously. It’s not verse. It is only that the vessels have been going through the air for such a long time that some of them have advanced toward the play area. So now the instructors lying on the ground have a third thing to be stressed over. Right off the bat they’re stressed over their lower legs be absent. Besides they are stressed over being hit by fallen tree. Presently they’re likewise stressed over Korean with a flying pontoon, that has been tossed through the air by the tempest currently contaminating the generally still waters of the waterway, originating from the boisterous water development at The Shore of the shoreline where the waves are landing. The ways the arrival close to the feet of the kids, so does the goat application infection bounce from the legs of the youngsters into the rough Waters of the ocean? We don’t have the foggiest idea. We realize that the goat application can end up airborne. On the off chance that it can wind up airborne, at that point it is powerless to dust. Pollen travels through the air.

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Feeding time on the Alps Express

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It’s sad. You wouldn’t even think he’s trying to hide. The company chairman’s looking straight into our carriage from the other end of the platform. I can even see when he blinks. His binoculars flicker white momentarily. His blink rate will drop to less than once per minute. His breathing’s a worry. Even from where I’m sitting, you see the lapels of his coat going up and down. When he sees evidence of us being in the right state of mind though, he’ll make his move. By this, I mean joining us in the carriage to do the feeding. The feeding’s the climax to this whole operation of his. It’s an annual event he added to the company calendar thirty years ago. He arrives with his bucket of fish, but none of this happens if he thinks our lips aren’t swollen shiny rosey red and the floor isn’t already half covered in saliva. He likes to feel his wellingtons are necessary. He’d rather it be a proper abattoir, or one of those goose farms. This is what he’s looking for in his binoculars. Evidence of shiny lips and shiny chins. Swinging heads and whites of eyes bouncing in the background. He won’t move until he’s seen, what he calls, rabies. He’ll be feeding us fish from the bucket he’s holding down by his knees for now. Binoculars in his left hand, bucket in his right. Seeing each others mascara running’s making us laugh. It’s funny because he’s the animal feeder, and we’re all his seals. He’ll be here soon. The train leaves in fifteen minutes. The feeding needs to be over by then. The carriage is near full, with its twenty chosen men, writhing their shoulders and necks independently, going “Ahhurrreww-UuuHhurruhhh. AourruhHhur-oOurAaRrruH” from deep within and to the sides of their throats. Just like seals do. The chairman can’t hear us from where he is, but through his binoculars, he can tell. He can tell when we’re ready. He knows when it’s time. The team have been re-enacting this scenario at every team holiday for the last thirty years. This is my first, and last year. I’m not sure why I’m here, because unlike the others, I don’t work for the company. But the chairman, he won’t move while we’re just pretending to be seals. That’s what his waiting and watching’s about. He’s waits for total immersion. Usually about twenty minutes from first assuming our seating position. It’s no fun for either him, nor us, for this to be just your regular team building role play exercise. With people pretending to be something they’re not. You have to be the seal. Role play is for company away days. This is more. It’s a company skiing trip. Our waddling’s waddling the carriage. The other passengers aren’t happy. In fifteen minutes, our train leaves. By which time, the chairman will be onboard, and we’ll all be satisfied. He’s looking at everyone but me. There’s twenty of us in this carriage. Behind the chairman, with bigger binoculars, is a library desk. It’s taking notes, and its binoculars are pointing in the same direction as the chairman’s. Nineteen of us, here in this carriage, are the chairman’s staff. I’m the only one who isn’t. It’s them and me. I’m just on my way to the library, but somehow got caught up in it. You wouldn’t know, as I’m in team uniform. Just like the others. The chairman knows when we’re ready. He’s hardly blinked since the second mechanic accidentally wiggled off the edge of his seat, before quickly clambering back on. When it’s not just a bunch of lame car mechanics getting into character. When he can see the belief in ourselves as his seals, he’ll drop his binoculars, and start making his way over here. You have to be the seal, or it’s no fun. It takes a while, but the chairman knows when we’re ready. He watches through binoculars from afar. Peering through the carriage windows from the other end of the platform. We’re on the noon train from London to Paris. The chairman reserved a carriage for us. Us being me and his team of mechanics. It leaves in fifteen minutes. Our carriage holds twenty and is already full. Me, and nineteen Formula One mechanics. The mechanics all work for the same team. The team chairman reserved the carriage for their end of season ski trip to the French Alps. He’s watching us through his binoculars with his feeding bucket in the other hand. After Paris, the train goes on to the Alps, then on to Russia. Everyone’s perched on the edge of their red plastic seats, awaiting the chairman and his bucket. He can see when our lower jaws stick out enough, and our hips get that authentic rhythm in their waddles. To the point where a couple of mechanics may slip off, onto the floor.
All twenty of us are in team shoes. Hands on both knees, straight back, if anything, arched inwards slightly, not slouching, ankles together. Once we’ve assumed the starting position, we can start the wiggling and seal noises. You have to shove your chin forward, so your mouth has enough of an underbite to get that raucous throat sound. It’s a kind of ArUhhh-ArUhh-ArUh. It’s not just that we’re all in black shoes, but we’re all wearing the exact same design and brand, bought in bulk, together, from the same shop. I’m also different from the others in that I’m English, travelling alone, and they’re mostly Swiss and are all travelling together. The handful that aren’t Swiss, are Dutch, Belgian, and from Luxembourg. They’re all mechanics at a Formula One team, looking forward to setting off on their end of season skiing holiday, but not before woofing down a bucket load of raw herring and flounder. There’s twenty of us. All looking round at each other, smiling at the thought of our pleasant and extravagant holiday. Laughing even, when you consider he’s the chairman and we’re the seals. Compared to theirs, my holiday’s only relatively extravagant. I’m getting off at the first stop, to go to the library on my own. The seal re-enactment’s a team building exercise, organised by the chairman. He likes to slap us around the face a little with each fish before dropping them, often several at a time, into our slithery gullets. I’m sat on a train. We haven’t moved yet. We’re waiting at the first stop, London. This route only has vague station names. There’s four. London, Paris, The Alps and Russia. The London stop’s in Muswell Hill. There’s twenty of us already in the carriage. Unlikely to be any more before we leave. Everyone, including me, is dressed in identical uniform. To repeat, we’re about to travel, first, from London, where we are now, non-stop to Paris. From Paris, it goes off and up into the snowy mountains of Eastern France. After the Alps, I’m guessing they’re the ones in France, it skips over to deepest Russia. I won’t be on the train beyond Paris. I’m getting off there to go to the library. Everyone else is staying on and going up the Alps. They’re all off on a skiing holiday. All of them together, in one group are going on holiday. Them, and their overgrown blond wavy haircuts with rich kid steps at the back. It doesn’t look more difficult or costly to cut than a normal haircut. But these are all adults, and that a lot of them still have a kids haircut gives the impression they’ve had a pretty easy life. Unlike everyone else, I’m getting off at Paris. We’re all between twenty and sixty. There’s no one else in our carriage, other than me and this ski group. Most people can’t afford to go on this train. It’s the only international train in the world. We’re sat here, perched on the edge of our red plastic seats in our uniform red ski jackets, uniform jeans, uniform grey socks and uniform black shoes. The inside of the train’s all boot scrubbed and polished. Everything to brilliant sterile white, apart from the red seats. The seats too are scrubbed, plastic and dry. The view of the Alps is a backdrop to the main event of the window. Everything other than the windows is plastic, including the red seats. We’re in ultramarine tight blue jeans. Beltless, darker and more saturated than regular Levi’s. The Eurotunnel doesn’t exist. It’s just this one, where instead of having an underground tube, you have an overhead monorail beam. It goes over the water like a ski lift, about the height of an average house above sea level. It’s not like a typical train. Looking back, I’d say “I took some high tech transport, it’s like a train, on one of those frictionless overhead conductor rails.” Our shoes are black and shiny, like a plastic puppet’s. We travel over the channel to the doorstep of this library, where only I get off. Goodbye my fellow seals. I wave them off. They’re still smiling in the silence we’ve been in since the chairman finally accepted he’d run out of fish. Apart from some giggling over memories of the fish slaps. No one, including me, questioned why I was there, knows how I came to be amongst them, how I got hold of their uniform, or why the team chairman paid for my trip in his tattooed face. I’ll never see any of those men again. It’s more like a fast ski lift, but where you have the white fibreglass shell of a train, it might have been fibreglass, not plastic, meaning, unlike a ski lift, you’re always inside, but there’s a foot long ventilation gap between the tops of the walls and the ceiling, taking full advantage of the fresh channel sea breeze. As it picks up speed, in the wind blusters, and you start envying those wavy haired rich boys. It must be a lovely head massage for them. You get the opposite problem in Paris. Paris smells like cack. The seats are suspended mid air like the electronic connectors in the rail above the roof. Static forces and momentum keep everything a couple of centimetres away from anything else, except for you and your seat. No organic matter conducts electricity. The library’s in central Paris. It’s the first French stop. I’ve come to look up an artist. Specifically to this library because in Paris, there’s no time and no one knows you. Everyone in London knows me, and they always have urgent stories to tell. I can’t remember the artist’s name right now, but once inside, I’ll see others like him and it’ll come. The interior, and everyone in it, rolls out before me, like a greeting carpet. The outside stands permanently, as you’d expect. Such an odd thing happens in regular flow and no one acknowledges it. The staircases are a lighter piney wood, lighter, I mean, than the Victorian dull mahogany of the bare floors and bookshelves, and have pinstripe suited men walking up to more in depth books. Everyone in this building’s highly educated. At the front, in front of the reception desk, is a small bookshelf just below where the table top juts out, with 20 or 30 books on it.
“Do you see how my top juts out, like your lower chins?” asks the desk.
The desk shows me.
“AhhUhhR-AuuuRrrHhh-UhhhUh-Oruhhh Uhhhrrow-uhhhrawWww-ourrrrUhhh”
It’s veneered chipboard, still with all its casters, but only standing because it’s leant back on reception’s panels. It would cost the same to make the veneer look nicer. Like a pine design, or other solid colour that wouldn’t get as dirty looking, like black or burnt umber. But like with their haircuts, the poorer things are depressed and resigned to themselves. The library building’s a single room, but I didn’t realise, entirely dedicated to art. I knew this till I walked in. The unraveling must have grabbed some of my forefront thoughts. I just go through the books at the front of reception, but can’t find the artist I’m looking for. They’re just some kids story books. I leave the library, and from the return train back to Muswell Hill, am taken back to a bare concrete hotel. Off the return train as normal, but from there, once back in London, by a thin African man clutching my elbow the whole way. He grabs it as I step off, and leads me along as if he’s a got a revolver. At some point, between waving goodbye to the ski holiday group, and walking up to the library, my clothes changed back to what I normally wear. When the skiers disappeared, my clothes changed back. We, the gentle kidnapper and me, arrive at a concrete three floor prison complex, like a grey maze. The ground floor must be wider than the ones above. You can look over your walls from inside your room, and over the roof of the building you’re in. It’s an L-shape layout like the flats on Lordship Lane. You’re made to feel you’re always outside. My room doesn’t have a roof you can see from inside, or ceiling, unlike the roof you can see on the other leg of the L. From outside, you can see the entire complex has a roof. Inside, there’s no furniture anywhere. You can see well into every room from the corridor. The only part of each room you can’t see’s the toilet, as the rooms themselves are also L shape. Other than concrete, there’s some decorational metal bars around, or metal gates. It’s grim, and shutdown. I mean, you’re constantly bullied by the interior atmosphere of the building. The architect’s built it in. You can’t see and smash them, like cameras. Then he shows me my room, never saying a word. I see his ear and a grade 3ish cut afro over the back of it. It’s night time. There’s fluorescent mosquito lights and background talking from young sounding people. My room has a concrete single bed, white pillow, two white sheets you can’t tuck in anywhere, and a blue blanket. Bare concrete walls, a light bulb, a concrete toilet, concrete sink. Nothing’s painted. Flat metal plates screwed in with electronic sensors for taps. I don’t know where the water comes out, but it does. There’s no doors on any rooms. There’s no furniture, or much in the way of personal belongings. No rooms are vacant. I’m the only resident who isn’t a student. I’m twice the age of anyone else here. Even the man showing me round can’t be thirty. There’s nothing to steal. Just this constant background murmur of students being drunk, sick, gangs of them plotting against each other. They’ve got no respect for me being new here. They don’t make an effort. No one approaches me. I’m desperately starting to like my chaperone. I sleep there tonight. As far as I remember, nothing much happened. I get back on this high tech transport and go back to the library. This time as I walk in, I remember the second, larger section where there’s more art books. There’s only the one ceiling at the top of the building. Seeing the whole building from the ground floor, you appreciate how many stairs and different types of ladder you need to start a library. The building’s round, the same proportions as a kitchen roll’s inner tube. Only wide because it’s massively tall. A man from television walks past looking like he works here. He’s on some television programme where they recreate things from the Arts and Crafts movement. He’s in a blue all in one outfit, but not like a car mechanic. I remember him from television, but now I see him in person, I realise I knew him from before as well. He must have been someone from one of the pubs round Windsor. As he’s from television, I make our conversation last longer than’s usual by pretending to forget the name of the artist I’m looking for. I needn’t have, as I can’t remember it anyway. But in pretending to, I push the name completely out my head. I’m confident he won’t get it, and I’ll remember soon by myself. Then I’ll get the big applause, and he’ll like and remember me.
“He’s a household name. You know him.” I say.
But the name’s still escaping me, and I think well, I must have been looking at him on the internet. I get my phone out to check the internet history. I type the wrong number for the passcode, and accidentally dial this masseuse I used to visit. The phone shows the screen saver, then back to the normal phone. There’s something wrong with my phone. It’s ringing, and the person it’s ringing is answering. The name’s displayed as STORM. I hang up, but not in time for her not to answer. I just catch her voice. I close the phone app thinking that might properly get rid of her and open up the internet, just to make sure she’s gone. While I’m here, I might as well do what I set out to. So I start looking up famous artists names.
“He’s a Russian.” I keep saying.
“He’s a Russian. You know him. He’s a household name. He’s in Berkshire.”
Lots of wrong double barrel names come to mind, so I think the name I’m trying to remember is probably double barrel. The staff are trying hard. I start looking at the spines of the books. I now realise, I’ve totally forgotten. I go back to my concrete room, but when I get back, it’s overloaded with stuff from my youth. Furniture, loose clothes, old rugby shirts and sports things from my school days. GIRL, and a friend of hers I’ve never met, are there. GIRL must have brought her along. GIRL is an old friend from years ago. We were friends for a couple of years when I was in my late twenties, and she, in her mid twenties. STORM texts me. It reads:
“later?… see me in 3 hours… I’m just hanging out yeah.”
I have to whisper to GIRL because my family are nearby. I leave GIRL standing there a minute while her friend and me climb over a load of bicycles, to get to my art studio. As the friend’s distracted looking round, I go back to GIRL and whisper in her ear. The room that was all concrete, is now my old home. I guess that’s what all the furniture and stuff was. I’m now back at home, and my parents are in earshot. I grab GIRL’s hair, she’s so beautiful. I have to go back to GIRL’s reaction when she first saw me today. When she turned up with her friend. Her friend I’ve never seen before. GIRL said, as soon as she saw me
“It’s so nice to see you.” and pulls me into her fat shoulder, rocking back and forth. Her hand’s on the back of my head. It’s comfort like I’ve never felt. More like relief. I say
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
She shoves my chest away, pushing my face out in the cold.
“What are you talking about?”
It throws me for a couple of seconds, by which time she’s laid solid on the bed like a wooden doll on its back, gazing up where there’s no ceiling anymore. The ceiling had returned when the room became full of my old clothes.
I repeat “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings”
Saying it twice doesn’t help. From realising I’d been living a lie, these last twenty odd years,I’m now back to where I started in an instant. I don’t know what to say, so I just say it a third time
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
I know she at least liked me, back when I was in my twenties, but I never, being useless with women, did anything about it. I’ve done enough damage, so look for her friend to talk to. I didn’t resolve it. What GIRL and I remember and felt about each other’s gone now. Thanks to her turning up and STORM’s text.