Circle of Eights, Stories

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      Back from the depths of his sleep, the dragon Naasir exhaled in a puff of smoke. He’d just woven a wonderful dream —for all dragons and creatures do dream of course, even if most humans doubt it.

      Yawning, Naasir stretched out his long slithery body. Fully stretched, his body was an impressive sight to behold. He was quite old by human standards, while in fact, he was still in his youth, and could very well stay as rambunctiously lively for many other long centuries.

      He had given the final touch to a new world he had been creating in his dream time for many nights now, and was rather proud of it —even if dragons knew no such thing as pride, his feeling at this very moment was very akin to being proud.

      He had filled this world with many wonders, dragons of course, and other creatures yet to be named. And magic was all pervasive in that world, and so slightly cloaked, that it could be used by many.
      It would be a great playground he thought, for he was not a possessive and dictatorial dragon. In fact, he could feel some others were about to step in, and tell and live the story of that world.

      Sighing in delight, like a sleepy cat of majestic dimensions, he cuddled again, about to sink deeply into the harp music playing in his mind, ready to dream and let that story be told again…

      Another Never Ending Story

      Malvina. That name had been thrown into a conversation Yann and Quintin had had together, during which Quintin had felt images come into his awareness. He had instantly liked that name.
      He was feeling the aura of a woman, long hair of a pale rosy color, with a noble bearing. That name had been around, and they had played with it to find more impressions.
      And they had felt it linked to breeding of dragons, in a sort of rookery.

      They’ve both felt her connected to Malika, an online friend of them, whose gentle touch and kindly influence, as well as her passion for dragons seemed to fit in quite interestingly.

      Then on an impulse, Quintin had begun to paint an image around it, letting his feeling guide his movements. He’d loved the peaceful environment he’d drawn, and even if he was not wont to share “unfinished” drawings, he immediately shared the initial sketches with Yann and Fiona.

      They both loved it, and Fiona even considered for a moment adopting one of the cute baby dragons to be born.
      “Buckberry” : that was the name Quintin felt for the baby dragon… But he did not see any character in that picture for Fiona. She would have to decide to step in, to get that baby dragon. What character would she be? A young impetuous rude adventuress, or an o(w)ld wizened witch? Perhaps a bit of both?

      These thoughts were now coming back to him.
      Ever since he had seen Yann’s pictures, those taken when he’d been in Old Albion, he had felt that something strange was manifesting.
      One of these intriguing coincidences: the picture of a cave that Yann has been visiting looked so strikingly similar to Malvina’s Rookery… And that playful kid in the cave was probably linked to Yann.

      So, now that the painting was finished, perhaps he could have people join in the fun. All that was required was imagination…

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    • #1211

      It felt like she’d been projecting for hours —in and out of her body, often brought back by the incomfort of the warm and moistly room, where the rheumatic fan was blowing a measly wind full of humidity.

      The rabbit she’d seen a few hours ago was ‘wanishing’, like a gentle feeling of pure joyful happiness holding by a thread that you try to reminisce before lapsing back into the old patterns of self-doubts.

      She didn’t have to strain herself so much, she suddenly realized; it never worked well when she tried to push it. She wanted the clarity of the projection to be deeply anchored within herself, and not some stroboscopic view of her grim reality sandwiched in glimpses of blissful clear lightness.

      So, she decided to wait for the moment to be back. Time didn’t really matter once you projected, but here in this reality time still mattered, and you had to find the proper exit-way. Not all moment seemed to work well.
      There were old books in this room, most of them, her son probably did pile up without even reading them. Some of them evoked the the birth pangs of the new era they were still building, which had started about 30 years ago. Now, in 2038 she was old, but back then she was in her mid-life and fully aware of the good aspects and not so good aspects of this life. She had yearned for the changes, and it had come; she had outlived most of them, and the books probably wouldn’t tell her much that she had not actually lived. Probably her son was keeping them because of his beliefs on wasting his investments.
      She, for one, couldn’t care less about them.

      She picked a little book, with a few words and mostly drawings and symbols on it, and she smiled. She’d seen some of these symbols in her dreams, she related to them; she didn’t need the words explaining them; words were just the authors’ translations, and she trusted her own before them. But the book was making her feel good.

      She leaned back in her bed, maneuvering the rolling bed to be in front of the last beams of light of the day.
      She could see the full moon rise, and she felt peaceful.


      When she noticed she was in front of the cave, she wondered how long she’d been out of her body without knowing.
      She could see the moon higher in the sky than when she was in her room, and she could feel an energy of excitement.

      Anita was finally coming out of this underground trip with her parents. Seeing the little girl in the flesh would be such a revelation for her, she was thrilled to the point of even forgetting her doubts about the possibility that she was really becoming insane.
      She didn’t know why or how, but she would convince her son to offer them some shelter, so that they could settle before getting home. She had so much to learn from the little one she could feel. She was really wise beyond her age…

      Voices where starting to fill the silent space:

      Anu! It’s been hours now we’ve been in these damp corridors, are you sure you know the way?”
      “Yes Mum, we’re almost there…”
      “Here, I can see the light Lily!”
      “Yes, I can see it too Aaron!”
      “Wow, the moon is full, it’s so lovely”

      After the couple had emerged, Balbina could see Anu wink at her. She was seeing her! Now, she only need show her the way to the house!


      Franiel, dear lad, are you here?”
      The voice was sweet yet authoritative.

      “Yes, M’am. Is there anything I could do for you?”

      Franiel had been at the service of Madame Chesterhope for a few moons, but he felt like it had been his whole life. He quite enjoyed the peaceful life at her mansion, which was interestingly only seldom visited.

      He was offered food and shelter for his doing some repair work for Madame Chesterhope when she was requesting it. The rest of his time was free, and he used to go wander in the calm neighbourhoor to observe the nature which was so different from anything he had seen before. It was as though the whole countryside was by eerie mimicry perfectly suited to the strange lady with the foreign accent.

      The simple work in communion with this nature had streams of words rise inside him like seeds sprouting after a warm rain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to express them however.
      He had tried a few times to tell Lydia, but her merciless laughter alone would have nipped any of his attempts in the bud.

      One of his greatest satisfaction was to go to the ‘motorbike’ and try to figure out its functioning. Lydia had laughed at his stubbornness to try to make the old piece of junk work —by her own words, she’d rather delete the whole thing out of reality, if it was for her to decide. Luckily enough, it wasn’t for her to decide, and nobody else really cared for his attempts.

      He wasn’t seeing Madame Chesterhope so often, and sometimes she seemed gone for hexades without anyone being able to tell if she was there or not. She simply seemed to have disappeared.
      He had been buggered for a while to figure out who the “Others” she had mentioned on their first encounter were, but apparently, had said chatty Lydia who believed the lady to be completely nuts, she was referring to “TEAFERS” (said in a mock-conspiratorial tone). “Teafers?” Franiel had asked puzzled. “Ahaha, you’re so thick sometimes.” had answered Lydia almost chocking herself into gales of laughter “Thieves! She’s obsessed about thieves! I suspect she’s got some precious stuff she would hate to lose. But believe me, to be as obsessed by thieves as she is, she probably hasn’t got all this stuff willingly given to her…”

      Anyway, with all that being said about Madame Chesterhope, she remained to Franiel as much a mystery as she was the first day he’d met her.

      — “Yes. There is something I’d love you to do, sweetheart. There are people who seem to be coming, and the mansion hasn’t received that many gentlemen for a while, as you can obviously tell. I would love you to assist Lydia in preparing the ball room, and the main hall, do some fixing where it’s needed, that kind of things.”
      — “Yes, sure M…”
      — “I won’t be there the next days, so be sure to make all things necessary before I come back. I count on you.”
      — “Very well M’am.”


        Georges and Salome’s journal

        From Salome’s account of her introduction to the Turmak People (Part 4)

        Legends of the past can tell you a lot more on the present than what sometimes is actually revealed by present events. I discovered the truth of this statement when we arrived with Cil at the capital of Tùrmk. As Cil was discussing with officials of the Turmaki Gatherings, I was offered to go to their House of Remembrance. It was, I gathered, a sort of physical repository of the knowledge of the Turmaki that would allow me to bridge the gap of my abysmal ignorance of their history.

        I was only barely starting to understand the odds of the physical configurations of space in this dimension, and I was nonetheless more than eager to add history to my previous geography lessons.
        Turmaki are living in a sort of interesting land forming a sort of circle at the centre of which lies the most beautiful sea I have ever seen, with a very subtle and vivid shade of deep indigo blue. Most of Turmakis’ activity was directed inward of the circle, and the outer sea wasn’t a matter of interest to them. Later at the House of Remembrance, I learned that there had been an agreement in the past with the other sentient races to not mingle, so even if there was not physical barrier, all they focused their attention upon was their land, and theirs only.
        Their Capital City, Tùrmk, may probably be seen as a very rudimentary city by all Earth-biased accounts. However, at that time, I had not really seen much of the Earth to be blasée anyway, so I was quite receptive to the beauty of its simplicity. It was located at the foremost point of an inner peninsula known as the Nirgual’s Head, facing twelve beautiful islands on which sacred temples had been erected.

        My fascination for the beauty of these islands led me to discover more about their significance. In the House of Remembrance, a similar structure of twelve doors led me to learn that the twelve families held significance even here and throughout Alienor as well. Representatives of the families were chosen among the Guardians, as I remembered Georges had discovered and interestingly some of them had had quite an influence upon the history of the various people of Alienor. I couldn’t really trace it back to tangible proofs, but as I said, some legends are quite telling — thus corroborating Cil’s earlier statements.

        I have not much time left to start telling them now, but I will probably tell more about the Legends of the Six ‘Fudjàhs’ —or Power Objects.

        (Part 3)


          “This is a long process, Godfrey , a very long process” Elizabeth said with a wry chuckle. She had left her characters to their own devices for so long she didn’t know where to jump in again with her directing.

          “The process is the point, dear” Pig Littleton replied dryly. “Pass the peanuts, would you?”

          “There are hundreds of probable possibilities, in fact there are so many of them that I hardly seem able to find a place to start.”

          “Start anywhere Liz, and then stop when you’re finished.” Godfrey said with his mouth full of peanuts. “Ideas are like peanuts, you can savour them one at a time…”

          “Or shove a whole handful in your mouth at once, eh Piggy” retorted Elizabeth, frowning as Godfrey tried to munch, swallow and speak all at the same time. “If I shove too many in my mouth at once, I can’t remember each individual peanut, it all becomes a glob of sticky….”

          “Peanut butter spread? And what’s wrong with that?” Pig Littleton smiled.

          “Well for one thing Godfrey, all those bits of peanuts stuck in your teeth is rather off putting you know.”

          “Why?” asked Godfrey.

          “Why?” Elizabeth repeated, perplexed.

          “Yes, why? Why do you perceive the physical evidence of my enjoyment of peanuts captured for a moment between my teeth as off putting?”

          “When you put it like that, dear Piggy, I confess I don’t have an answer” Elizabeth replied with a snort. “As a matter of fact, I have no idea where this conversation is leading at all!”

          “Aha, and there you have it!”

          “Have what, Godfrey? What on earth do you mean?”

          “Well, why should it be leading anywhere in particular? The process is the point, Liz, not the destination!”

          “Hang on a minute, are you trying to tell me that this conversation about peanuts is a meaningful process with a point?”

          Godfrey Pig Litteton laughed, spraying bits of peanut everywhere and nearly choking. “Who said anything about meaningful?”

          “Well what’s the point of it if it isn’t meaningful?”

          “If it’s meaning you want, you can read all sorts of things into it. On the other hand, if it’s fun you want, why worry about meaning?”

          Elizabeth shook her head, perplexed. “Is it fun that I want?”

          “Don’t you know?!” asked Godfrey, in mock surprise.

          “Well of course I want fun! Everyone does, surely!”

          “Then why” Godfrey said with exaggerated patience “worry about meaning?”

          “I’m not worried about meaning, Piggy, you’re twisting my words, you tricky rascal!”

          “My dear Elizabeth, I quote you: ‘What’s the point of it if it isn’t meaningful’”

          “Pfft” she replied. “I might delete that comment. Trouble is, if I do, the rest of it won’t make sense.”

          “Worried about making sense now, are we, dear?” said Godfrey with a sly grin.

          Godfrey, you’re making me sound so old fashioned, worrying about sense and meaning! Pass the peanuts.”


          “Well, Sanso” said Zhaana a trifle breathlessly, her flushed with wonder. “ The Elsepace Arrangement was certainly an eye opener, if eye opener is the right word. So what next?”

          Sanso laughed uproariously. “What next? What next, AHAAAHAA HA HA! What next indeed!”

          “What’s so funny?” asked the little girl, her face starting to crumple.

          “Oh don’t do the old crumple face, Zhaana, I’m laughing at myself as much as anything” Sanso replied, giving her a quick hug. He couldn’t bear the sight of crumple faced children.

          “Well, I still don’t understand why you’re laughing” she replied with a pout.

          “It’s actually a very good question, and one I sometimes find I ask myself. Well, I used to ask myself “what next” all the time, as if it was somehow important to know where I was going next, to have a destination or a plan.”

          “But if you don’t have a destination, how do you know where to go next?” Zhaana was confused.

          Sanso smiled. “It doesn’t matter where you go next, little one, because you’re always at the centre of everything. You can go in any direction you want and you’ll always be at the centre of everything.”

          “Well if that’s the case, why not just stay right where I am, then?”

          “Do you want to do that? Stay right where you are?”

          “No! I …er….no! of course not!”

          “Why not?” Sanso asked with a gentle smile.

          “Well, if I stay right here, and don’t go in any direction, everything will always be the same” she replied, frowning.

          “And what would be wrong with that?”

          Zhaana had to think about this. “Well, it wouldn’t be wrong I guess, but it would be boring. There wouldn’t be any surprises…..”

          “Ah so you like surprises, then!” Sanso was grinning.

          “Yes, I love surprises!”

          “Well then why do you want to plan where you’re going next?”

          Zhaana opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. Sanso was confusing her, and she didn’t know what to say.

          “OK then, Sanso, you are always wandering around, how do you decide where to go next?” asked Zhaana, rather cleverly responding to the difficult question with a question of her own.

          “I get an impulse, or I see a sign, and I follow it.”

          “What do you mean, a sign?” Zhaana understood about impulses: after all, she had followed her impulse to leave horrid old Uncle Grishenka and follow Sanso into the cave. She wasn’t sure about signs, though.

          “I’m not sure I can describe a sign, really. They just appear, and so I notice them.”

          “Well, after you notice them, then what?”

          “Well” said Sanso “Then you interpret the sign however you want to, and then you act on it.”

          “You can interpret the sign however you want?” asked Zhaana with a hint of disbelief in her voice.

          “Yup” replied Sanso. “That’s about the size of it, Sweetpea.”


          “Oh Godfrey, I’ve been trying to get the theme word into this entry and I’m just not getting any closer.” Elizabeth sighed, and pushed her keyboard away. Quickly she pulled the keyboard back so that she could write what Godfrey replied.

          “Have some more peanuts, Liz” he replied with a laugh.

          Elizabeth pushed the keyboard away again and passed Godfrey the peanuts .

          A few moments later Elizabeth pulled the keyboard back and wrote:


          Sanso, a word just popped into my head, do you think it might be a sign?” Zhaana asked excitedly. “It just popped in from nowhere!”

          “Sure it’ll be a clue, and what was the word?” he replied, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a chuckle. He had heard the word too, and knew exactly where it was coming from, but he wasn’t going to spoil the moment for his little friend.

          “Moonbeams!” she announced proudly. “I heard the word moonbeams !”


            “Jeeze, I can’t help to be continuously amazed by BeckyAl said more to himself than to Tina who was reading silently in the room next to his.
            “She struggles so hard at times, when all she needs is a little attention…” he continued in his breath.

            “What are you moaning about again?” Tina said, who unlike Becky was paying much attention even when she didn’t look like it.
            “Moonbeams! Did you see that last entry? There was as close as moon and beams as you could get in the previous entries in the Reality Play… I really wonder why we make things so hard for ourselves at times…”

            — Well, because it’s fun, I suppose she’ll tell you… Come on, you know how she is, you don’t need to play your sumafreak labouring it to the bitter end…
            — I suspect you’re right… And who cares about randomness anyway; it doesn’t look much fun these past few days, does it?
            — Sure…
            — Like I say. Look, you don’t even barely write yourself; if I didn’t know you’re here, I would probably do with the Play like the tomatoes plant; uproot it and cut it in pieces in a plastic bag for recycling.
            — Oh, but you have to admit the bedroom looks so much better without all these creepers around the place… All for what, twenty one tiniest tomatoes?
            — Plus the last two still ripening on the cupboard, Al retorted in a sullen manner.

            After a moment of silence, Tina laid her book down, and came closer
            — Yeah, you’re right, I don’t find it very funny for the moment, especially with that shift of vowellness in the Ooh dimension,…
            — Hehe, you mean, that nasty habit of telling ‘peanut’ instead of ‘poonut’?
            — Oh yes, but not only that,… Well, it looks like all my characters are eluding me, becoming alien… if you see what I mean… :yahoo_alien:
            — Yes, I see; and I must say you’re doing great with that; Becky would faint at the mere mention of something becoming alien, Al couldn’t help but laugh. :yahoo_oh_go_on:
            — No, but seriously…
            — I know. I think what we need is some more of your inimitable talent at creating syncs. You’ve always been the connector my dear with those “magifestations” of yours.

            She smiled. :yahoo_happy:

            — Now, speaking of random syncs, what have you got to say about that; we could create a music band :bounce: :yahoo_whistling:
            — What?
            — Hang on, here’s the band’s name: 57th Ward of New Orleans and we could call our first album… Mmm… That’s it: The Cup To Overflowing … What do you think? :agreed:

            Mmmm… that may sound weirdo, but it seems very feisty all of a sudden ! :yahoo_clown: :buffoon: :yahoo_party:


            It took Akita a few minutes to come back to himself, and a few more to make sense of the situation.

            At first he thought a huge six-eyed hairy creature was staring at him, but then the blur started to dissipate and he recognized by order of appearance, Sharon the divine, Gloria the brave, and Mavis the eloquent.

            — Shtttt! He’s coming back!
            — Are you okay? How many fingers do I have?
            — Oh, shut up Glor, we’d better be quick before they all come back from lunch; rather carry him on my back than having to eat their bloody penguin grub once again!
            — Oh, all my fur for a few scones with a cup of Earl Grey!

            “Mmmm…” Akita managed to say “Where on Earth did you get those expensive fur coats? and why are you keeping them under your blouses?!”… “And where was Kay when he needed it?” he asked to himself.

            “Oh, bugger it” shouted Sharon “no time for explanations, let’s move now! Chop, chop! Glor, you take the snet and the ropes, Mav’ all the watermelbombs you can get; and don’t blow yourself up; I’ll take Akitoo. To the snow scooters’ hangar! Now!”


            “Are these the snooters?”
            “You mean, snow scooters Glo?”
            “Yes, snooters, that’s what I said Mavis, don’t be bloody snooty with me”
            “They’re jolly small, init?”
            “Don’t be silly girls, 250 pounds max weight it says! With us as light as air, even with that mop of hair, it’ll carry us to Texas in no time”
            “Texas? Not sure there’s much snow in there…”
            “Oh shut up Mavis!”

            With that said, Sharon, Gloria and Mavis were soon riding on the icy slopes, with Akita solidly snetted to the back of Sharon’s machine.


              That’s some stroke of genius, said Al to himself, as he was waiting in the cold for a gondoskate to pay a visit to Becky Tooh who was sick with the flu at home with the three kids, and Sean nowhere to be found. Usually Sam was keen on helping Becky Tooh with the motherly duties, but as he was gone to the City he had relied on Tina and Al for that…

              If we manage to move the characters of the Reality Play out of that freezing land sooner, we’ll probably soon get hotter as well… Well, at least it’s worth a try!


                Becky was moaning: “Frankly, do you have to send me to the coldest places every winter when I have the flu Al, its a pattern!”

                Al realized that with the Russian adventure, Becky was right. “Wow,” he thought “the dramatic effect of being present that illness gave to Becky. She could even remember a year back from now!”

                “Well,” he said “I think the girls will soon find a timely escape… And the good news is that… I don’t think there is any place colder that we know of for the time being…”

                Becky surely was in poor condition, but her creativity still showed no boundaries “Maybe I can create super rapid global warming that reveals the hidden ruins of civilizations beneath the ice”

                Given the cold outside, Al’s mind was appreciative of the sudden overheat such a brazen thought produced in his mind…


                “Any bloody idea where we’re going?”
                “I SAID ‘Any BLODDY idea WHERE we’re GOING?’”

                Sha stopped her snooter. “Are you kidding me? Of course I know! We’re going back home!”

                The others were silent for a moment…

                “Come on, you saw the sign, didn’t you?


                “The sign?”
                “Of course darlings! It said seventeen kilometers and 39 meters to London, we’ll be home by the end of the day!”
                “Seventeen? That’s what? Ten miles at best!”
                “Gosh, never occurred to me it was so close! Ya such a genius Sha!”

                “Is Akita still unconscious?”
                “Yeah, bugger if I know how he can sleep an’ all, being that skinny with all the bumps on the road”


                  “Oh no! Last night’s frost has killed all the blibilong plants!” exclaimed Snettie, shivering in the unnatural cold. “Honestly, this global freezing is spoiling everything. If blibilong plants can’t stand this cold, then nothing will grow here anymore, and I am sick to death of eating leopard seal with no greens.”

                  “Ugh, don’t remind me. What I wouldn’t give for a nice fresh sun warmed bobbit fruit. All the smikkerts have migrated north as well, I haven’t seen one for months” replied Snooter. “I don’t know if I can stick around here for much longer myself.”

                  “But this is our home, Snooter!” Snettie started to cry, her tears freezing on her cheeks. We’re Sprealians, we’ve always lived here. Where will we go?”

                  Snooter hugged Snettie. “I suppose we’ll have to go north, like the rest of them.”

                  Snooter and Snettie gazed around at the deserted city. Alabash had been built around the shores of Lake Flom, in the mild and temperate regions of central Spreal (later, much later, Spreal was referred to as Gondwana, but Snooter and Snettie didn’t know that. And they certainly didn’t know that the remains of their civilization was to disappear under masses of ice for so long that all memory of them was long forgotten, and that anyone mad enough to suggest that they once existed would be considered a bit of a nutter).

                  Snettie, I think the time has come” Snooter said solemnly. “I think we have to go north. There’s only old Spagwan left here now besides us, and his daughter Illiofilly. We’ll never survive here with just four of us, even if it didn’t get any colder, and it is getting colder, every day. Why, the first four floors of all our buildings are iced up now for heaven’s sake. What happens when the ice reaches the top floors? Then what?”

                  “We’ll all be dead by then, Snooter” Snettie sighed “By rights we should probably be dead now. When we run out of furniture to burn to keep warm, then what? All the trees are dead and buried in ice.”

                  “We’ll come back though, when it warms up again. This can’t last forever, and when it’s over, we’ll come back.” Snooter said optimistically.

                  “How long do you think it’ll be?” Snettie asked her husband.

                  “Oh, not long, a few years at most. Don’t worry, you’ll be back home before you know it, but for now, let’s go and find some warmth and some decent food, eh?”

                  “Ok, but first I want to leave something, some message or clue or something, in case anyone comes back here before we do, so they know we’re coming back”


                  Becky sipped her coffee nervously, chain-smoking as she waited for Al and Sam to return from the crystal shopping excursion. She wasn’t sure if Al would approve of yet more characters in the Reality Play with so many loose threads already, all getting tangled up and dusty like so many balls of wool under the bed. Like dust bunnies, Becky thought with a chuckle. It was funny how the play had so many different moods, almost as if it had a life of its own. Well, I suppose the play itself is a sort of focus of attention in its own right, a conglomeration of the energies of a variety of essences, creating its own reality from its own perspective. But wait a minute, thought Becky, lighting up another cigarette, how is that different from me, for that matter? I am a conglomeration of the energies of fragmented essences creating my own reality from my own perspective too. Does that make me nothing more than a Reality Play —or, does that make the play a Focus of Essences?

                  The line of thought was giving Becky a bit of a headache so she flicked through Al’s latest entries. Clever old Al had been tapping into his Spreal focus when he came up with those silly names, funny how it often worked out like that. A nonsense word here, a bit of gibberish there, none of it meaningless, and none of it meaning anything absolute, either. The secret of life, Becky decided, was in Not being Afraid Of Nonsense. People were so afraid of Nonsense, as if to be caught speaking Nonsense was a heinous crime, or at best a severe handicap, possibly resulting in some form of custody or social alienation. All you had to do was find other people who resonated with your own version of Nonsense, which happened automatically anyway vibrationally. There are thousands variations of Nonsense, and none of them make any more sense than any other, thanks to the Equality In Nonsense underground movement a few decades ago. Equality In Nonsense was started by a group of online friends a few years after the Ministry Of Common Sense had disbanded through lack of interest. It caught on quickly, making a mockery of common sense, which went underground, a few die-hards hanging on with grim faced tedium to the old tenets. Over the years, as the Acceptance Of Nonsense Rights was established, the Equality In Nonsense brigade disbanded to get down to the business of creating new variations of Nonsense, just for fun —which was of course, The Point. Nevertheless, or should I say, notwithstanding, Becky smiled, there still remained a degree of common sense in the general populace, which possibly wasn’t altogether a bad thing.

                  It all got a in a bit of a muddle for awhile, until some enterprising folks published the handy guide books ‘Cooperation Within Nonsense ~ How To Communicate In Your Chosen Nonsense’, and ‘Accepting Total Nonsense ~ How To Deal With The Nonsense Of Others’.


                  “Roots” exclaimed Elizabeth “I forgot the theme word!”
                  “No doubt you’ll come up with an ingenioos way to slide it in, Liz” replied Godfrey with a smirk. “Pass the poonuts.”

                  A disgruntled Elizabeth rewrote:

                  “Rats!” I forgot the theme word!”

                  Unfortunately, Pig Littleton insisted on using the OOh dimension vernacular, and Elizabeth tutted and hit send.


                    Of course, there were probable versions of Snettie and Snooter that remained in Spreal, as well as probable versions that left Spreal much earlier. There was a probable reality in which Snooter and Snettie, and their freinds Spagwan and Illiofilly (sometimes spelled Iliophile) journeyed north a decade previously, as indeed there are probable realities in which Snooter and Snettie journeyed north, but Spagwan and Iliophile stayed behind.

                    “This could go on ad infinitum Godfrey, I better rein myself in” remarked Elizabeth, more to herself than to her friend Pig Littleton, who appeared to be engrossed in scrutinizing peanuts one at a time before popping then into his mouth and chewing them thoughtfully.

                    “Where were you planning to go with it, anyway?” asked Godfrey, inspecting another peanut.

                    “Well, I didn’t have a plan actually. I just started writing, really. And kept on writing until I reined myself in, and then….”

                    “And then what happened?” asked Godfrey, a trifle mischievously.

                    “And then the writing stopped.” Elizabeth laughed.

                    “How very singular, Liz dear” Replied Godfrey wryly. “You’re not making very good progress on Volume Two, I must say.”

                    “Anyway, Godfrey, I’ve got a bone to pick with you!” Elizabeth pushed her keyboard away and turned to face her publisher. “You’ve been tampering with my vowels again! It’s jolly well not cricket you know, old bean.”

                    Godfrey Pig Littleton focused on Elizabeth’s keyboard, a single peanut held alot as he concentrated, and the keys started to type on their own. Elizabeth swung round and read:

                    “…Oonyway Goodfrey, Oo’ve goot a boon to pook wooth yoo! Yoo’ve boon toompering wooth moo vooells agoon! Oot’s jooly wool noot crookit yoo knoo, oold boon….”

                    GODFREY!!” shouted Elizabeth. “Stop it! Nobody’s going to understand that Nonsense!”


                      Becky was relieved that Al hadn’t taken the introduction of the new characters too badly. He and Sam seemed to dash off again rather quickly though. Becky was starting to feel a bit lonely, what with Tina away for so long as well as Al and Sam being so wrapped up with the kitchen tiling that they hardly had time to stop for a chat anymore. Gawd only knows how many tiles it takes to tile a kitchen, Becky thought, even a kitchen in the city.


                      “What?” Yurick asked Dory who had left an email for them, as they had just come back with Yann from a trip to the far-off spaces of their dimension —also known as French countryside.

                      “There’s snow on Salitre ! Can you believe it?”

                      Sure, had not Dory showed the pictures, he would not have believed it. The beautiful mound otherwise green-looking during the most part of the year now looked just like a pretty picture of the Pyrénées mountains!

                      “Guess what”, he replied immediately “we saw ‘snoow’ outside of Paris too! It looked like Russian tundra…”

                      “Wow… I wonder what kind of stuff we are creating now. I should be careful what I investigate!” Dory mused…


                        Elizabeth had wanted to voice her concerns about the Vowel Shift and its potential impact on language and understanding to her publisher Godfrey Pig Littleton on numerous occasions, but until his, to her way of thinking, outrageous tampering with her script, it had not been in the forefront of her mind. She had simply ignored the Vowel Shift in the Ooh Dimension, and made up her own Vowel Shifts instead, in a variety of minor ways. Ironically and somewhat perversely (Elizabeth was well aware of the consonant shift, which she translated as a continental drift symbol) Pig Littleton was quick to notice and object.

                        “Do you deliberately write ‘collaberative’ instead of ‘collaborative’?” he asked.

                        “There are No Accidents, Godfrey” retorted Elizabeth, rather cleverly shutting the old coot up, at least for awhile. Thank Goodness he was otherwise engaged with the latest production of TWIST, and not breathing down her back about The Book.


                          When the four friends Angela Goose, Jobby the Pygmy Hippo, Weirdy the Weasel and Freaky the Ferret came to the dwelling of Barry the White Bear, they were all greeted by Pawanie the Lady Panda, his lovely partner.

                          “Oh,” she told them, “Barry is already gone fishing, but if that’s Arky the Aardvark you are looking for, I can tell you that I saw sweet Arkie Pooh not too long ago. He’s never far away when you need him.”

                          “By the way,” Pawanie the Lady Panda said to Angela “There’s a litter of the cutest baby crocodiles that has been placed for adoption, and I immediately thought of you.”

                          “What?!” Angela quacked almost frantically.

                          “Oh” said Freaky the Ferret “I saw that recently somewhere, they said baby crocos could talk to each other even when still inside the eggs! Could you believe that?”

                          “Well, of course,” Weirdy the Weasel answered teasingly, “ everybody knows that .”


                          “Is there a probable Becky still at the Serendib Facility ~ in-the-rural-mountainous-central-region-of Sri-Lanka-in-the-2030’s ~ Godfrey?” Elizabeth hurriedly included some background information in her question to appease her publisher, the erudite and enigmatic Godfrey Pig-Littleton.

                          Elizabeth was amused to note that erudite was almost an opposite to rude, but as Elizabeth could vouch for, neither was mutually exclusive, as Godfrey was clearly equally at ease exhibiting both ends of the rude spectrum. But I digress, she said to herself, turning her attention to Godfrey.

                          Elizabeth,” he said with a frown, “At your request I have had installed all manner of information retrieval systems, both objective and subjective, and yet you will insist on asking me questions instead of accessing the information yourself.” Godfrey shivered, attempting to wrap his velvet smoking jacket closer round his spare frame. The rich claret colour suited him perfectly, but it was clearly inadequate against the bitter cold. “Put another log on the fire, Liz, it’s colder than a witches tit in here today!”

                          “Don’t be rude, Godfrey” replied Elizabeth with a sniff. “I’m too cold to move, you do it. I’ve been absolutely frozen ever since Al sent us all to the South Pole. As a matter of fact, there’s been a cold snap all over the globe, which is why” she continued “I am trying to get us all out of there and back to Sri Lanka! We don’t want to start another Ice Age, Godfrey, this has to stop.”

                          “Ah, those were the days” smiled Pig Littleton. “I remember it well. It all started when Aunt Jeanne du Bappe was writing her book and wanted more ice for her G&T. Somehow it all escalated out of control, and before you could say Boo to a Goose, the whole place was covered in glaciers. A few million years later, when she’d slept off the effects of the gin, it was just beginning to thaw…”

                          “Dear old Jeanne, where is she now? I haven’t heard from her for…er, aeons.”

                          “Oh, she’s in fine fettle, got a job in The City you know. They say she’s quite something in The City these days, got quite a name for herself in Design & Communications.”

                          “Has she now! She’s done well for herself then, last I heard she was tiling kitchens in New Venice.”

                          Pig Littleton snorted. “Aunt Jeanne du Bappe, tiling in New Venice? Don’t be ridiculous, Liz, you’re getting your timelines in a twist. I expect that was one of her protegée’s, Aunt Jeanne’s been in The City for —well…”

                          Godfrey was uncharacteristically stumped.

                          Elizabeth wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to tease her old friend. “For how long?”

                          “For a very long Now”

                          “Well, I must say, that’s a fine thing isn’t it, to start an ice age and then bugger off to The City while everyone else freezes their tits off” said Elizabeth, blowing on her hands to warm them.

                          “You do realize, Liz dear, that every time you mention the word Cold, or Frozen, or Ice Age, you are increasing the potential of the Ice Age in the Probability Pool?”

                          Godfrey, the Probability Pool has frozen over. We’ll be skating right over the top of it instead of dipping into it, if we don’t start a thaw soon!”


                            With the weak Scottish sun warming their backs, India Louise and Cuthbert made sand castles on the deserted beach. Very few holidaymakers visited The Orkneys in the days when the Wrick twins were growing up (Elizabeth was tempted to add ‘whenever that was’ but refrained) and they had the beautiful sweep of coastline to themselves, all but for their nanny, the eccentric Breton, who was sitting on a tartan blanket in the sand dunes practicing her Scottish accent. Nanny had heard somewhere that a Scottish accent had been voted the ‘most reassuring in an emergency’, and in her position as nanny, she felt it would be an advantage, especially while working for the eccentric and adventurous Wrick family.

                            Seagulls squawked overhead as she recited “… pRRoid te the lowkel in-abitents und steps av bin tayken in RResunt yeers… to improve the appearance of the city …… impRRoov the appeeRents uv the citay…

                            Nanny’s studies were interrupted by shrieks from the two children, who were running down to the waters edge, pointing towards an unusual object which appeared to be floating towards them on the incoming tide.

                            By the time Nanny reached the children the mysterious floating contraption had beached itself on the sand. As India Louise and Cuthbert paddled over to it, a wizened and emaciated Ella Marie Tindale whooped and cackled “Hooley Mooley, that was quoot a rood!”

                            Och aye, ma wee bairns, dinnae tooch it!” shouted Nanny “Ye dinnae ken owt aboot it, och! Oof, and what ‘ave we ‘ere, what eez zeess?” she said, lapsing back into her natural French accent, in a state of shock at what the tide had brought in.

                            The twins became alarmed immediately, backing away and asking nervously “Is it an alien?” “Is it a ghost?” so Nanny resumed the reassuring Scottish accent.

                            Nay ma wee poppets, och and it’s nowt but anoother mummay!

                            Cuthbert and India Louise exchanged looks surreptitiously. “What does she mean, ‘another’ mummy?” whispered Cuthbert to his sister. “How did she find out about the mummy in the unlocked room?”

                            “I don’t know!” she whispered back “Maybe she heard me telling Bill!”

                            Nanny gave both of the children a cuff round the back of the neck, reminding them of their manners.

                            Help ze lady off and ztop zat rude wheezpering!

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