Strings of Nines

Forums Yurara Fameliki’s Stories Strings of Nines

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        When Ann read about “that place lost between the pine trees” in The Play she started coughing again. She was beginning to wonder about her cough, after reading in the New Reality Herald last night about the man with a fir tree growing in his lung.

        In tandem with her coughing, the ground started to tremble beneath Amarilla, The Forgotten Eggleton, and flecks of sun melted chocolate spattered the gravestones and pine trees.

        It’s a lungquake, run for your lives! she shouted, but there was nobody there. The ground heaved and cracked beneath Amarilla and she lost her grip and plunged headlong into an abyss of vile sticky mucus.


          Little did they know that the Lost Eggleton was the Lost Sneggleton of a mother snake, fruit of some hazardous experiments…


            The Le Hoot triplets had just arrived from the Nest Dimension and were quietly aclimatizing to the new environment. They were well camoflaged against the pine tree branch, Sprack had done a good job as usual with the expedition planning, his noteworthy attention to detail and vast knowledge of Pulmonia was second to none.

            Sprack unfortunately hadn’t forseen the lungquake occuring so soon after the Hoot’s arrival, however. When the pine branch first started to tremble, F’Loot, who was perched on the outermost position, almost lost her footing. Luckily K’Yoot managed to hold onto F’Loot, while M’Yoot maintaineed a firm hold on the pine trunk, saving them all from an embarrassing and potentially disastrous fall.

            The Le Hoot’s had been sent to Pulmonia to locate all the Lost Eggletons and return them to Ovadonia for debriefing and eventual retirement, with instructions to locate all missing Eggletons, whether they be dead, alive, melted or cooked, or miscellaneous parts thereof.

            As the ground started to shake for a second time, M’Yoot spotted the terrified yellow Eggleton clinging desperately onto a gravestone, beads of chocolatey sweat spattering the cold grey stone.

            M’Yoot tugged K’Yoot’s wing in alarm, pointing wordlessly at Amarilla. K’Yoot in turn nudged F’Loot, who almost lost her footing again. There was an almighty roar as the ground heaved and split.

            As the Lost Eggleton screamed and disappeared into the heaving bubbling goo, the Le Hoot triplets sprang into action.


            Gustav cursed when he dropped the watermelon, which hit the potting shed floor with a loud crack.

            Hopefully nobody had heard him. He particularly didn’t wish to alert the two ladies, his new employers Miss Sharon and Miss Gloria, to his interest in agriculture. Gustav Burgeon was working undercover for the World Association To Eradicate Redundant Material (Escarole Leaf Order: Newbie), otherwise known as W.A.T.E.R.M.E.L.O.N. The New Leaf Order had spent considerable time and expense training robots to infiltrate agricultural enterprises, cottage gardens, and allotments in a concerted effort to wipe out superfluous and unnecesary edible plant items, which had been the scourge of the planet for generations. The planet had reached crisis point with the abundance of foodstuff, mainly in the hysteria and confusion that had resulted when a fictional account of The Mythical Nutrients had been published in the old Reality Times newspaper. It had caused widespread panic as the populace began eating everything in sight in a frantic attempt to control The Nutrients.

            Gustav had been employed by the two ladies ostensibly as a butler. Conveniently for Gustav, the pair of old slappers had not had the luxury of staff in their hitherto adventurous, albeit common lives, and were blissfully unaware of Gustav’s many improprieties and errors. Whenever Gustav behaved oddly, the two ladies would remark “One simply can’t get the staff these days, my dear”, followed by a bit of thigh slapping and raucous laughter.


              In a trice the Hoots had donned their Snotsuits and Mucodisolver backpacks and were ready for action. Fearlessly they dived into the vile pit.


                Funnily enough, Ann was saying to Godfrey, the random daily quote mentions the word trice a few times, although I hadn’t read it before mentioning the word trice in relation to the Hoots. It also mentions poppy tea, which coincidentally, Vuni mentioned on the Mothership yesterday, to which I replied.


                  “Did you tell me all that already?” Godfrey was alarmed about the rate Ann’s Ralzheimer (or Reverse-Alzheimer) was progressing. Now she was telling him of things which had not happened yet…


                    Ann was rather surprised at the effect Godfrey’s words had had on her, innocuously mundane though they might have aooeared.

                    Oh gosh, she exclaimed, Look at that typo. Ann started wringing her hands in vexation. I thought I’d escaped that silly OOH dimension.

                    It took Ann quite some minutes to regain her composure.


                      Ann had forgotten to post the paragraph she wrote for the Play the previous evening. Perhaps that was what Godfrey had been referring to. Truthfully, Ann was feeling increasingly befuddled.

                      Phunn, the new puppy, was skittering and lurching around the kitchen, paddling in a saucer of mashed cat food and learning how to growl at chair legs. Yoland sat down at the computer with a weary sigh and checked the random quote. Well what a coincidence, she exclaimed, and not for the first time. The random quote generator really was remarkable.

                      Ann wondered if it would matter that the entries to the Play was now out of order. She doubted it, but she did feel that it was symbolic of something else, but she couldn’t put her finger on it….


                        Good Lord Above! shouted Ann. That was a complete accident! So THAT’s how you do that!


                          So easy, and yet so obvious, Ann mused. So easy…and yet so obvious…..hhmmmm.


                            Godfrey, look what she’s doing again! She’s just trying to win the Most Entries Competition again.” grumbled Finnley.


                            If “ODD” is a pie and two halves,
                            then a OO is two pies…
                            The mag-pie stole the H
                            from the owl… what a hoot!

                            Yurick was wondering if this incursion into the meanders of the stories during business hours may take its toll on his remarkable efficiency…

                            Strangely enough, the random quote, never shy of a wink was indicating that an egg was hatching. He was starting to wonder, after seeing that scientists were planning to grow broccoli and cabbages on the moon, that it was indeed not made of cheese, and that there probably was no more easy escape from the Ooh dimension than there was from the intricacies of their impetuous imagination.


                              The fact of the matter was that Ann had been intending to write about Cordella’s twin sister Flagella, but had been hopelessly side tracked when Godfrey had thrown that curve ball. Flagella had been wanting to slap herself rather badly and Ann was more than willing to oblige her by entering a scenario into the Play. The way things had panned out highlighted some interesting parallels with Yoland’s current state of affairs too. Obviously Flagella had chosen not to slap herself after all, although she appeared to have chosen to effect that in a somewhat convoluted manner. It was the unknown factors that were baffling Ann, the missing links in the convoluted manners; she felt painfully aware that she simply wasn’t seeing the whole picture.

                              Unsure of her footing, that’s what it was, at least that’s what Yoland had noticed. With the puppy always climbing over her feet or somewhere underfoot, she hadn’t been able to take a normal step in a fortnight. It was making her tense and tired, and jittery. Every step she took was halted, mid step, which made her feel permanently off balance.

                              Flagella had wanted to slap herself for being irritated, which was becoming immensely irritating in itself. Being irritated wasn’t fun at all, it was irritating! The most irritating thing of all was that she didn’t know why she’d started getting irritated in the first place.

                              Ann wanted to butt in and tell Flagella a thing or two about how dense she was being, but didn’t think there was much point. It wasn’t as if Flagella hadn’t already heard whatever Ann might have to tell her a thousand times or more, so it was doubtful that more words would be any help.

                              She doesn’t need any help, full stop, Ann reminded herself, and neither does Yoland.


                                Why go to the moon
                                To plant your greens
                                There’s plenty of room
                                Inside your spleen

                                Why travel so far
                                So long to deliver
                                There’s room in your heart
                                Or indeed in your liver


                                  ‘The tiniest piece of celery can leave me gasping for breath’: Rising number of children allergic to fruit and veg

                                  “Well what a coincidence.” Ann was beginning to sound like a broken record, but the article in the paper was rather a good synchronicity with her recent entry.

                                  the brothers can’t eat most fruit as it gives them an allergic reaction

                                  Ann had to laugh, she’d often wondered why people chose to be allergic to all the nice things like chocolate and peanuts and cola and ice cream, how silly was that. Finally people were waking up to the fact that ice cream was spinach to some folks, just as cod liver oil was cola to others. Those brothers, surmised Ann, were creating just what they wanted.


                                  Holy Pixie Sticks! exclaimed Arona. Where am I? … and what are you doing here Sanso?


                                  “You are where you are and I am where I am”, replied Sanso, “Which is always the centre.”

                                  “The centre of WHAT though, Sanso?” Arona replied. “One minute I’m in a cave, wandering around with a subal ~ subalti ~ sumalti ~ a sand thing, and a baby… Oh MY GODFATHERS! Where’s Yikesy? I’ve lost the baby!!”


                                  “You never know where you’ll end up when you enter the Elsespace Arangement, AronaSanso remarked, ignoring Arona’s concern about the baby. “I wonder where Zhaana is though?”

                                  “Never mind her, what about Yikesy?” retorted Arona.


                                  Godfrey, there’a technical hitch and I feel that it’s your department.” Ann was unable to link previous entries, and she knew what a stickler her publisher, Godfrey Pig Littleton, was for details and continuity. “I simply can’t get the thing to work any more!”



                                    “Aha!” Ann exclaimed, “So that’s it”. Ann had been pondering the symbology of the ‘out of order’ entry — well, truth be told, she had forgotten all about it until she reviewed the latest pages, and then it suddenly hit her: In the Rembrandt book she’d been reading, the dead artist had remarked that the conversations that had taken place in the latter part of the 20th century had actually occurred one day while he was still alive, daydreaming or slipping off to sleep while in his studio in Amsterdam.

                                    “I suppose I should type out the relevant parts of the book to include in this entry” Ann thought, but she had an urge to go for a quick nap instead. Suddenly she could hardly keep her eyes open.


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