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      With years of intense Happiness training, and being herself a certified Happiness Coach™ in Rainbow Unified Bliss®, Sadie knew when to notice she was stuck and, even better, what to do about it.
      Techniques varied: some focusing on breathing, others on following impulse and all that, but most of them had in common that rabid thoughts had to be put to sleep, and the focus had to be kept on the immediate now.
      The beauty of the Hawaii island was easy on the eyes, although she could still find objections lurking in the corner of her mind that the beaches were scarce on this island, with many shores a blistering hot pan of molten lava rocks ceaselessly beaten by the waves.
      Then the sound of her companions came rousing some disturbance in her Rainbow thoughts, as she found out was mostly an annoyance with herself and her hair, the neat bowl cut starting to look a bit rugged on the edges.

      Again, the rabid thoughts were back. She had to go deeper, cling to a joyful experience, that pure moment of satisfaction. But the flow and inpouring of love stopped again like a sea anemone retracting at the light touch of a clown fish.

      She restrained the thought of loudly using the F word, and as well refrained herself from the desire to delete everything.
      She noticed a few tadpoles which weren’t here before, slithering in a little pool of water next to the spot where she was. She’d almost forgotten about the singing frogs. That such little creature could do so marvelous feats of logistics rekindled her spirits.
      What if she could just harness a little bit of her own energy. She started to list the things she was good at, besides haircuts.

      “I’m fucking good at limitations, and following other’s expectations” was what she came up with after some minutes listing some things without much conviction.
      “Bugger Linda Paul, and those ninc…” There it is she noticed again the thought.
      That’s what it’s about…

      You have to be nice and be quiet, Sadeline, the voice of her mean Breton grand-mother was saying. To which her equally loathable aunts would chime in religious rubbish of being nice and saintly and all.
      You have to be nice and be quiet, Sadeline, or go out of my way and die alone.
      She’d tried to exorcise the old goat, to rid of her, to appease her, to connect to the better version of herself that she is now since her transition. Well, nothing worked. She couldn’t find the angle. The old woman was still to her core a haunting and menacing presence with her mean irate insensitive lack of professed love.
      Maybe they’d developed better techniques in 2222, she suddenly thought. Of course…
      And then, Linda Paul wouldn’t have to know.

      “Girls?” she said in a sweet imperative voice (and slightly raucous, for the air was dry) “what do you think about having ourselves pay a visit to the local techromancer, I’ve seen the signs everywhere on the way to the beach. It’ll be a fun stop on our mission”.

      The three divas moaned under the sun, not specially enthusiastic at the effort, but then, Cedric, still himself haunted by the Russian’s vision managed to convince the others that some romance or exorcism or both, would do them great.


        The tunnel-sliding in the jelly cart was actually much smoother than the zebra ride prior. “Bless those frogs, aren’t their croaking some delightful melody of the spheres to our ears?” Sanso in his wetsuit was oblivious to the slime around, grinning as widely as a puppy with an old boot to tear to pieces.

        Bless that jelly cart… Sadie was thinking instead, beeswax in her ears, thankful for the heart of silence and peace inside. Save for the chitchat of the others, she could temporarily forget about the ezapper (slide safety measures prohibiting the use of ecletical devices during such travels), and retreat in the sweet serenity of her inner peace.

        That was,… until the image of Linda Paul abruptly came into her inner eye, almost having her buggering it off with wild manic gestures and in a string of loud swearwords — an emotion which she immediately managed to turn into nothingness, but sadly not the image.
        It was a memory of what she’d told her before they left.

        It’s high fucking time, honey pie… she’d told her. High fucking time you find yourself a fucking amazing Drag Queen name, sweetie bee. Look, she’d said, drawing closer with an air of grand voodoo priestress, this ain’t no fucking small talk, this is important.
        I can come up with ten thousands of names in a minute for you, but you got to choose for yourself.
        Sadie had almost rolled her eyes, but just mentioned as lovingly as she could. “Am I not a bit too… female for that?” To which Linda had burst into laughter hysterically, then continued with even more compunction. “Ain’t nothing to do with gender, sweetie, I thought you knew that much.”
        “Besides, offering yourself your Drag Queen name is an act of love and empowerment. You should try it when you’re ready. And then, you’ll accomplish miracles.”

        Not that Linda Paul was known for euphemisms or understatements, but Sadie found she might give it some thought.
        If only to get rid of that annoying affected voice in her face.


          “I heard that” replied Pseu telepathically. “And you’re right, of course I’m connected to the Russians. So are you, for that matter, didn’t you know? Igor Popinkin’s little sister Faina ring any bells? The connection to the Russians is not what you think!”
          Sadie frowned in puzzlement. The fact was that the name Faina did ring a few bells, but it was vague, almost as if she had dreamed about her.
          “The thing is” continued Psue, “Not to take sides. There are connecting links everywhere. The Russians may be “on the other side” in one particular scenario, but behind the scenes, it’s another story.”


            Shifted a bit things around, to clean up things by removing the unused voting function and replacing it by the likes buttons. It should be more useful and will not mess the order of comments.
            Besides, you may earn some karma for liking and being liked.


              “Finally the answer we need! Let’s release the damn bird and get back home now! Besides its cage needs cleaning and it’s starting to smell, and I can’t stand this place any longer…”

              Funnily enough, she had wanted to post the daily random quote too because it seemed so significant, and in point of fact, it was awaiting in the comment box when she woke up. The previous night she had been about to post it, and then wondered if she’d posted enough already.

              She recalled some dream snippets too, which was most uusual, and woke up almost smiling. There had been a big house and people, but the only clear recall was dropping an ecstasy pill on the floor, and it bounced this way and that and disappeared into another room, and everyone was looking for it everywhere. All of the dogs were bright cartoon colours and were all sitting patiently upright in a tree, a cartoon type tree.

              She thought it quite amusingly significant that everyone was looking for the ecstacy, and just remembered that they did find a pill on the floor, a white one, but that wasn’t the pill they were looking for.


                Dear Tracy

                Your ramblings are hilarious. i have been reading back on this thread.

                I have to remember the daily quote because it is a synch. I have been thinking many thoughts lately about setting things free. The image in my mind being setting birds free. Doily is synonymous in my mind with something very funny. I can’t think of doily without thinking of Raven suggesting you were wearing a doily on your head. Where is that photo of you with a doily on your head? I think you should post that again so I can laugh at you.

                “Finally the answer we need! Let’s release the damn bird and get back home now! Besides its cage needs cleaning and it’s starting to smell, and I can’t stand this place any longer…” Doily couldn’t be stopped.

                Re: old boot. That is very funny. I really wanted to get rid of the old boot but I had to be true to my vision (I was doing the Seth exercise on inner landscape) so the old boot had to stay. Although I did not associate it with you, of course.

                yours sincerely,


                  “I still don’t know what we’re doing here, Glo. Azerbaijan in the middle of bloody winter?”

                  “The nightlife, Sharon, the nightlife!”

                  “So what do we do during the day, then? Besides freeze our ample tits off?”

                  “Let’s have a cuppa somewhere and decide. I saw some lovely pastries in that cafe over there, come on.”


                  Sharon licked the crumbs from her fingers and leaned over the table, whispering to Gloria. “Can’t help but eavesdrop, did you hear what those two on the table behind me just said? Something about buying carpets. I could do with a new rug for the bathroom, shall we follow them? They seem to know their way around here.”

                  “I dunno, Shar, they look a bit tipsy to me. Look at all those empty Guinness cans.”


                    Pedro was birding again: “Do you know why I’m so fond of the time-space continuum,?
                    Besides that I thought it up… Besides you being in it… Besides puppies and kittens…
                    It’s because it can all seem so logical… so predictable… so real, when you want it to. Or, in the twinkling of an eye, you can choose to remember it’s not.”

                    “What an outstanding ball of blue bull’s dung,” Janet Mendyourhall laughed at the notification from her mobile that had distracted her from ogling the gas station boy.


                    In reply to: Strings of Nines


                      Actually, the mindful reader would be glad to know that Waakaawaakawaawaawaawaawaawaawahuhun (or Wakawah-thirtyfour’n) wasn’t quite as safe as its almost twin city Wookoowookawoowoowoowoowoowoohoohoon (or Wookoowooh-thirty-fiv’n), both lying actually quite close for a bird, or a dragon, anchored at the bottom and at each of the sides of the same mountain.

                      While the former’s only attraction was the Kangrawaakaas’ Stadium with its weekly games of morbidly obese people hurling in the mud, the latter was known for its ski resorts and snow trance delixtacies in makeshift melloow yelloow yurts. Of course, W35N benefited from the better sunlight exposure, which made every dweller in the W34N hamlet fiercely jealous of its being favoured by all tourists passing by, while they (they thought) should be instead commanded for their bravery and perseverance.

                      And while Arona had her toes meticulously licked in blissful oblivion, little did Vincentius know what trouble was ahead were he to ask a W34N’er if he was in W35N…


                      In reply to: Strings of Nines


                        With a temper he may have inherited from his mother (albeit adoptive), the shanghaied boy was proving to be quite a hassle to contend with. Minky was exhausted.

                        First Yikes (that was the given name of the boy) had cried, pouted, and when gagged enough so that he wouldn’t be heard, he had then refused to walk, and even threatened to hold his breath till he would die. Good luck with this one, had laughed Minky (who had tried it before, but it never worked, and bossy old Messmeerah had promptly kicked him back to work). Actually, he was more annoyed with the refusing to walk kind of tantrum, because that meant he had to trudge with the boy on his back or on a luge, all the way to the evil lair —which wasn’t that evil, by the way, if you managed to focus away from the bloody stained altar…

                        But there was something more serious he was quite anxious about —besides his bossy and irritable, though everlastingly beauteous, boss. He feared a certain purple dragon was on their trail…

                        If I were you, came the ruffled sound from the makeshift luge that wouldn’t be the dragon I’d be worried about… Yikes was inwardly beautifully laughing (a trait he may have inherited by osmosis from Arona) thinking of how terrible Mandrake could be if asked to fetch something —a task he was too proud to refuse, and yet that he loathed to accomplish, as it was more fit to a canine than to his subtle feline standard.


                          Meanwhile, Landelin was perfecting his blubbit duct-tape traps.

                          Landelin was a quite reclusive man, some Peaslanders considered him even a bit mentally challenged with a reputation for having teafing as a secondary hobby. Yes, secondary. Before teafing, came duct tape ; duct tape always came first.
                          Landelin had been fond of duct tape since he was a kid, since he’d glued his first nanny to the cellar door and then went off buying more duct tape at the local grocery store with the money he’d teafed from her. Teafing always came second.

                          Plagued as all Peaslanders with blubbits, he’d reasoned, quite reasonably for someone as mentally challenged as him, that blubbits were like worries and warts (and he knew quite a bit about the former and the latter), and none could stand a chance if administered the right amount of duct tape. By right amount, he meant, as much as needed to cover them in silver linings and eventually, maybe erradicate them —but that was a bit besides the point anyway.

                          Pity there wasn’t more than a few blue pelts’ hair to teaf from a blubbit, he thought quite reasonably again, as his last prototrap worked like a charm and had a few blubbits suffocating under a fair amount of stickiness.

                          Well, from blubbits, perhaps not so much, but from Peaslanders waiting for naught but a savior, maybe… After all the other treatments have failed, they surely would turn, as they all do, willingly or forcibly, to the raw power of taping.


                            “Finally the answer we need! Let’s release the damn bird and get back home now! Besides its cage needs cleaning and it’s starting to smell, and I can’t stand this place any longer…” Doily couldn’t be stopped.

                            Foolishly getting by that that Doily had understood most and perhaps all of the Cloud’s mysterious riddle, and that she even had managed to remember it, by a chance even slimmer than that of crossing the Eight’s Portal alive, Pee agreed with a nod of his neck.

                            Once the birds’ released (with a good manly slapping as the feathery creature was a bit reluctant and groggy from being rocked in its cage), they were instantaneously and quite unsurprisingly back again near the Saucerer’s house, all safe in their beloved Peasland, ravaged by blubbits holes.


                              Phurt was vaguely aware to have been alive in different times, and in different surrounding. The memories kept coming at the oddest and less practical of all times, like this one when she’d jumped through the talking glass. They were nevertheless precise and vivid enough to be more than just strikes of fancy. Besides, she was but all a fancy spider.

                              The last one she remembered (and the ten previous ones before it) was being admonished and crushed (literally) by the words (and the one uttering them) “you and your kind are not welcome here!” Actually, if you wanted to be precise, the previous to last time, she’d been drowned in the pipes —but still, she could hear the fateful “you and your kin… gurgle gurgle.”

                              She didn’t know for certain when and where she’d vowed to gain dominion over these Crushing Others, and all her failed attempts and these strange karmic glimpses that had her reincarnated over and over certainly did help, if so slightly, to get closer to this goal.

                              Now she needed a nice dark and clean place (yeah hence the stupid tub of last which proved to be clean enough, but barely dark for long enough) to spin a nice thin web and gather enough food for her dear little ones.


                                “What?” The Majorburgmester of Peasland almost laughed of surprise at the incongruity of Fwick con Troll’s idea. “You’re telling that this…”

                                “Little spider, yes”
                                “Contains a potent venom that could wipe the blubbits off the face of Peasland?”
                                “Absolutely, dear Majorburgmester
                                “Are you out of your Fwicking mind, Fwick? What breading this nasty spider could possibly bring us any better than a plague of crop-eating blubbits in rut?”
                                “I was actually talking of breeding them, sir” Fwick objected
                                The Mayor continued unperturbed “Besides, we already have our fierce constable Stoll drill the mythic Eight Dimension for answers.”
                                “That would be placing a lot of trust in that foolish venture, I’m afraid to say, Majorburgmester. To date, very few people have managed to return safely.”
                                “Oh, who cares if they ever bloody come back Fwick! Come on! All we need to do is extort the answers from his spouse who’s kept all their heads in a safe place, I have no doubt of that.”
                                “Well… I wouldn’t place my head on this bet if I were you…”

                                “Ah, bugger off then with your stinking spider, and do your bloody experiments… As long as it doesn’t involve my name, and especially in case any misguided and sad assassination should occur, ahahaha. I’m joking of course.” The Mayor’s face (which was framed and hanged on the wall of the Majorburgmester Hall’s main office) suddenly shut any hint of humanity that could have been left on it.


                                In reply to: Strings of Nines


                                  Franlise had an outward beauty which matched the sweet loveliness of her inner being. Yes, she was a vision of pure loveliness, and many gallant knight had attempted to woo her away from her cleaning job. But Franlise knew that it was here, amongst the filth and dust of Ann’s office, that her true work was done. By day a cleaner, by night she toiled endlessly weaving Anne’s words into works of beauty. Words which would then go out into the world and give solace to many a despondent and lonely reader. To know that her words gave hope where once there was despair was all the thanks that Franlise needed.

                                  Of course no one must know it was Franlise who was the true author. The Fellowship had insisted when they gave Franlise her mission that her part be kept hidden. Being humble, as well as outwardly beautiful and inwardly lovely, Franlise was happy to obey the wishes of the Fellowship in this matter. Besides, she knew that if Ann were to find out the truth, the pour deranged creature would probably be driven to place of complete madness.

                                  Franlise shuddered at the thought.


                                    In many ways Sally Tattler felt herself to be the antithesis of her twin sister, Ann. Tall, where Ann was short. Well groomed, where Ann’s grooming, quite frankly, left much to be desired. Organised, as opposed to the state of chaos that Ann….

                                    Oh for the love of God, Sally. Will you be quiet and stop messing with my head!

                                    The downside of being a twin, mused Ann, well, one of the many downsides it could perhaps be said, was the ability to hear each other’s thoughts so clearly. It was a shame of course that Sally had such a high opinion of herself, unwarranted …

                                    unwarranted! pffft to that! Ann felt a burst of energy from her indignant sister.

                                    Well, anyway, for today at least Ann felt sustained by her daily Eremus Lemon reading, and impervious … well nearly … to the telepathic barrage of negativity from her twin sister.

                                    we’re all nuts anyway; different flavours thereof, but nuts nonetheless, peanuts, peacan or up the wall-nuts

                                    Up the wall-nuts! Humorous as well as wise! Ann shook her head in awed admiration.


                                      Col had been in the business of intergalactic sleuthing and profiling for many years now and his tall broad stature and kind, poised black face was well known all around. They used to call him “the Zebra”, not so much because he made black and white statements —he was very nuanced— but because of his unusualness and knack for blending himself in questions.
                                      As a matter of fact, he’s made himself quite a reputation of a highly skilled professional, with no one up to par for finding clues and solving mysteries.

                                      Col Umbro’s motto was “all you have to do is to ask the right questions, in the right order.”
                                      Of course, he wouldn’t tell which way was the “right” one and which was not. But one thing was sure enough, most people completely overlooked the last part of the sentence.

                                      And that was what he intended to teach to his next assignment. A distant focus of his essence in mid-shift. For the moment, dream projections were the easiest and safest way to catch their attention, because they were not accustomed to a shifted state enough to pay attention to more physical projections.

                                      It was hilarious to see that most of the enthusiastic ones were waiting for unexpected events to come and rapture them in awe. Sillies… For one, “unexpected” shouldn’t be so… expected.
                                      Besides, most of the time, (most of the now) people were simply blind to the facts not in alignment with their allowance for disbelief. A pink elephant, say… They had grown so blasé that should they even see it standing in from of them, that they would probably then dismiss its appearance as another miracle of genetics (or debasement thereof)…
                                      So, reaching them would actually require quite a tactful and sly approach. Qualities he possessed enough.

                                      “Who’s this new person appearing disguised in a pseudonym?” His assignment was wondering.

                                      They had forgotten rule number one. Nothing is hidden from you. Granted, a pseudonym is a mask, but the choice of the mask is revealing enough of a clue.
                                      Then, you had to ask the questions in the right order. “Who is it?” should be the last of them all. Same with all the “how’s”. “What and why” where more important questions to consider.
                                      Once you got the “what”, the who is so self-evident, that it would not even retain the slightest of interests…

                                      He had found a nice slot, just after an entertaining equilibristics dream show. Making a dream for his assignment would be fun. And probably even more fun as she was the most impossible subject who wouldn’t remember dreams at all! He would have to use a proxy dreamer. Someone close enough to her. He knew exactly who to choose…


                                        With the flood of water that was spilled on the land after the crash of the plastic-wrapping-the-now-melted-iceberg-ship dragged along by the strong pull of the engine for miles inside the lands, a huge pool had started to form that began to gather animals around.

                                        The blessings of the fresh water was in fact such that, not long before they managed to have their feet back on terra firma, the three valiant musketeers Sharon, Gloria and Mavis with their chivalric Akita and his faithful spirit dog Kay were surrounded by the most diverse fauna they’d been seeing in days.

                                        — Lookit that! Can ye believe it?!
                                        — Zebra, zebra,… ZEBRA!
                                        — What’s up with your underwear Glor’?
                                        — Zee-bras, no bloody brassieres! See?!
                                        — Well, no bloody wonder, it just looks like the Serengeti
                                        — What bloody gothic serum?
                                        — Jeeze, Serengeti! In Tanzania… Africa, the land of the Maasai, bloody Lake Victoria et cætera
                                        — Oh, you don’t start getting that snotty tone again…

                                        Leaving for a moment the ladies at their cultural talks, Akita went for a walk with Kay, looking for some clues on how to get moving in this faraway place. He’d hoped to reach Egypt and the Suez Canal to get the ladies back to Europe, but obviously the single-use strange iceberg-ship was planned for Africa, and not much further.

                                        Kay always had most puzzling associations to bring up in their conversations. “Well,” he’d say “besides all these blue bulls isn’t it funny that the zebras are a variety of indigo’s…”

                                        “You’re a funny dog”, Akita told him “what is that supposed to mean?”
                                        “Obviously it’s an analogy…”
                                        “A bit too bloody subtle” Akita was starting to talk awfully like the ladies…
                                        “Zebras are symbols for a people who have a funny way of blending in… Or actually to not blend in. They’re symbols of the weirdos of your societies. Affectionately said, of course. I do consider you and your girlfriends a bit on the weirdo side by the way…”
                                        “Well, that’s nice… I suppose?”
                                        “It’s all symbols, and it’s dream-time, so pay attention dear one.”
                                        “If you say so” Akita said with a shrug
                                        “It is not uncommon to find in dream interpretation books some funny sentences like

                                        Dreaming of zebras running fast indicates you are interested in fleeting enterprises. If you dream of a wild zebra in its native environment, you might try a pursuit that could bring unsatisfactory results. Beware of those with multicolored stripes.The Everything Dreams Book

                                        “Now,” Kay was continuing his near-monologue as they were still walking “what is that supposed to mean; if that were a dream you were dreaming, would you use that one-fits-all approach to interpret that zebra dream?”
                                        “Who cares, really, it’s not as if I’m dreaming anyway…”
                                        “Of course, you’d know better; but anyway, that brings me to the multicoloured zebras. There are children who have started some years ago to manifest en masse on this planet with different views, a wildly different approach on life. People around your world have started to label them “indigos”, another shade of blue if you will. I wouldn’t be so circumspect in my dealing with funny coloured animals, if I were you…”
                                        “I’ll be damned if I understood a word of what you just said… Perhaps you’re right and I’m dreaming after all…”
                                        “You can say that again.”


                                          “Can we go home now?” Arona asked the dragon … “I don’t know what we came here to do, but I miss Buckberry and Yikesy (and his nanny), even old grumpy Mandrake. And it feels like we’ve been gone for months!”

                                          “You’re not interested by knowing more about this place , are you?” asked Leörmn

                                          She didn’t answer lest she might hurt the dragon’s feelings —if he had any, that is.

                                          “Well, I don’t want to get home so soon!” said Irtak who was usually keeping quiet, but obviously was taking it all in here, being on this place like a grake on a lake.

                                          Leörmn took a deep breathe, pondering the situation and the many other probable realities verging on this one, and told Arona:

                                          “I believe there is a cave, at a day of walk from the shore, inside this land. This cave was used by the Guardians, long before you were born, and is known to dragons and nirguals from this time. From this cave, you shall be able to travel where you want. You may even meet the zynder to guide you.”

                                          Arona was thinking that the dragon was surely becoming senile talking all that nonsense she could barely figure out, but she was too considerate to mention it.

                                          “Do you remember your glubolin?” the dragon continued abruptly, but her mind was sharp, and she answered with certainty

                                          “I sure do. Why?”

                                          “Please take a moment to feel the remembrance of it”

                                          Well, sure, if that can please you she had learnt not to contradict old dotty dragons, so she tried her best to remember herself and Mandrake playing with the glowing ball filled with coloured sands ; that would surely not bring her back home, but at least the dragon couldn’t accuse her of not complying.


                                          As she remembered it, she felt how delicious and strange that object was, and how she’d loved it, and suddenly, it was here. In her hands!

                                          “The old dotty dragon still has a few tricks up its scales, young lady” Leörmn said with a slight smug on his snout (or whatever it is called).

                                          “Oh, that’s all very nice, but what’s the point of dragging this along?”

                                          “It’ll show you where to go” Leörmn answered, “use it as a compass; I’ve imprinted it with the location of the cave, so that you won’t be lost, and can find your way to the cave, or wherever you want to go. We are continuing here with the boys. Have a safe trip. We will meet again.”

                                          Arona blew a kiss in the direction of Irtak and the dragons, and without hesitation went in the direction of the dense tropical forest.

                                          “Well, that dragon is an odd ball, but at least, I don’t have to wait for them to finish whatever they’re doing on that weird place.” Arona was glad to be finally alone for the next days.

                                          “Will she be safe here?” asked Irtak

                                          “I believe she will, she has got resources. Besides, the Murtuane is a place filled with a certain peace and blessed with a slow unraveling of time; it helps take the measure of the events, and find one’s own truths.”


                                            “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”

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