P R E V I O U S L Y I N
S P I D E R F I N G E R S
The birds in the sky and the insects of which were many, they bathed in the fantastic brilliance – not to mention the ruined stone monoliths towering high. All shared this shading of slight navy primary. Even the sun far up was a victim of this illuminate trickery that washed brazenly into this valley that Steph had escaped her purple bus for. She walked, she ran. She’d slow down again. The day was giving way to a rather impatient darkness. Steph would give up a limb for her puffed pillows. Rushing and pacing according to her fear of what this nowhereville might be like at night, Steph forced herself to take as few ‘walking’ breaks as possible. If only her diet hadn’t been so very poor these last few months.
Across muddied marsh-like growth she fled, listening, hoping not to hear the sounds of the bus engines growl getting louder. Louder still. A half remembered idea about Alice and her adaptability in worlds of magical realism attempted to capture her focus, but the single mother continued to ring and call and stab her mobile on and off.
She noticed the boat by the gravel shore and was thankful for its existence and apparent availability. Her stumble into the boat was miserable and served to underscore her anger regarding the casting off process. Her olive wellingtons were filled with water and she had begun to sneeze.
‘Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.’
Then the mists came. Fog that settled around her wasn’t at all welcome. She feared the darkness of the world, its speedy descent into an inevitable black would be upon her before crossing the waters stretch.
When her craft capsized and the something pulled her down under, Steph could see nothing but the black water. Then she saw the flicker of light in the window of the semi-detached house beneath her, the Byzantium inky liquid funnelling out of the house's chimney. It jetted through the murky depths toward her, gripping her left ankle. It dragged her down, swiftly down.
Her mind allowed itself to faint away the icy gloom completely.
The blue man inspected the shoal outside. He used all three of his eyes, searching hard for an inscription but of course he found no labels, nor branding of any kind. He shook his head,
'No, sorry. I don't believe any of those Red Herrings are mine.'
“Greetings brother blue.”
"You really should get used to calling them prisoners brother,' replied the grey suited man with the dark red skin, 'And no, Mr Lime has escaped, again."
This grey suited arrival was He Who is Red, and he took it upon himself to sit down upon one arm of an armchair. His blue familiar perched upon the other.
“Chaos gave you a lot to think about this year, didn't he? How are we doing on the deciphering front?”
“Let me out of here!” Steph gripped the Dilf blade so tight that blood started to drip passed her whitened knuckles.
Yellow Baby oozed back into the living room.
“We don’t want her getting stuck half way home.”
For them, the currency of social influence is all.
As they too have asked themselves,
Chaos for all