Should you be looking that close?

I burst forth into speech much like a balloon bursts when popped. "You know what life does? You know what it is, with all it's rushing and sharp corners, and tight pants, I mean, come on! It's enough! We know you can buckle. And all the little odd bits that sit around the place without fitting into anything. Like, say you suddenly laugh while waiting in line at the shops. There's no reason to laugh, but you do, well where does that go? Where does that fit? That shot of giggles? That-"
"Oh yes, please do," he spits out with a severe frown that sits neatly inside a frame of dark, chalky brown hair combed back into a hard quiff. "Tell us all about life and the happenings."
"It's all in the bits. You don't need string! Throw it away!" I grab his tea cup and toss it over my shoulder.
"I- I- wh- I beg your pardon!"
"Yes," I ponder, looking at a brown smudge on the white tablecloth, "We have to stop attending tea parties."
"That was my favourite cup!" he bangs a fist on the table.
"That old raspberry pink thing? With the flowers?" I look up to find him glaring at me, positively burning his gaze into my head, as if he were trying to memorize every hair follicle on my head. I can feel myself blushing. "How very sweet of you, Gordoune, I mean, I cannot even say, but you'll be there for hours, hours-"
"You see here, young lady..."
I stare at him, obviously shocked at this unplanned outrage.
"I've had that teacup since I was ELEVEN!"
"Goosedrouse..." I say quietly, tilting my head at the other seats around the table, "...keep the tone mild, like a korma curry, yeah?"
He glares.
"The guests..."
"GENERATIONS have I had that cup! Haven't I? Since the Mildred's took over- no, it was the Perthreds... was it?"
"Certainly was," I agree. He stares off into the distance, still frowning, still sleek and short and somewhat pale. I pick up the teapot. It's not heavy like it should be so I put it back down.
"Ummm, Germinter, you didn't bring any tea biscuits with you? Did you? From the Foodit? The ones with the cream filling?" (I do like a center filled with cream).
There is a millisecond in which he stands as still as a statue, up on the chair- because of his height shortage- his hair and features frozen like an ice sculpture.
"Or chocolate?" I try desperately.
Then a light breeze drifts through our table of fun times and he sags as only a short, sleek, well-angered specimen can. "There is no sweet things now. The way of the world surely is a fierce maze of debacle, of calamity!"
I snort, "Debacle! Oh, Gingerferzen! You are one hilarious little person."
He turns to me and points a round finger, and I think: Me? He's pointing his little finger at me, for what? Organizing the flowers in spectacular bouquets of orange and lime? Then I think: Does he sand his fingers back each night, to keep them looking so short and stubby and perfectly round?
"YOU!" he hisses. I feel his spit and a slight curiosity to know where this is going. (I do love a good mystery solved).
"Yes," I reply pleasantly.
"You prance about here as if you know everything! Yo-"
"Ho now! I do not prance about-"
"You lift!" he continues, ignoring my plea for innocence. "You chartle and churtle and chuck things over your shoulder!"
"It's true," I acknowledge, "I do."
"Always your LEFT shoulder! As if that has some sort of meaning or power! Is it magical? Can you say without unleashing a hideous throng of infesting creatures?!"
"I feel kind of attacked."
"SO YOU SHOULD!" he quivers in his silky cream button up shirt and suspenders.
I put my hands behind my head and rock gently on my chair. So far this tale has been nothing but secrets and lies. Where is the scandalous revelations? "I think you are slowing down, old man."
"Cerri!"
Could you tell a scandal if one came upon you? Or would you simply fall into it, unaware, not wanting to see but unable to look away?
"Come on then, Glorpsle, tell us the juicy pickings!"
"Cerri!"
He's still again. Staring off behind me with glassy eyes and a shiny complexion. Is that a white spot on his cheek?
I feel unappreciated. He could at least give me praise where praise is due, preferably to recognise the sneaky theft tactic I learned, and used, so we could have cups and saucers!
"Well aren't you a boring old, lame, pompish old, nutjob gn-"
"Cerri!"
Someone bursts into my life from the left.
"There you are!"
I gaze over at the boy. He's panting a little, as if he's been running, and he's covered in dirt.
"Hello there, are you here to join my tea-party?" I spread my arms out wide to show him exactly what he could be missing out on.
"Cerri, good god. I've been looking everywhere," he takes a few short breaths and comes closer. As he walks into the light, I notice his sparkly dark eyes, only they're not sparkly at the moment and I wonder why I thought they were. Oh.
"Jasper!" I call, even though he's only a chair-length away. "What a surprise!"
"Yes, hi there." He pulls the chair closer to him and sits down, looking around at the single flowers sitting in fat glass jars on every chair and the garden gnome standing straight and proud in the middle of the table.
"Garbensnouff was just telling me about his family heritage," I nod wisely at him, "I think maybe something about his aunt Miffen stealing his grandfather's tiara, or something else worthy of being unjust."
Jasper sighs. I observe him again and straighten my posture because he  looks tired and sad and a tad too tall for his jacket. "I'm sorry I didn't invite you. But I'm wearing my best dress because I thought you might show up anyway, and so that's the same as inviting you, so you should be grateful, and show that gratitude by handing out creamy biscuits," I cringe, eyeing the teapot. "And find some water. I didn't have a way into the kitchen."
"It looks great," he says. I smile. "But I think it's time to go. You kn-"
"No! Oh, let's stay a little while. We don't have to have tea, there's tap water over there, I mean, it's tap water, from a hose, but it won't kill you, although if you have your heart set o-"
"Ok!" Jasper raises his hands, and I feel a little unjust myself. People have killed each other to attend this party and he's sitting there acting like I'm reading him a lifespan blog of toenails.
"This is an exclusive party," I say harshly, turning away to grab a nearby teacup. "Only people of interest, worth, and the appropriate proportions are allowed to enter."
There's silence while I think up how I'm going to get out of pretending to pour tea, and then Jasper says with forced calm, "I'm sorry Cerri. I just didn't know where you were and I was worried."
"Pish!" I remark, waving to Goutstop, who is basking in the sun, probably hoping to tan over that hideous white patch on his cheek. "I've had company! The best! Now, pass me that teacup over there."
I throw it over my shoulder. He gives me another one and I throw that too. We throw the teacups behind us, like bad dreams, yelling and laughing and ignoring the scandalous cries of the guests and poor old Gwintsman-Gawd, and I think: These are the odd bits that life is made up of, and they fit right here.

Are you looking closely?

"Yes!" cried Emmerine, "It is confusing. But you will get there, Aradius, you will get there."
"Is that a mocking tone?" Aradius called out, huffing after her in a mild sweat.
"Well it isn't not a mocking tone, so who's to say?" Emmerine shrugged, facing forward, her long legs striding fast and elegant in the sand, and if Aradius hadn't been sweating out his toxins and heaving great mouthfuls of oxygen just to stay alive, he might have stopped to admire this walk.
He ignored her insulting comments and called out, "I agree with you!- oh, wait, oh please, Emmerine!" and he stopped suddenly, heaving like he had never heaved before.
Emmerine glanced over her shoulder (she was a head taller than him) and rolled her eyes.
"Oh, Aradius. You are so frail and wonton."
Aradius frowned, "Wonton? Are you admiring me?"
"It's a human word, yes?" Emmerine swayed her hips and her long silk skirt swayed with them.
"I am not frail just because I can't keep up with you!" he cried out in anguish and with hurt feelings and a sore head, as he was bald up top and not wearing a hat. The sun was extremely vivid today. "I am not frail at all, I am large and in charge!"
Emmerine smiled, "You are actually large. I have just realised."
Aradius was not large, nor was he 'in charge'. He was thin and small and his head had sported thick, shiny, floppy dark hair before this little trip. He eyed Emmerine's teal-coloured hair falling down her back to her hips, and felt a mad urge to run her down. It was probably all that swaying. (Perhaps it made him a tad sea-sick).
"Anyhow, Aradius, we must move. The sun is wilting my good vibes."
"Yes," Aradius nodded, hands on his knees. He took a few deep breaths, straightened up and started walking alongside Emmerine, sneaking a glance every now and then at her hair. Was that wilting, too? Could he possibly help it along on its wilting way?
"So, EmmieLine, I have a suggestion. A sort of fanciful fun-time activity we could take part in."
There was no pause or slow in Emmerine's stride as he talked. Aradius felt unheard and unappreciated. "I'm thinking, a sort of PARTY GAME!" He tried again.
"Why are you yelling?" Emmerine asked as they came to a wide stairway of stone steps set deep into the sandy bank. They started climbing up.
"Oh!" Aradius attempted to laugh in a carefree, accidental way. "Was I- OW!"
"Yes," Emmerine remarked grimly, "the contrast is not alluring to me at all. Neither is it pleasant. Let's hurry."
They were both halfway up the steps when Aradius screamed. Emmerine jerked to the side as if an invisible ghost had pushed past her.
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "What is it!"
"I do not know!" Aradius cried out in reply, hopping from foot to foot as he leaped up the steps.
Emmerine copied him. "It is painful! And it's getting worse!"
"IT IS!"
"Is this normal for humans?!"
"I CANNOT SAY!"
"HURRY!"
And together they hopped, pranced, and twirled up the scorching hot steps and raced straight onto a patch of grass that framed the road.
"Oh the grass is cool!" Aradius moaned. He closed his eyes.
"We're babies," Emmerine scowled at the yellow and purple flowers around them. "We are not one with the elements. Aradius, this has to change."
"Can it wait until my feet stop steaming?"
Emmerine said, "No," in a forceful way that was encouraged by her aggressive stomping on the grass. Aradius thought this trip was most uncomfortable and made up his mind, right here, with his feet cooling and his head burning, that he would never do this again.
"We must take up action against this attack!" Emmerine was saying, "What was that party game? Quick! We have to beat this!"
"Don't bother with that! It was a l-" but Emmerine took hold of Aradius's emerald vest and was shaking him with such extravagance that he thought the gold buttons would fly off.
"Hold up!" he yelled with a voice full of anxiety, "these buttons are capital elegance. They are ELEGANCE!"
"Tell me the fun-fi-"
"I ONLY HAVE FOUR LEFT!" Aradius pulled himself away, tripped on the rocks and steadied himself against a wooden railing, and he turned to glare at Emmerine. This outing had changed her. "It is not my doing if your hair is losing it's shade and your leg-scales are falling off!"
"You have a whole cupboard full of vests!"
Aradius blushed because it was true; he did have a substantial amount of vests, all in emerald green and purple and teal blue.
Emmerine waved her hand and seemed to compose herself. "Ok. Yes, my scales are leaving." She lifted up her skirt, stretched out one leg and they both looked. Translucent, silvery scales the size of a fingernail were scattered up and down her legs from her hips to her toes, like a full-length, ripped-up stocking.
"I'm sorry," said Aradius solemnly.
"Thank you."
They admired the sparklyness of the scales. Aradius tried to stick a fallen one back on using his spit and Emmerine shrieked about hygiene and the process of reattachment and the red patch coming up on his scalp. Then they stopped and stared about.
"Have you noticed any sound at all, Aradius?" Emmerine questioned, looking up and down the street.
"I haven't. Aren't the birds supposed to sing and the people supposed to shout at one another?"
Emmerine said, "Yes. The singing. But, more so, the cars are not moving and there are no people." They looked at the three cars standing still in the road. The doors had been left wide open, exposing towels and bags and baby capsules. All the houses and shops along the street, they observed, were also quiet, dark and seemed eerily empty, as if everyone had decided to get up and leave at the same time.
"Well, how boring is this!" Aradius exclaimed. "A trip to where the Air Dwellers roam, and they are not roaming, or dwelling, or running naked with ice cream!"
"It is frightful."
"It's disagreeable," Aradius corrected, eyeing the small, square toilet building to their left. Then he said, "EmmieLine, could we go somewhere without the sun? Just for a change, you know... heat and skin, heads without hair, such a bother..."
Emmerine turned to Aradius in excitement, unaware that a few scales detached themselves from her legs. "This is the adventure! We will find them!"
"Do you feel so?" asked Aradius as he inched closer to the toilet block.
"Don't you think we'd know if all the humans suddenly disappeared?"
"I probably feel that."
Emmerine nodded furiously and looked out at the ocean. "So we help," she murmured. Aradius thought she looked quite up-herself standing at the wooden railing, staring like a Sea King, muttering about saving the world and flipping her long, thick hair. Thank god she didn't have a trident, he thought to himself. She would have probably raised it in some gesture, and then a bolt of lighting would have no doubt come flashing down from some enchanted cloud to touch the trident tip and cause a scene. He pushed open the closest toilet door and positively slid down the wall in a slow form of gratitude.
"Oh this feels... I'm not sure... not sure if I ever have... but the feel..."
Emmerine appeared at the doorway clad in a shadow of determination. "This isn't time to feel! It's time to fight! First! We get an ice cream. That it where the fun-filled times are. Then!... Well...," she paused and looked down, so her shadowed head seemed to shrink and make Aradius squint, which hurt his eyes and forehead and peeling scalp. "...I hadn't got that far. Maybe we will watch a movie, as that is also where the times are at. But after! We will find the humans!"
Aradius said, "I hear butterscotch ice cream is a flavour to be had."
Emmerine said, "I think you are so wrong you may be going backwards," and two little silvery scales fell from her thigh, catching the sunlight and glittering in a determined sort of fashion as they drifted away.

Can I show you something?

When the world went dark, I was sitting with my mother. The TV switched off, the lights flickered and died at the same time something crashed upstairs and there was a sound of cars squealing and smashing outside.
"Well," said my mother. She walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain and peered out. Her long red hair fell in front of her face. She looked luminescent in the moonlight, like an angel, or a really tall, human-shaped lamp wearing a dress.
I continued eating crunchy chocolate cereal even though I couldn't see my spoon. This was kind of hard, but the cereal was amazing so I pressed on.
"Everything's stopped," mother said.
"What do you mean 'everything'?"
"It's just..."
I watched as she tucked some hair behind her ear.
"It's all stopped," she continued, "all the cars and lights and that sign up on the Telstra building, the Ezeglow? That's stopped, too."
I chewed, thinking: what Ezeglow sign? "Oh."
Mother tilted her head a little as she murmured, "It's almost exactly like heartbreak."
The spoon hit my top lip as I said, "Heartbreak?"
"Yes," she breathed, the sureness in her voice mingling with wonder. "It is! Just, oh just like-"
"Mum, it's just a power failure."
"No Marhinad! It's heartbreak. The world is heartbroken, I'm sure." she turned then and gazed at me, not seeing, with tears shining in her eyes. "Mari..."
Jesus. I put the cereal bowl on the floor and went over to join her. Everything had stopped. Cars stood in the street either whole and alone or crumpled in pairs or groups. People were walking or running or huddled on the ground or talking into phones and gesturing wildly around them. The apartment building opposite us stood and stared blankly, all the windows black as if it had gone to sleep. Shops and street lights and traffic lights and road markers were all dark.
And there was the Ezeglow sign. I squinted a few blocks over at the gigantic, dark pink and probably overpriced letters sitting on top of Telstra. No one even knew what it meant.
"Huh," I said, a little impressed. "Why are the phones working when the cars have stopped?"
"Hmm?" Mother waved my words away, "It's the apocalypse Mari! Good god!"
She started moving wildly about the room, picking up papers, and throwing those papers away, and grabbing books only to set them down somewhere else, and moving cushions and taking down ornaments from the bookcase just to set them on the coffee table, all the while muttering a string of words in Polish.
"Mum!" I called, "I can't understand you, stop talking like that."
She ignored me.
I looked back out the window. It was all industrial and dirty. Why had I never realised how ugly this part of the city was? The silence made everything seem hard. Cold. Like after an argument when you've crossed your arms and shut down.
So maybe it was like heartbreak.
"Mum!" I said, "STOP TALKING IN POLISH!"
"Marhinad!" she said loudly from the kitchen, "Help me with this!"
She was pulling things out of the fridge and dumping them on the floor.
"Do you think they can read minds? They have technology for these events, they have microchips and cameras, oh god the mirror!" and she ran past me down the hall and into the bathroom, yelling, "GET THE WRENCH FROM THE CAR! IS IT A WRENCH? THAT THING WE USE WHEN THE DOOR WON'T OPEN?"
I stared at the soup cans rolling along the floor and sighed. "YES BUT IT'S NOT MEANT FOR OPENING DOORS."
"WHAT DOES THAT MATTER? JUST GET IT."
There was another crashing sound. I started picking up the cans. "MUM! FOR FUCKS SAKE, STOP WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING AND SIT DOWN."
Only my mother could make a simple power failure into some global crisis. There was a a thumping sound, some loud and angry Polish words again, and the slam of the back door. Oh great,  I thought, stacking creamy pumpkin on top of garden vegetable, she's getting that stupid wrench.
I wondered if she was even strong enough to pry off the mirror or if she'd somehow bribe the man next door.
I started the redundant process of taking all the food from the fridge and arranging it neatly in plastic bags on the kitchen table, thinking about Lucky Rainbows and all the half-cooked food now stuck in microwaves. I thought about Jase as I put all the books back onto their shelves and wondered if I should ask him what he was doing when the power failure hit.
Making a burrito, he texted.
Seconds left?
two minutes.
What?
I dunno i just read the packet. u?
Eating cereal. Mum thinks the world is ending. Did you know she can speak Polish?
Weird why cereal? it's 800. 
Do you think it's the whole city? I mean, our houses are suburbs away.
Dad just fell down the stairs. hang on
what? IS HE OK?
tripped on dannys car fucking shit. yeah he j fell down the last two
Do you think it's weird our phones work but the cars don't? Do the cars work at yours?
i think he tripped. he's telling me to tell you he just tripped and he stubbed his toe but he's fine
Does he think the world is heartbroken?
huh? 
Like, it's falling apart because it's sad.
You're weird. wouldn't it be cool if aliens came up from the ground. we'll sneak into a spaceship and take it for a ride
Yes, let's steal a spaceship. 
lololol
Mum thinks there's a spy camera in our mirror so she's prying it off with a wrench.
haha you're mum is some kind of wack Mari
I know. She's still out there trying to find it. It's been a while. What are your parents doing?
Dad's yelling at danny and mum's still in the bath
she took a bath in a power failure?
No she was in it. 
You're mum's in the tub at the end of the world.
What are you doing?
Cleaning up the lounge room. U?
Lying outside
Why?
what?
Why are you outside?
looking at the moon. everything is bright now that the power is off.
Oh. Yeah, it is. But everything is sort of gross too.
Lol.
It is, it's like without the lights everything is drab and gross. 
what? it's great. look at the stars.
It's like we have to see things now. how it really is. the buildings looks tired and mean.
hahahaha you are some kind of weird. look at the stars!!
yeah.
Mari, everything is beautiful.
I don't think mum's coming back.

~

Why can't I watch AHS all night?

Amarilla was not interested in the five pages of Shakespeare that Durnham had produced. She said sharply, “What good will that do me, seeing as I am out here unable to read or playact?”

 Oh that Durnham, she though savagely, he is unhinged, unsettling, undemanding, and very uninteresting!

Durnham said, “I agree! Wholeheartedly! If, and when, you do partake in the breathtaking art that is reading, you will no d-“

“Durnham!” shouted Amarilla (startled at the intrusive thought that had just popped into her head like a ravishing jelly bean (and although she’d never tasted a jelly bean, she had heard from many that they were deliciously ravishing)) and tried unsuccessfully to turn her little pot away from him.

“It is of importance!” he cried.

If Durnham were to have facial expressions, Amarilla supposed that his eyes would be wide, like someone staring around a bloody mass in horror, and his eyebrowse would be so high up his forehead that not even the most skilled Eyebrow Scholar would be able to wrench them down. They would be thick also, and maybe require a sort of cream to keep them slick. She sat there in a daze of distorted (yet plausible) dreams, wondering just what colour Durnham’s eyes would be, and drooping sadly at the intrusive thought and impossibilities.

Durnham was a plant. He could never raise eyebrows or stare at her outstanding foliage in admiration.

“I don’t suppose you have ever thought about wearing shoes?” she asked him.

“…for it was Macbeth- Eh?” Durnham looked up from his pages and Amarilla sighed raucously.

“Oh, dear, you seem- I mean, are you sick? Was that a cough?”

“I do not get sick!” Amarilla cried and once again tried to turn away.

Durnham cleared his throat and Amarilla imagined him lowering his glasses in a studious way. Glasses! She yelled at herself. Would he? Oh my, I just…

“It’s always a pleasure to have you sit with me, Amarilla, for I do know the ways of the world. There are crabs that clip, and babies that use up all their mother’s sound until they are red and wet in the face, there are bees that buzz and try to steal my pollen, but do I let them?! I do not! I have grown strong and sturdy and purple! Or…” he trailed off, suddenly sombre.

Amarilla looked up, interested. Durnham was staring at the crumbling wooden planks that made up their sitting bench, and he asked quietly, “What colour am I?”

Her heart fluttered, her soil sank a little (her pot did have useful holes in the bottom for drainage and midnight snacks), her little leaves quivered and she tried very hard not to let Durnham see the expression in her eyes.

“I believe you are purple,” she said steadily, and, she thought proudly, rather brisk. As if she was handing out horrible medicine to a line of noisy school children. She thought about medicine and the process of handing out, she thought about horrible things that people take and the will it must require to take them, and take them again, and she thought about raspberry jelly. How did they get that stuff to fly planes? Then Durnham said: “Have I always been? I have a bubbling of fear that is grabbing me with all its fingers and there is a whisper, Amarilla, like a soft breeze carrying doom, like the spiders that sit on my highest leaves and giggle terrible secrets at me in their absurdly ethereal voices, I feel-”

“Oh for the sake of my awe-inspiring pot and all that it holds! Durnham! You are purple! PURPLE I SAY! PURPLE!”

Dunham looked aghast. Amarilla curled and uncurled her little leaves and the dry ones crumbled onto her soil and she swore.

“You are a tad brittle,” Durnham observed. He nodded. Amarilla glared. Durnham said, not unkindly but also not as kindly as he could have, “you are in stress.”

“Stress! I’ll give you stress-”

“I do not require stress,” he said at once, and ruffled his five pages, “I require an audience! For the need to practice is sure up there, in the clouds and the moon and the some such, if I am to achieve my dreams and perspire!”

“Oh for the love of…” Amarilla started, turning away in disgust, but she caught the eye of a snail chewing something green far down in the grass. It was staring up at her, chewing slowly, maliciously, and with much dripping of saliva. “YOU!” she yelled. She turned to Durnham and bumped him. His pages fell. “It’s Sanrio! Durnham! He tried to eat my lower leaves the other day!”

“Sanrio? Tried to? Lower? What?” Durnham peered over the bench down onto the grass. “Oh it is. Hello there!”

“What are you doing?”

“Inviting him up!” Durnham waved excitedly and called out, “Come and help the dreams unfold! Watch the beauty- I am the beauty,” he clarified, “and let us dazzle you in a way you have possibly never been dazzled before!”

“Durnham!” Amarilla hissed, positively incensed.

“What? I said possibly-”

“He tried to eat me! You see this hole, just here, below my head and above my stem submergence?” she stretched so he could see, “This is a bite mark! A battle wound! I have been in the wars and I survived!”

There was a moment of blinking slowly (Durnham) and blushing furiously (Amarilla) and chewing repeatedly (Sanrio) until Durnham said, “Bit you?”

Amarilla said, “Yes. May seventh, when you had that Welcome Snails party.”

“Oh yes…” Durnham smiled fondly, then became serious, “We have to take him down!”

“We do!”

“Attending our parties, drinking all our rainwater (“It was tap,” interrupted Amarilla, “I never serve rain to guests.” And she gave him a withering glare as if he should have known this) and then taking part in a host invasion!” Durnham’s leaves seemed to have grown taller and greener and firmer.

Amarilla stared up in a fit of adoration.

“We must fight!” he commanded.

“Yes!” she squealed.

“We must conquer!”

“YES!”

“We must take back what is ours!”

“YES! YES! YES!” Amarilla quivered in potential ecstasy.

Durnham looked absolutely majestic. They both turned and glowered with all their might in a ferocious way down at Sanrio, ready for war. But he wasn’t there.

“He’s gone!” cried Amarilla, in a surge of uncomfortable anti-climax that made her shiny white petals dim to a faded off-white.

“The bloody coward!” shouted Durnham furiously, but also partially relieved as, being an artist, he didn’t have the nervous system for war and his petals were quite delicate. He often described them as being made from the finest, most exquisite and expensive crepe paper in all the land. (“You mean tissue paper,” Amarilla liked to remark with a snort, “crepe is a fancy term for tissue,” and as Durnham could only read Shakespeare, he never knew if she was right.)

“It was all the chewing!” Amarilla commented, “His chewing somehow aided his speedy escape!”

“Quite,” Durnham pleasantly agreed.

Amarilla frowned, “What do we do now?”

Durnham cleared his throat and rustled his papers, “Let us continue! We will conquer! We will open up the heavens, and let it all rain down, for that is what it does when the heavens opens! It rains! And we will rain along beside them!”

Amarilla sagged, “Oh good heavens, help me…”

    

    #

   /  \

 /___\

d^_^b

Can we sedate these people with cream?

"But!" exclaimed Amerwort as his mother slid his plate of crumpets away from him, "I haven't finished!"
"Now, Amerwort," she said kindly, but with a ferocious jab of the plate into the bin so all the crumpets fell off, "Go and play outside."
So he grabbed his skipping rope, angrily and sort of in shame as it was a girl's skipping rope, and he lurched outside into the sunshine.
He started to skip.
Up and down his belly went, round and round the rope went, slapping the path each time, and it wasn't Amerwort's fault that he couldn't keep time. He wasn't a professional.
"You're down there again!" shouted Topiary from atop his ladder. The ladder was propped up against the back of Amerwort's house and glinted in a sparkly fashion down at the sweaty boy.
Amerwort grunted.
Topiary called, "The boy who skips!"
Amerwort told him where to go and Topiary chuckled into his plaid handkerchief before coughing once.
"I believe the devil himself wouldn't want me," Topiary said. He laid the handkerchief flat on a roof tile and positioned a nail at the middle. Then whacked it with a hammer.
Amerwort's sweat was now gliding freely down his face and throat and legs, and he felt he had skipped enough, but didn't stop. He should bottle this sweat, he thought proactively. Maybe he could even sell it.
"Would you buy sweat, Topiary?"  he asked between jumps and slaps.
Topiary sort of paused mid-whack, but his arm kept going, and Amerwort saw the hammer miss, hit the neighboring tile, causing it to rise up and agitate the nail. The handkerchief suddenly flew off and the nail fell and Topiary looked up at the sky.
Amerwort missed a jump but kept skipping. His feet tangled in the rope and he fell with a soft woooosh and splaf onto the concrete.
"Ow!" yelled Amerwort, unused to this painful action.
"Yeah!" called Topiary, still staring off into the clouds, "I reckon I might!"

Is there a colour preference?

Last year I wrote a list of 'Things I Will Do', and then I forgot about it. Literally. I sort of opened up my head as if it was on a hinge, reached inside and scraped out my brain. Oh! How light but magnificent it felt! I was holding a brain, a living, pulsating, slimy, slightly warm part of the body that helped me with everything all throughout my daily life.
I thought, 'Maybe I could sell this.' I signed onto Ebay. I scrolled and sighed and clicked and sighed again, and I had the feeling that something was wrong. I kept glancing at the little brain sitting on my desk.
I got up and made a sandwich. Halfway through I thought, ' A sandwich? Am I not above this notion of lunch? Can it not be time for steak?'
I sensed a growing fascination with food that also made me stand solemnly, as if in church prayer, for I am not one with food. I am not two with food. I am probably not even ten with food, although maybe ten is too high and nobody is. If there is someone out there who is ten at the food life, I would love to greet them halfway up the steps of a large, wooden temple with water trickling from spouts shaped like lions and two birds chirping occasionally but in sync, because birds should unite in pairs.
I would say: "Please! Allow me to pee! I've been standing here for three hours, THREE HOURS MAN, and the water fountain has just broken me, as I would assume it would break even Bruce Lee, however great he was," and then I would berate myself for showing ignorance in a place of worship and serenity. 
"Hmm, yes, these water fountains," he would reply, stroking his long, white beard slowly, "the missus is quite fond of them. It would be such a shame."
And I would nod in agreement, very fast, because of the peeing thing.
He would continue stroking his beard.
I would clear my throat, and he would suddenly notice me. "What an honour to have you!" he would claim, like a grandfather would claim to his oyster supplier three days before Christmas. "Would it help you at all if I were to switch them?"
"Eh?" I would reply, looking up from his long white robes. "No!"
He would stumble backwards a little with a hand over his chest at my harsh outburst, and I would worry for maybe eight seconds about his footing as he is old and he is wearing long curling slippers on slightly wet steps.
"No!" I would cry again, "They're the same statue!"
He would straighten, mumbling something about wax or the seventh sun, and say to himself, "But, the switching... it could happen on Saturday, not four o'clock? Not seven o'clock?... hmmm."
"The design would stay the same."
He would reply with, "Most likely. But the wife..."
"Oh, sure," I would agree in an entirely new level of 'not caring' as a coping mechanism for my strenuous circumstance.
"But do come in!" he would suddenly declare, clapping his hands together, "Come and enjoy roast potatoes with us! My wife sprinkles herbs on top, God only knows why, but she makes them taste divine all the same." 
So my point is, that while I was stranded in this uncomfortable situation, I rather forgot the list I had prepared and lost all energy to attempt.
And you can't blame a girl when nature calls.


THINGS I WILL DO THIS YEAR:


+ Ace my Uni course ^_^. Acing did happen! :D


+ Make one piece of jewellery a week.


+ Make one monster a month (because last year's goal was absurdity of the Cerri kind)


+ Watch all of Walking Dead.


+ Watch all of Once Upon a Time. What a time


+ Learn to play a tune on the guitar (just a tune!) The Hokey Pokey


+ Start cooking healthy, veggie-loaded meals.


+ Watch all Disney movies again, also including Brave, Tangled and Frozen. The best! Except maybe Brave, that was a tad slow for me


+ Grow a small veggie plant like tomatoes, cucumbers, or even parsley. Tended to a strawberry plant until I left it out in a four-day heatwave one week and a three day downpour the next (--_--). Delivered two batches of strawberries though, so worth it!


+ Attempt at writing a fanfic! >_<.


MOVIE:

6__6v

Why can't I do the 'eye thing'?

"You know, it's not even that I'm hungry. I just eat sometimes because it's there."
"Mmm?" Amara nodded. Her elbow was propped up on the table with her head resting in her hand while her other hand drummed impatiently on the flowery tablecloth. She was almost quite literally bored to tears.
"Yes, it's concerning," Adrian went on, staring off at some gardenia bush or hibiscus hedge. "But it's also the blues, are you getting me?" he turned then and looked sharply into Amara's vacant, expressionless eyes.
"Yes," Amara slurred with tiring effort, "I most definitely..."
"It's the cakes!" Adrian went on. "Green and yellow! Pink! You've never seen the pinks!"
"Adrian," said Amara, "when will you be pouring the tea? Or am I to sit here without ingesting anything whatsoever?"
"Tea!?" Adrian cried (rather ferociously and far too dramatically, Amara felt).
"This is a tea party, yes?" she turned her gaze to the long, rectangular table set up with platters of cakes and scones, tea pots and cups, jars of jams and cream and chocolate and sugar, and bowls upon bowls of berries. So many berries that Amara was suspicious of what Adrian actually did for a living. "Frivolous in the events of the now!" Adrian spurted, much like how a waterfall spurts water: wet and with haste.
"What?"
"Oh- oh, no, I don't quite believe it..." Adrian stood up, staring off yet again, and Amara thought, finally, I can take one of these hard and lumpy-looking scones, but Adrian said, "Get up! Get up now and follow me!"
"Excuse me?"
"Get up!" Adrian grabbed her elbow.
"Oi!" Amara yanked her arm back, "What's the hurry?" She craned her neck around to see what had Adrian's knickers in a twist, but he grabbed her upper arm this time and hauled her up with a grunt.
"What! Ad-"
"There's no time!" he called. And they were somehow running. He had her arm and was pulling her along, away from the table with yummy delights, down the side of his large house, and through a ten-foot hedge.
"Adrian!" Amara yelled. "Stop!"  She was regretting ever agreeing to attend this silly tea party, and while the branches in the hedge scratched at her face and arms and pulled at her hair and dress, she had a sudden thought that this fellow might be on the run from someone official. Could he be a thief? Was he the sort to steal a car? She considered his bland nature and obsession with colourful food. Surely someone who spent hours in a sweltering kitchen baking chocolate swirl cake twice, because he'd had the oven on full-blast the first time, couldn't be interested in such criminal activities. Cake and burglary?
"Adrian!"
They burst out of the hedge onto a large oval. There was a park up ahead and a long winding river behind it.
"Oh! What a waste," he dropped her arm and scowled at the children playing on the swings.
Amara stretched her arm, also scowling. "What a horrid ride," she remarked in a savage voice, "all that running and not a bite to eat before it."
"Yes..." Adrian shook his head, brushed off his white and blue vest, and looked over at her. "Better luck next time, then."
"Next time!" Amara shrieked. "You nearly tore my arm off! You bored me half to death with  descriptions of yellow cake- yellow! What foolery is that!- and trifle in glasses as tall as me, while allowing me to touch nothing! I almost died of starvation- no! I almost died of boredom." she reveled in his crestfallen expression. His arms hanging limply by his sides reminded her of a defected doll, one that would be cast aside and forgotten, and she spurred on, "I would not dream of going anywhere with you ever again! My next acquaintance will be with an intellectual gentleman, in a library, where they will sell large coffees and lemon tarts as big as my hand, and we will talk of nothing but adventure and sailing above the clouds and climbing rainbows and mathematical equations!"
She straightened up and glared at this pale, floppy-haired, leaf-covered male who had just ruined her favourite dress.
"Oh," he said quietly, looking around at the grass, "Oh, I see." He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch, and Amara rolled her eyes.
"I'm lea-"
"I suppose the table was a little outlandish," Adrian said, eyeing the watch, "but as it's not mine, there's no-"
Amara frowned suspiciously, "What isn't yours?"
"The table," Adrian blinked at her, as if it was preposterous that she didn't know, "the house doesn't belong to me either. You weren't aware? It was all a game-"
"Not yours?"
"Just a silly game we play," he smiled, "sneaking into someone else's party. Terribly frightening. You could even say... adventurous."
Amara felt suddenly weak for no reason. "You break into strange people's houses?" she asked faintly.
"Mmm," he put his watch away.
"Wh- I, I think-, heavens." Amara fanned herself,  "Goodness, Adrian. Why on earth would you do such a thing?"
Adrian grinned, a sparkle in his eye that Amara had never noticed before, "Life isn't just for baking, you know!"