Digital Ischemia


Traveller / Marsh

The Lassie and The Legume continued

[ Starts at ]

The Traveller

A squeaking startles Cecilia out of the ghastly miasma.
“It’s hard to believe you all bawl for it.”
Self-consciously she blinks away her tears. A horse and caravan come into focus, drawing up ahead of her. The caravan is a raspberry red ovoid with a bunch of white net curtain sprouting at each end: it’s a boiled sweet. The horse is standard.
A pair of ballooning boots clump the dust behind the caravan; shiny, skinny legs follow, then a faded cotton print skirt. This combination walks behind the caravan until a corresponding top half is revealed.

The traveller swirls a hand at the village, calling, “it was abandoned way back, my mother’s time. People couldn’t seem to put down roots.”
Cecilia strains her mind around this suspect metaphor. She decides to move things along.
“Where’ve you come from?”

You know the sequence. Have you figured the allegory? Blowed if I have.

The traveller concludes, “disaster written all over it. Can you imagine: me, a traveller, and a man who can’t walk?”
Cecilia barely acknowledges; her lungs remain in a tangled knot from the previous encounter.
Remotely her acquaintance mumbles, “I think his legs were victims of a hunting accident, however that could happen… At least I got to meet the king.”

The Marsh

The environment gets wetter, lusher, smellier. Clouds conurbate. The atmosphere coalesces, condenses, begins to drip. Cecilia arrives at the corner of a seven foot high stone wall. After probably minutes of walking, and days of emotional turmoil, she could quite go a sandwich. She sighs dramatically, expresses her quandary.
“Right or left?”
She peers intently among the stones for the requisite wise creature who replied: still, grey stone.
“To whom am I speaking?”
“The wall.”
“I’m prepared to entertain considerable kinks of reason and reality in this ridiculous fable, but I draw the line at a talking wall.”
That’s bilge; she’s delighted to be back.
“Say that again?!”
“Goof for you. I nerev said _I’m_ a wall. You asked who you were chalking to, not who you were earing.”
Cecilia rests her forehead on a chunk of said wall to stave off an existential crisis.
“What are you then?”
“I’m Rich.”
A scuffling of boots beyond the wall heralds the promotion of Rich’s head above the parapet. He’s human. He’s actually similar to Percy, in a diminished sort of way.
“Oh, how nice to meet someone normal! You are normal, aren’t you?”
“I do beleft so.”

You are retaining all these important details, aren’t you? And earlier gems, especially one regarding a Fetid Marsh? Well done you. Only it won’t be the same if we plunge on without your full possession of these pointless elaborations.

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