 
### Teachers' Version of

### Parley After Life

### D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes

### Warning: Contains Notes

### Robby Miller

Copyright © 2015 by Robert Miller

Smashwords Edition  
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please download an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Download only authorized editions.

~ ~ ~

### Dedication:

To my four remaining children: Adrian, Hannah, Tim, James and Sam, who turned my world upside down and taught me everything else I needed to know about life, inside and out, even when they are not here.

### Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to Vivien Clark-Ferraino and Gabe d'Eustachio who corrected this tome - corralling errant commas, coaxing colons into line and guiding the grammar to conform.

### Foreword:

In my humble opinion, Forewords are a waste of space. However, if on reading this, you feel litigious, please read the Post-word.

Parley After Life - D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes - was written as a memorial to my lost teenage son. He died tragically, risk-taking with a train, and afterwards I was terrified I would start to lose track of some of the defining moments in our abruptly ended relationship.

It was also written to work through my grief. I sought bereavement counseling and learned that the loss of a loved one is not something we ever recover from - rather we learn to walk with it every day; we learn to survive our altered lives in a world where those around us may not feel the same depth of pain at the simplest of triggers. For me, I cannot make toast without recalling the day I held his hand around a butter knife and showed him how to spread apricot jam. There are many other thoughts, too, that come unbidden. Grieving is not stopping the memories but learning to sidestep drowning in the emotions that surround each trigger like a bog across our path. By referencing a myriad of minor events from my son's life in the novel, it enabled me to sort through those memories and put them into compartments where they would be preserved even though the world around me had collapsed into an abyss. It helped me to make sense of a world that had suddenly become insane and so saved me from falling into insanity myself - even though that was appealing during the early stages when I wished and longed to somehow bring him back to me. The allegorical desire for his return underscores the journey in the story.

Memorials help us focus on what we love about a lost loved one. It helps us know that our love for them will be with us until we ourselves pass away. Encapsulating a little of their importance to us in writing reminds us that we do not need the fantasy of the afterlife to feel better about the loss - rather we are allowed to feel terrible about it while still getting on with the life we now have to lead without them.

I have tried to refer to the many different forms of death as an honour to all those who have gone through the abyss of loss. However I apologise to anyone who feels that her or his personal tragedy has been overlooked. I know I could never fathom everyone's pain so ask that you take with you the knowledge that your ongoing bond to your lost loved one is something that only you can really fully understand.

The page, <http://www.facebook.com/Parley.After.Life>, is dedicated to our lost loved ones. Please add your memorial (but no names) instead writing about their life & how they touched you forever.

Teachers' Lesson Notes are written in this format following relevant paragraphs. Please be aware that the flexible nature of ePub page formatting means that page numbers may not correspond between a teacher's and student's version or between different students' ePub readers. Section numbers are provided for class navigation through each chapter.

Teachers' Version includes an extra 32 pages or 20,000 words of explanatory cross-referenced notes on the homonyms, idioms, double meanings and paraphrases as well as additional literary bibliographic references. Further comprehension, web search and discussion questions follow each chapter with answers and class handouts. Author's comments on the human condition that has led to widespread belief in religions and the afterlife are also expounded upon but, more importantly, there are psychological self-help insights into how best to work through the grieving process.

The free Students' Version of Parley After Life - D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes can be downloaded from Smashwords.

~ ~ ~

Parental guidance recommended. Contains adult themes.

~ ~ ~

### Contents:

Chapter 1 ~ Death

Ch. 1 Cellar Notes / Ch. 1 Questions

Chapter 2 ~ War

Ch. 2 Cellar Notes / Ch. 2 Questions

Chapter 3 ~ Famine

Ch. 3 Cellar Notes / Ch. 3 Questions

Chapter 4 ~ Conquer

Ch. 4 Cellar Notes / Ch. 4 Questions

Mr Sock's Recap

Chapter 5 ~ Taxes

Ch. 5 Cellar Notes / Ch. 5 Questions

~ ~ ~

Jump to Version Without Notes

~ ~ ~

### Chapter 1 ~ Death

~Section 1

He looked up and saw a small white fluffy dog standing over him. That is to say she was standing beside him yet looking down on him through glistening eyes of black crystal. "Oh, then I'm not dead," he thought from where he lay looking upwards.

"That's what they all say," whimpered the fluffy white dog wagging its tail as if about to be taken for a walk.

"But you can talk! So something is weird. Did I hit my head?"

"No, your head hit itself!" wagged the doglet sarcastically. "Come-on, hold my leash or you'll start to waft."

"What?" said the teenager. "Who are you and why should I take you for a walk? And where's my head?! Oh my god! It's over there!! I AM dead!! WHO are You?!"

"I'm Parley," wuffled the dog's nose. "Now be a good boy and hold my leash... There that's better isn't it? Now let's get you out of here before that old lady wanders down here and screams and people start running around 'ooing' and 'ahhing' and gasping little bits of you in and sighing little bits of you out all over the place. "Come on, follow me, that's right. Yes, you lot better come too," she said though to who wasn't exactly clear.

"Where are we going? Who did you say you were?"

"We are going to the Alyssum Files and I'm Death. Keep up will you."

Alyssum Def. modern Latin, from Latin alysson, from Greek alusson, from a- 'without' + lussa 'rabies' (referring to early herbalist use from among a genus of about 100–170 species of flowering plants in the family Brassicaceae). ~ ~ ~ The name is poignant because grief can become a mental health issue and the aim of the novel is to encourage a healthy acceptance of death, i.e. to keep one's wits while processing the loss of a relationship.

"Death?" smiled the boy, "I don't think so. He's that big skeleton with a scythe; black hood." And he forgot to keep walking, his heels digging into the ground that gave way before him so that he skated along being pulled by the leash. He didn't notice the quadrillion of dead bacteria and parasites scooting along behind him.

There are ten times more bacteria and parasites living in our bodies than the number of cells in our bodies. A quadrillion = 1015 = 1,000,000,000,000,000 = 10 x 100 trillion

"Yes yes, I've read the Hogfather too," clicked the dog's claws on the pavement.i And she gave a little wiggle, which flicked the leash around the boy's wrist so he wouldn't let go by accident. "And you've no doubt read what everyone else read about what Death looks like. In fact I wrote it myself, so I should know what they read."

"Huh?! You can't write. You're a dog." And the boy sat down though it made no difference as he skimmed over the ground that melted before him and froze behind.

"And yet here you are in the Here-after hearing me so I must be before you talking," blinked the doglet. "And who's to say I don't know what's right? I told everyone Death was a skeleton so they wouldn't notice me coming and get left behind. Generally I find they'd rather follow me than wait for what they think is coming to get them. People waft around so much after they die. It's not like they have a choice but you wouldn't guess how many times I've been asked, "Did I leave the light on?" "Is that the time?" Nobody asks, "Will you walk a little faster? There's a purpose close behind us and it's treading on my tail." So it's better to just give them the old doe eyes and get them on the leash and over here. And here we are," piddled the dog squatting beside a post box.

From Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (an obvious inspiration for this novel), Chapter 10, The Lobster Quadrille, ""Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail, "There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.""

"Here we are where?" asked the boy looking around and missing the fact that the post box was changing colour into a bland creamy flat shape just like a huge manila folder that folded around sweeping them into its middle and twisting back on itself like origami into a shiny red post box with a damp patch at its base.

~Section 2

"This is the bit most people think is where everything goes white but it's more a beige really. You're in the Alyssum Files where hopefully everything will make a lot more sense and you can spend eternity sorting it all out."

"But what about my head? Won't I need that?!"

"Look at your feet," said the dog without even so much as an accent.

"Oh my goodness! You just talked with your mouth!" said the boy. But he looked down anyway and saw he was looking up at his head from bulging eyes that were rooted to the hand he was standing on. The other hand was on the end of a leg that had sprouted out of the head.

"Of course I can talk with my mouth," said Parley. "I just don't like to show off when old ladies are watching. Now keep your feet moving; use the left one for thinking and the right to check if it's right. Or is it, left over right? Righty-oh, make it up as you go. There's nothing right about being left by Death."

But the boy tried to clasp his hands to his ears to block out the sound before he went barking mad though trying nearly toppled him over.

Only he didn't feel ears on his head, he found a foot, in place of one ear. It felt him because his fingers had disappeared and only by wiggling his toes did he work out that his bottom had been planted on the end of one arm. Then, straining to focus on the unintelligible, he gasped; his nose was where his bottom should be though it still smelled the same.

"Ahhhhh!" squeaked his belly button from out of his knee.

Parley looked up and went, "Oh dear, he wasn't supposed to be here was he? I hate it when they get all mixed up and then They always complain about it, too."

"You mean God's going to see me now? Like this?" he squeaked.

"Evon? Oh no, They are here. She's there."

'They always complain...' is the first of many references to the controllers of the afterlife in this fantasy. "They always say that," is a common phrase to denote a group controlling others though no one seems to know exactly who 'They' are. The answer is revealed here as being the various echelons of fleas and other parasites that bring order to the afterlife by sucking the essence out of anyone who is not acting harmoniously in the interests of others. ~ ~ ~ 'Evon' is an ironic feminine name for God, derived from EVOlutioN.

The boy raised his eyebrows in question. It tickled his chin but he was interrupted...

"PARLEY!" boomed a gathering of voices from the dog's rump. And Parley sat down with a flump and started to scratch. A flea jumped off and looked her in the eye. That is to say it jumped up and down beside her and looked down on her when it could.

"You have bought another untimely death in here! This is the place of order! No wonder he's all in a cur-fluffle. He's not ready yet."

"Help..." muffled the boy's kneecap through some bluish fluff.

Researcher Karl Kruszelnicki said: 'The reason belly button fluff] is usually blue is that we mostly wear blue or grey trousers, often jeans, and when these rub against the body the fibres often end up finding their way to the navel. ([www.dailymail.co.uk/...The-mystery-belly-button-fluff-finally-solved-navel-gazing-scientist)

"Oh come here boy," said the flea and the boy found himself shrinking rapidly to the size of a flea and being surrounded by the other fleas who had all jumped off the dog to meet him. For a moment he thought they were going to bite him but a few were still looking up hungrily at the fluffy white dog that towered above them staring vacantly at the cream coloured walls.

"Look, Parley has brought you to Alyssum too early. She's lost her head of course though you are partly to blame for losing your own. Be that as it may, you'll have to stay here now. You can rest in the Piece's Fields until your time is up."

"But I'm all over the place!" said the boy's pieces.

"Oh yes, hold on. I'll just suck you in and put it all right. Whatever you do, don't scratch." And the boy found himself back to his normal though jumbled size.

Suddenly a flea bit his ankle but before he could look down the essence was sucked out of him and the flea had swollen to the size of the boy. The boy had become wafer thin, crinkled a bit and then crumbled into a pile of flakes. The flea choked and rolled its eye and another flea jumped back onto Parley and bit her ear. The dog spun around whisking its tail through the dust of the boy scattering it to the wind. The swollen flea jumped up into the dust and from nowhere two other fleas jumped at full force from left and right, slamming into its sides so the boy's silvery blood sprayed out all over the dust, gluing it back together into the right shape for a small boy with his head in just the right place, too.

~Section 3

"Oh thank you!" gasped the boy, feeling himself all over as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Now can I go back if I'm not supposed to be here?"

"Um, no; sorry," said the flea. "Once you're in Alyssum there's no sense in going back. It just makes everyone jumpy! Hahaha, did you see what I did there?" But the dog just stepped on him, much to everyone's relief. The others jumped back into the fluffy white fur.

"Did They fix you up properly inside, too? No gas? Right, follow me then - all of you," said Parley including all the bacteria and parasites that had died with him. "I'll take you over to the G-Host's place. It always plays host to the lost boys, bats or cats that turn up before they're ready. You don't want to hang around here; too many ghosts. And she wagged her tail at the wall, parting it, so they could walk out into a grassy field.

"Ghosts?" he asked as he stepped through the beige wall, "Why would there be ghosts in the afterlife?!"

"Oh, there are a lot of people who want to be here because their life is unbearable. But even though their heart is here already no one will let them die."

"You're kidding!" gasped the boy. "You wouldn't catch me dead hanging around here!" and he looked around hoping to see a way out.

Mountains skirted a vast plane dominated by a huge tree near an endless white ocean. In the distance was a rolling of unceasing thunder; just rumbling on, getting steadily louder like the hooves of enormous beasts galloping towards him. He could just see a speck of black on the horizon with a thin strip of dust blowing away from it.

"Let's sit here and wait for it," said Parley giving herself a good scratch ("Oi, watch it!" boomed a couple of voices) and she turned in a circle before sitting down.

"What are we waiting for?" asked the boy keeping his eyes towards the rumbling sound.

"Well nothing really," said the dog, "it's already here. But it likes the suspense so it will be a while pretending to get here to give us time to think about it. Of course I'd call it 'he' except he lost that bit, too."

"Um, can I ask you a question Mrs. Death?" asked the boy sitting down, too.

"Parley." said Parley, "As in 'the Great Meeting place in the fluffy white clouds.' People always look for sheep in the clouds but that's just a smoke screen. It's really just little old me - man's 'best' friend. You can ask me a second question too if you like..."

The first question was to ask if he could ask a question.

"Um," said the boy, "Why a skeleton? You're much less scary to meet."

"Precisely," said Parley, "Death is the Great Meeting so everyone would be in a hurry to get here for an old pow-wow. I had to write something that would scare them off so they don't all get here before their time. Besides, the idea of bones turned me on."

"Oh, um, and why did we come through a Post box?"

"Why else do you think they are called "Post" for?" replied Parley.

'Post-' is Latin for 'after' e.g. post-mortem i.e. 'after death.'

"Besides, you wouldn't believe how many pieces of paper die in them. See that huge paper tree over there? All of it is lost pieces of paper trying to stick themselves back together into a tree again. Some call it the Tree of Knowledge; either for good, all those ideas that get jotted down but never executed (if you'll excuse the pun) or evil, bills that got torn up before they were paid. Not cheques though. People rarely lose those; they just forget to write them. Forgetting and losing are parallel universes you know."

~Section 4

The sound of galloping hooves had gotten steadily closer but as the boy was lost in thought it gave up trying to impress him and leapt out from behind the tree instead. The element of surprise was quite effective as the tree was miles away. There, panting dramatically before the boy, was a huge russet coloured gelding. Or at least it had the basic shape of a horse with the feet of a panther, the tail was a hand cut off at the wrist pointing away from its behind and the head and neck were covered in a huge sock with black button eyes. Out of it came a voice that was lost in the mists of Time and yet friendly, like a slightly squeaky breeze.

A gelding is a castrated horse. For 'feet of a panther,' see Chapter 5 Section 7.

"Hello. What's your name?" it asked.

"I don't know?" said the boy. "What's my name, Parley? Why don't I know my name?"

"I don't know it yet," said the dog. "That was given to you by your parents and if you're not supposed to be here then your name hasn't died yet so I wasn't sent to get it. If it's on everyone's lips it would be tasteless of me to go around licking their faces trying to take it with me. Seriously, you have to pity the powerful and famous. Some people go to extraordinary lengths not to be forgotten so their name will never die. They don't think ahead or plan that they might want their name with them when they get here."

"Well," said the sock-puppet gelding, "you wouldn't be the first to come here without your name. And if you died before your parents then they definitely won't be forgetting it. Losing a child is like having a large chunk of a parent's life ripped out and splattered over everything they see so that everything ends up reminding them of you. They never lose their children's names; writing them on the walls of their hearts until they themselves die. But don't worry; we'll get you a spare one. It's often handy to have a second or third name, as those are much easier for everyone else to forget. So how did you get here?"

"Seems I lost my head," said the boy feeling a little more at ease with his new friends.

To 'lose one's head' is an idiom for losing self-control or 'go crazy' and is also an antonym of 'alyssum'. Ironically Wit died when he lost his head, literally, which happened because he lost self-control.

"Oh, aren't you a wit," said the sock. "At least you didn't lose that or you'd be witless. So I shall call you Wit and even though everything feels upside down and backwards we shall have something in common." And with that it lifted the sock a little way up its neck revealing nothing underneath.

"Yes, I lost my head too," said the headless horse. "And my original tail. Allow me to introduce myself since your friend seems to have forgotten my name; or at least her manners. I'm Thera, your gee-gee and host. I think I was the first one here. It's been a while now, maybe about half of eternity though they won't tell me when the end of Eternity is due to drop in."

Parley said Thera was his G-Host - which spells ghost - though we learn here it is a gee-gee, meaning horse, host

~Section 5

"Aren't we in Eternity?" asked Wit.

"Oh no. What would be the point in that? Anyway, I'm sure She'll go straight to the Alyssum Files. Eternity may be small but She always has the last word."

"Oh, I thought She was already here," said Parley. "So many people have lost the point."

"Yes but the point is, She is the only one without any dimensions so She must be Eternity. And She's stuck on the end of every sentence to remind us, too. So call me crazy but this is not the end, since it's not Alyssum, which means She can't be here or I'd have found a point to my own end and that's a long tale I can tell you. And I've never had a hand in finding the point either. Butt-who-knows, if the point is behind you after you die then maybe She's lost too; maybe Eternity is here..."

In the case of this creature's butt there is a hand, pointing, instead of a tail. The description about the point of eternity, i.e. a point has no measurements and is symbolised by a full stop at the end of every sentence, is concluded at the end of Chapter 4, Section 6. 'Long tale' and 'long tail' are homonyms.

The boy didn't see the point of this so he started pulling at the grass.

"Do you like my fields?" asked Thera. "I put them here after I arrived. It was weird not having anything to stand on and I thought it would be tasty, for a horse, except I forgot I had no head to eat it with so it just kept growing and now it's all over the place. I call it the Elysian Fields. It used to be a popular spot back in the days when there were a lot of horses galloping around battles. The soldiers rarely popped through though. They always went straight to the Files but their horses often used to come here because, as they hadn't chosen to go into battle, it wasn't their time to be here and so we'd hang out until it was."

In Greek literature, Elysium or the Elysian Fields is described as an afterlife paradise with perfect weather and bountiful food. It was a place for those chosen by the gods where they would be incorruptible and filled with joy, separated from the gloom of Hades.

"Is that what this is then?" asked Wit, "A place to wait until it's time to die? Isn't there any way out?! I want to go home!"

"Sigh," sighed Parley, "And that's why Death carries a scythe to see if you're the right size; or so the story goes. And yet everyone sighs more when they are the wrong size.

'Sighs,' 'scythe' and 'size, are loosely homonyms

Look, I'm sorry Wit but I can't take you home. Time There and Here are not compatible; they've been fighting about which one of them is the Real Time since forever. You'd scare the cud out of everyone if you just turned up again. I know you feel like everything is upside down and backwards; you're not supposed to be here but you don't exist there any more either except in your loved ones' memories and imagination. Those are parallel universes too except they both exist under one dome. I suggest you wander round here, get to know the place. Take up a hobby. There are lots of big fish to talk to; people are always losing those. Thera will hang out with you till you get your bearings but I've got to get back. There are always more people to take for a walk, sorry."

'Dome' meaning skull, i.e. there are 'parallel universes' within everyone's minds in as much as they can remember their loved ones but also imagine they are existing in another place. Memories themselves often exist in parallel with reality having been modified by our feelings. For more information about fantasies and memories please refer to the work of Winograd, Peluso, & Glover, 1998.

"Yes, we can't hold up the noble Death," said Thera, "though it's usually the ignoble deaths she buries here. Go on then; we'll be fine. Come on Wit, let me show you the Tree of Strife." Parley suddenly jumped up and barked loudly three or four times as dogs do when someone rings the doorbell. Only with each bark she disappeared a little until, on the last bark, she popped out of sight. A doorbell chimed. Wit looked around wondering where the door was but Thera nuzzled him with its sock and told him not to worry as there were lots of sounds here that were 'misplaced' - doorbells that rang though no one was there, the sounds of a tree falling in the forest though no one saw it; the other half of a clap made with one hand. All those stray sounds had to end up somewhere.

'If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?' is a philosophical thought experiment that raises questions regarding observation and knowledge of reality. 'What is _the sound of one hand clapping?'_ is a famous Zen kōan philosophical riddle. See also Chapter 5, Section 7.

~Section 6

Thera pulled Wit gently up with its mostly sheathed claws. "Hold onto my tail mate." And Wit finally got the point. Though before he could finish the thought, Thera had bounded over to the Tree; a massive affair up close, something like a weeping willow yet the branches were as wide as skyscrapers and had more trees growing up out of them with smaller trees again growing off those, many of which were so long they bent over in graceful curves that hung down to the ground. Wit went over to one, as thick as his arm, and gave it a shove. It swayed gently in the breeze reminding him of the willow wands he had swung on as a child.

"Now careful there," whispered Thera. "You don't want to get a paper cut." Wit looked more closely and realised the whole branch was made of sheets of paper stuck together. All the pieces of A4 or US Legal; post-it notes or cardboard boxes that had ever been thrown away before their time, had come back together and were trying to reminisce about their life before, barely remembered, when they were once cosy and curled up in the fibres of their mother tree. Wit read a few birthday cards with meaningful sentiments like, 'Dear Son, Love Dad' on them and his eyes went squirrely looking at the spiraling fine print of endless love letters written to estranged partners who'd never read them.

"This is rather sad," said Wit, half to himself; the other half was evidently heard by a large ball of fur that was 'sleeping' under the tree. It pricked up an ear and glinted a yellow feline eye towards him.

"Oh hello Pillow," said Thera. "Let me introduce Wit to you; he's just joined us. Pillow is the goddess of Lost Sleep. Don't let her yawn on you or you'll be snoring for a hundred years; or until a passing virgin kisses you. Don't hold your breath for that though, there are a lot less virgins getting lost these days than people make out. And even less of them die while they are still virgins. And all of them have been told not to kiss strangers so your chances of waking up are one in three hundred and forty five, or so They say.ii

Wit looked at Pillow, a huge mostly-white cat with just a few tan splodges, as if people had dribbled on her, like happy kitties in their sleep. She barely moved and he presumed this was a sign that she was mostly harmless. His eyes began to water and he wondered if this was caused by an aura of sleepiness permeating out from the cat or just an allergy. Strangely though when his eyes ran they washed a little clearer and Wit noticed some bodies lying in the grass, sleeping nearby. One of them was a beautiful young woman about Wit's age, her blonde hair had caught across her throat when she'd rolled onto her back in a deep sleep; her mouth, just a little open, breathed in and out with the faintest whistle of air coming from her rising and falling chest. Her lips twitched. A princess dreaming she was a queen.

'Mostly harmless' is a phrase used to describe Earth in The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.

Wit stepped forward involuntarily for he knew inside this was his fairy-tale and here was the damsel he would wake with a kiss to live happily ever after with him. Mesmerised, he stepped around from behind Thera but its tail reached out and gently restrained his arm, "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he heard. "Best to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Dogs? Oh, a female dog; you mean don't wake her because she's a..."

"No, the son of a..."

A female dog is called a 'bitch,' probably from Old Norse 'bikkjuna' i.e. 'female of the dog.'

"Huh? You mean she's not a she?! But she's hot!"

"Yes and she's out cold because she wanted to be. Many people prefer to just sleep through this whole waiting place and not wake up until they are ready to die. I mean really die."

"You mean he died too soon like me?"

"She died in a way quite unlike you but yes, too soon. Her family were pious and couldn't accept her as she was.iii Yet ironically they partly caused her to be like this, leaving statues around the house of a muscular but barely dressed young man draped in Death's arms. It would be enough to inspire anyone but sadly their persecution also inspired her death; last of four unlucky tries.iv You can't blame her for not wanting to remember all that."

Though not acknowledged by those intent on seeing only a religious icon, the stylised imagery of Christ on the cross is often unintentionally sensual.

"I guess not," he mumbled. "Wow, this place is scary."

Wit dried his watery eyes and the girl blended back into the background of grass. Shaking his head, he took a step backwards and nearly bumped into Pillow.

~Section 7

The cat yawned and stretched as only cats can by any stretch of the imagination. She seemed to reach out to the horizon and when she retracted her paws there was a small lizard's tail wrapped around one claw. Pillow delicately extracted it with her mouth then disdainfully flicked it to one side.

"What I can't stand about this place," said Pillow in a small mew that didn't fit her rotund abdomen, "is the fact that lizards only ever lose their tails." The tail flopped around, curling back on itself from side to side until it settled down under Pillow's kiss of sleep. "Why can't they lose their heads now and again? It would be much more fun for us here. They could have trained you, Wit. You should have spent more time studying them as a child. Lizards are found on garden walls even in the palaces of kings so they must know a thing or two about not losing their heads in high places."v

"Um, nice to meet you Ma'am," replied Wit. He had decided she was not to be completely trusted as if the rolls of white fur were only padding over some nightmarish talons.

"Where is time?" asked the cat suddenly.

"Oh don't ply him with riddles straight away," said Thera. But Pillow persisted.

"Where is time, boy?"

"Um, I have no idea."

"Come on use your wits, if you have any. Where is time located?"

"Um, are we in time? Whose time are you talking about anyway? I heard there's more than one and they fight..."

"Your time in particular and no, you are not in it. Where is time located in relation to you?"

"Seriously I have no idea, is it in a big hourglass?"

"No, not what does it live in, where is it? I'll give you a clue: Since you are here early, you are not on time."

"Um, is it inside me?

"Sigh... where is time if you are unlucky? As you obviously were."

"Sorry, I give up"

"Correct, it is 'up,'" purred Pillow. "It seems I shan't have to put you to sleep after all. So do you know what you want to do with yourself while you wait till your time is up?"

"Just showing him around first," piped up Thera. "How's life on the other side anyway?"

"Oh, you know humans... good for a feed but they know diddley-squat about meditation. Could you scratch me behind the ear, boy?"

Wit looked up alarmed. He glanced at Thera but there was nothing in the sock face to indicate warning so he approached gingerly from the side and reached up to scratch the cat's huge fuzzy head.

"Ah, never do for yourself what you can get someone to do for you. First rule of becoming a cat goddess," purred Pillow.

~ ~ ~

~Section 8

But Wit wasn't listening. He was suddenly transfixed by an image of his father pouring cat pellets into a bowl for a white and gently ginger-striped tabby that was sleeping on the knitted teddy bear his grandmother had made, albeit a bit flatter now. His father turned around with a soft sad smile and reached over to scratch the cat that was curled up on his old bed, not even bothered to get up for the food. Wit gasped. Looking out through the cat's eyes into his father's face was too confronting and he inadvertently pulled his hand away from behind Pillow's ear. The vision winked out and, realising he had broken the connection to his world, he buried his fingers in the soft fur again. But Pillow was already sleeping and no further images came to Wit.

~ ~ ~

Thera leaned over and whispered, "Nine lives; some in this world, some in the other depending on how curious they've been. Come, let's go down to the ocean for the fresh air." And it trotted away - its panther paws barely touching the grass and its tail pointing straight at him so that he felt compelled to follow.

The myth of cats having nine lives originates, in part, from their ability to survive falls that would kill other animals. Research into this ability is explained at http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-17492802

Within five minutes they were on the shore of a vast ocean. The tips of the waves were blue and crashed with a snoring noise onto a beachful of buttons but all the water between them was pasty white like skim milk.

"It's skim milk," said Thera.

"What?! Where did that all come from?"

"Oh, mostly it's poured down the sink by errant husbands who just pretend to drink it to lose weight. Oh look, there's the four little ducks."

And there in the water popped up one duckling, then another then two more in turn and then suddenly they popped away again. Wit could see the same pattern happening again and again all up and down the milky coast.

"Where do they go? Why do they come one-by-one and then disappear all together?"

"That's how the story goes. Don't you know it? 'Four little ducks went out one day...'"

"Oh, 'mother duck went quack, quack, quack but only three little ducks came back.' But that's just a nursery rhyme?"

"Yes, but the ducklings get lost and they have to go somewhere until the mother duck goes out to find them. So here they are and there they go."

Wit's eyes narrowed slightly. "So they can get back?" And as he said it a pair of eyes that were having a near death experience peered out of thin air, looked him up and down and winked knowingly.

"Wit, I'm sorry but a nursery rhyme doesn't have the same substance as your body so they can come and go. I think you're getting the idea of what this place is. I'd like you to meet a friend of mine."

"But if they can come and go, maybe there is a way for me to go back too!"

"No Wit. I guess you've heard of reincarnation? That's the only way people could think you've got back but I'm warning you, even then, you won't get back in your old body and it won't be at the same time."

"Hm," said Wit, but you could see he was still thinking about it and planning to try anything he could.

~Section 9

"Look, down there on the beach is a flock of seagulls. See Sindé Seagull, the grey one, let's go talk to her about her travels." And they walked off down the sliding buttons, Wit dragging his feet and looking around for any way to escape.

Sindé Seagull, as it turned out, was from foreign shores and had come a great distance to get here. It wasn't clear if she had got lost in her travels and just flown straight in or if she had swallowed one fish bone too many and got in the usual way. She was however, like Wit, convinced there must be a way out and had spent years flying around the Elysian Fields interviewing everyone who came in. Admittedly she started each interview asking if they had brought any food with them. However, burying food with the dead has gone out of fashion in most places so she rarely got to share their lunch. And anyway, most people who ended up in Elysian came by an unexpected, untimely demise, which rarely involved them holding food at the time and it was even less likely that they thought to pick it up again when Parley went to fetch them.

"So what do you think of our Sea of Opportunities?" She asked Wit after their initial introductions.

"The what? I didn't know its name," said Wit.

"It's called that because of the bottles that wash up from time to time," said Thera. "Whenever people dream up some plan but don't put it into action it ends up written down, bottled up and thrown into the Sea of Lost Opportunity. Sindé has made a habit of collecting as many as she can."

"Yes, but I have the Dickens of a time opening the bottles. And there aren't many I can carry around anyway. I can hardly tuck them under my wing while I'm flying. I've lost a few that way already and it kind of does my head in wondering what happens to the things you lose in the place where everything goes if you lose it."

"What do you want them for anyway?" asked Wit.

"Well one thing I've learned is that I'm not the only smart one around and, if I can learn from other people's ideas or even improve on them, I might have some vague chance of getting out of this place and back to a sea with small bite size fish in it; strangely no-one ever seems to lose those off their fishing lines."

"I see," said Wit. "Maybe I could help you. You can fly out to sea and bring the bottles here and I can easily crack them open. And I have pockets to hold the notes in too. But you have to promise me you'll help me get out too, if we can find some way."

~Section 10

"Sounds like a deal," said Sindé. "How about you Thera, would you like to find a way out too, or are you still committed to looking after the place since you were the first one here?"

"You know what I've said before, Sindé. What am I going to do out there without a head anyway? And I've grown quite attached to these feet but they'd lock me up in a Freak Show if I wandered about in them so I'm better off just doing what I do best. That's the only point I've found in being here though I do wish my time would be up and I could move on to Alyssum."

"Don't you think it strange that you're the only one apart from the cats with their nine lives who has not moved on?" asked Sindé. "Apart from me that is, who is not supposed to be here anyway since I didn't die, just travelled too far overseas."

"Maybe you're a magic horse?" said Wit.

"Well I do think I might have had some magical powers, the way all this grass keeps growing. I vaguely remember there were three of us who used to carry around some gods to do some pretty ghastly stuff like War and Famine. I can't say I'd be in a hurry to go back to that job anyway; I hate so-called 'friendly fire.' War lopped off my head by accident."

"A blow from behind?! Oh dear. So you're a god-horse who can't die so you just have to go on and on in Elysium?" said Sindé. "Maybe you really should think about joining us and going back to patch things up with War."

"I honestly don't think I could face going back but, as long as you don't mind me popping over to see Parley every time she brings someone new in, maybe I will hang around you guys. At least you have a purpose right behind you; apart from just waiting till you can move on into the Files. Don't tell anyone but I've always had my doubts that Alyssum is quite all it's cracked up to be. I mean knowing the answer to everything would be great, 'A place for everything and everything in its place,' They say. But personally there is more scope for imagination when you don't know what's around the corner if you ask me. Maybe that's why I haven't moved on, They don't want me stirring up the place with ideas... hehe"

"Ok, so let's start," said Wit

"Look there's a bottle just behind the breakers," said Sindé with her practiced rubbish-spotting eyes. And she flew off to grab it in her webbed feet and drop it on the buttons beside Wit.

Not that it was as simple as that to get started. Wit soon found he wasn't able to get the lid off. Presumably the person who had sealed this idea up in their mind had used a fair bit of bitterness to wrench it shut and keep it air tight. It wasn't until Sindé brought in another bottle. This one had a sea urchin stuck to the side trying to read the message through the glass.vi He shooed it off and was able to crack the two bottles together, being very careful not to cut his finger.

'Quiet Christian man seeks same' and a phone number read the first message. The second was a recipe for a catnip pizza delivery service.

"Well I can see why cat-pizza deliveries didn't catch on, but I'm sure the quiet Christian man could have found another quiet Christian man if he'd looked," said Sindé.

"I don't think that's what it means," said Thera. "I've read a few lost Bibles that turned up here and they are not big on that sort of thing. Anyway it only matters that he never did what he once thought was a good idea. But we'd better keep looking. Neither of those ideas are going to get us out of here unless you want to be delivered back as a pizza!"

~Section 11

"Well hang on," squarked Sindé. "I've often wondered if we could use Religion to give us a boost in the right direction. I mean people are losing their religion all the time, right? And others are adopting new ones all the time, too. So I've always suspected that Religion had a way to sneak back out of here."

"No, no, no. We are not going anywhere near the Bog o' Belief. That is way too dangerous. But you are right, Religion stays the same up here and I can tell you why but then that will be the end of it, OK?"

Wit and Sindé sat down on the buttons, it sounded like an interesting story, though, as Wit picked up handfuls of buttons and skimmed them absentmindedly across the skim milk he told himself he hadn't agreed not to try anything.

"People, as you know, often lose their religion," started Thera, "and sometimes whole religions get lost from a society; maybe because some invaders force them to adopt a new religion or just because people kill all the priests when they fail to bring the rains or the Summer forgets to turn up one year. But for some reason the Bog o' Belief never gets any bigger does it? Not like the Sea of Opportunity, that skim milk has been rising slowly year after year and may one day swamp us completely. Maybe if we all drown, we'll go straight to Alyssum?"

The rising sea level is an allusion to Global Warming.

"The Bog, Thera. Stick to the story," said Sindé.

"Yes, well the Bog has been here nearly as long as I have and it has never gotten bigger. Maybe it's gotten deeper but I have a suspicion that it has worked out how to reincarnate itself. The reason there are always new religions turning up over the centuries is because it just keeps coming back; always a little bit different but still with the same appeal that attracts people to it. In fact, if I'm right, and Religion is actually a god who can't die, then the genius of it is that the different religions are always fighting against each other and among themselves. That way no one questions why there is always religion because they are so busy defending their religion from other people's religion that they don't notice Religion is behind them all. And with the competition being so high, if someone does lose their religion, they are more likely to just adopt another one rather than admit they don't have any."

"But then where did Adam and Eve come from?" asked Wit?

"What?" asked Sindé. "No no, you've missed the point. It doesn't matter where religions came from but only that Religion's stories, like Creation, prove that everyone keeps wanting humans to be 'special' because their god made them according to a plan rather than just having evolved from some rapidly dividing yeast via a fish and a monkey."

"Actually, there used to be a lost Eden around here somewhere," said Thera. "Only I think the plants in it moved on to Alyssum one by one as they were genetically modified out of existence."

"Whatever, let's go talk to the Bog!" said Sindé and flew up into the air and off down the coast."

"No! I said that was too dangerous!" shouted Thera after him but its voice was carried away on the wind, or ignored, and Thera and Wit were left looking at each other; Wit with a little bit of hope in his eyes.

"Well we are going to have to go and rescue her if it's that dangerous," he said.

"Humph, you know you're right don't you?" said Thera but it didn't argue, just pointed its tail at him and said, "Hold onto me. But when we get there you are not to look in the Bog under any circumstances. I mean it. People have gone crazy and fallen in before now."

Did they get out of here?" asked Wit, but his question got left behind on the beach as Thera bounded down the coast and landed beside Sindé.

~Section 12

"Thought you'd never get here," she quipped. "Now where is it? Over behind those mountains isn't it?"

"We are not going to the Bog," said Thera but Sindé was already off and flapping. So, with another bound, Thera carried Wit to the far side of the Mount Way.

There shimmering at the foot of the hills was an area the grass kept well away from. Wit looked closer and saw light and music rippling around in slow eddies. Nothing seemed to hold still though and as soon as he had an idea what he was looking at it would slowly meld into something else and he'd have to start thinking all over again. He crept a little closer to get a better look when suddenly he felt a beak grabbing him by the collar.

"Hold on there buster, Thera is right, you don't want to go looking in there unless you want to lose your wits. And right now that's all you've got left so you'd better hold onto them."

As Wit sat down, still looking in that direction, Sindé grabbed a rock and flew over the Bog, dropping it into the swirl. It fell without even a plop but didn't just disappear. Wit could see it was sinking rapidly lower and lower but it was not just getting smaller as it went. The strange ripples seemed to magnify it, at times making it look bigger or, at other times, smaller so he had to convince himself that gravity really was doing its normal thing down there and that what you saw was not what you got.

"WHO DARES DISTURB BELIEF?" Rumbled the ground around them.

"Ah, Sorry Mr Religion, Sir. We were wondering if you could answer a few questions?" piped up Sindé.

"YOU DARE TO QUESTION FAITH?"

"Well only if you're not busy"

"I'M ALWAYS BUSY! But What Can I Do For You Little Seagull? Have You Accepted The Way?"

"Actually, I lost it. I'm pretty sure its up on that mountain there somewhere."

"THAT Mountain Is An ABOMINATION! If People Would Only Accept My Way They Would NEVER Be Lost Little Seagull. I Invite You To Come Here And Look Into My, I Mean, YOUR Heart And See The Truth."

"Oh, but we are looking for a way out now. Do you happen to know how to get out of here?"

"I Can Take You Anywhere But You Have To Give Yourself to Me. Jump In With Your Eyes Closed And I Will Be Your Guide."

~Section 13

By this time Wit was edging slowly away from the edge and trying to look anywhere but into that mesmerising force. Once he'd made it to the other side of Thera he felt a bit safer but his mind was still racing with possibilities. What if there was some way to go down there but to still have a way back? But did it only work if you fully trusted its way? But if you did that, would you still be you when you came out the other end? Of course he couldn't know the answers without trying but he wasn't going to lose his head over this one. He would try to do it safely at first and then, only if all else failed, would he throw himself in without a safety line.

'Boiong.' A random sound went off but Wit just thought it was the germination of his own idea.

"Sindé, Thera, can we go somewhere and talk?" he asked.

They both looked at him and, recognising the glint of an idea in his eye, they retreated out of earshot of the Bog.

"What about if we went down into the Bog - it obviously leads to somewhere over there - but instead of just jumping in blindly or falling in, in a trance, how about we have a safety line so we can be lowered in slowly? I don't believe the Bog can touch us, just mess with our heads, so as long as we are attached at one end we can get down slowly enough that we can choose when and how we get out. Or, if things go terribly wrong, we can get back up here again. What do you reckon?"

"Brilliant," said Thera.

"Nice," said Sindé. "Any ideas on what we could use."

But Wit was already looking at Thera with guilty sideways glances. "Thera, would you mind if we used your sock? If we unraveled the thread it might stretch out quite a long way."

"Yes, I mind. You're asking me to go around headless which is tasteless especially as taste is both in the head and in the mind. And though I have lost my head I have not lost my mind. But anyway, you will learn, the strength of a rope is in the many strands gripping each other. If you unravel them and hang off one strand only, it will snap and you'll find yourself stranded. But you've given me a better idea. This is a sock right? And what is one thing we have plenty of up here, apart from buttons? Socks! Oh my, hold on both of you." And it spun round so fast it nearly poked Wit in the eye with its tail.

Thera was bounding off the second they grabbed the point and in a blur of passing grass they found themselves flung to the ground many miles away where a huge circle of grass edged an enormous black hole threaded by a stairway that climbed both up into an invisible dot in the sky and down into an immeasurable dot in the depth of the hole.

The stairway that went both up and down to infinity spiraled gently, the curve bulging out in the middle with the elegant twist of a seashell. It was seemingly suspended from the stars above and brushing the very roots of existence at its base. But, though it was slender, its contact with the infinite reaches gave it an air of permanence that made the grass around it look flimsy. It appeared to be a thread from the gods sewn through a hole in an invisible shell and holding the fabric of the world together. It is, after all, the stiches that define a garment's character and measure the tailor's skill much more than the material.

~Section 14

"Welcome Wit. How are you Sindé, Thera?" A voice of light organ music spoke from the air around them, as mysterious as the waves in a shell. "What you seek is hiding behind the paper tree. Wit, come up and see me sometime. You will not find your Algernon where you think he is. But you are not yet ready to look for him because when you do find him it will only be because he's not there. And Wit; hold tight!"

"Hello Taught-us. This is our friend Wit," said Thera. "He has an idea about how he might get out of here and we were wondering if you might know where the socks were hiding? Um, and thank you for telling us, but I just thought I should ask anyway, out of politeness. And because it still freaks me out when you do that, even after all these years."

'Your Algernon,' is further explained in the following two paragraphs below; in Chapter 5, Section 14; and the final paragraph of Chapter 5. ~ ~ ~ 'Taught-us' was inspired by the Hindu myth of the world resting on a tortoise's back.

"Yes I know," breezed the music of waves in their ears. "I wouldn't bother if you didn't react; just a bit of fun. It gets a bit tiresome knowing so much that you can guess everything others are about to say. At least with this game I can watch your surprise. I guess I live vicariously since knowledge is no surprise to itself. Is that creepy?"

"No Your Honour," intoned Thera, its sock-head bowed a little limper.

"Don't be so polite Thera; we go way back. I know you don't mean it and I know you are really thinking about your own Algernon. I'm sorry, but as I tell you every time: You will not find him in your sock."

All this time Sindé was fluffed up with her head scrunched down into her shoulders. She ruffled imperceptibly but the steps seemed to twist just a fraction as she did so and the timbre of the voice dropped an eighth of an octave.

"Sindé, how many times do I have to tell you? 'You have no Algernon to find.' Your eye is clear; you have not lost your step like so many others (the spiral staircase twisted a little tighter still) for you mount up on wings like seagulls. What are you waiting for? Get out of here..."

"HOW!!!" screamed the bird as only a seagull can. And the air rattled with the sharp echoes of frayed hopes.

Wit shivered a little. He reached out to put his hand on Thera's shoulder. Sindé flapped disconsolately onto Wit's shoulder and crapped absent-mindedly. Thera turned and spirited them away with a slightly pathetic whinny, its hand-tail drooped.

~Section 15

Back at the paper tree, the three friends huddled together for a minute.

"What is an Algernon? And why do I want to find it," asked Wit; still a little freaked out by the Taught-us.

"She always does that," ruffled Sindé, "gives you a poke in the eye. I guess that's how you repay her for telling you what you need to know. She loves to see you squirm since she never squirms about anything herself. Damn, I want an Algernon!"

"Tell me about it!" said Thera. At least you've got eyes. You could get one. I wonder if I'll ever look my Algernon in the eye again having no eyes to look through, see."

"Tell me about it, please?" said Wit

"Oh, sorry," said Sindé. "We always get a bit grumpy when she sees right through us like that. It wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't see-through herself.

"Algernon is the blind spot in your eye. That invisible point of blackness you can't see but she seems to think when we finally see it we will get out of here."

Wit went a bit cross-eyed trying to see into his own eyes.

"Why can't you or Thera see yours?" he asked.

"Birds cancel theirs out, that's why we can see so clearly.vii And Thera, as you can see has nothing to see with. Actually, I've always wondered how you can see out of that sock of yours?"

"Oh, I've an idea where mine is hiding but it's easy enough to find your way around when you made the place," said Thera. "Everything is where you put it; mostly."

"Um, I'm sorry you can't see yours then. But could you tell me how I can see mine?" said Wit.

"You can't really; it's a blind spot," said Thera "I think it's some sort of allegory. Maybe when you get older you will understand."

"When I get older, I will get out of here anyway," said Wit sulkily.

~Section 16

"Come on then, let's go find the socks, they'll be hopping around here somewhere but watch your step, they can get a bit toey if you spin them a yarn." And Thera started stalking around the paper tree.

"Darn, they're not here," it said.

'Darn,' to mend a knitted sock is a homonym for 'darn,' an oath of exasperation.

"Oh yes we are!" giggled a thousand children from up in the branches. Down they jumped like fall leaves, ending up in a big pile that twisted and wriggled around itself as they all squirmed to tie themselves in knots around each other so that in the end they were tied top to toe in a huge long snaking chain that rose up above them, swaying rhythmically like a conjuror's rope of many colours.

"Good morning Mr Therasock." The children's voices chanted, all at roughly the same time.

"Good morning children. Please sit down," said the sock on Thera's head. "Mr Thera would like to ask you to help him. Now I'm sure you will all agree, so remember your Peace and Queue." Thera's sock had a slightly deeper timbre than the headless horse's airy breezing.

"Remember your Ps and Qs" was a phrase directing children to be polite - from Please and Thank you (thank-Qu).

"Thank you children," said Thera. "As Mr Sock said, I would like to ask you to help my friend here, Mr Twit." A few socks twittered to each other. "It will be a bit of an adventure so you must all be on your very best behaviour. Now, do you all promise to do what you're told?"

"We promise," said over a thousand sombre voices, with only a few hundred giggles in the background.

"Very good. Now if you could all roll up neatly and hold my paw we will be off to Mount Way."

"Oooooh," said the children a little awestruck at being invited into a grown-ups adventure.

"Line up! Line up!" squawked Sindé as they all twisted around holding their friend's toe and their other friend's top. Sindé perched on Thera's shoulder again and off it bounded leaving Wit watching in amazement as the endless coil of socks unwound behind it, snaking up through the air to follow. Only at the last minute did Wit even realise he'd been left behind and he just had time to grab the end of the sock rope and be whisked off to join the others on the far side of Mount Way.

When Wit arrived, Thera had already organised one end of the sock rope into a loop, which was slung over its shoulder like a harness. Sindé came flying up and bustled around the other end of the rope and soon those socks were organised into a loop, too. Wit wiggled into the hole and fitted it under his arms, Thera gave a leap forward until the rope was stretched taut and, at a signal from Sindé, Thera started walking slowly backwards while Wit lowered himself over the side of the bog.

~Section 17

He soon found there was nothing to plant his feet on; the whole hole had soaked into a swirling, insubstantial dream. "Just keep going," he told himself and he concentrated on the feeling of going down, even though the sky above seemed to be getting closer or further away depending on which way the Bog was pulsing. As the edge of the hole got gradually more distant, he thought he saw a bird looking down at him. Then shortly after, he saw Sindé walking down the rope towards him. This was quite comforting and he relaxed a little. But not for long as he immediately heard Religion challenging this newcomer.

"Little SEAGULL, Why Don't You Trust Me? WHY Do You Hold To the Rope When I AM HERE To Hold You?! Close Your Eyes And Give Yourself To ME Completely. I Can Give You New Life. Fly In Me And You Will Never Be Tired Again. LET GO Of Your Chains To This Hollow World And I Will Set You Free.

"Squarwk," squawked Sindé. "He does go on a bit doesn't he? Just ignore him; this seems to be going well doesn't it?"

"Yes, except that I want to be sick. This pulsing and flow of pictures and lights is making me feel ill. Did you bring an airbag with you?" he joked. "I hope we can find the right place to get out."

"Oh we'll be fine. Do you think we could speed it up a bit? That Thera is a fine chap but it's a bit of an old nanny goat when it comes to protecting us kids. How about you wriggle out of there, hold my feet and I'll fly us down a bit further. I'm sure I can get the hang of flying in this soup." And she let go and started swooping around in slow circles testing her wings. "Then we can look around for the best way out rather than just dangling around like a puppet. No one wants to live on the end of a piece of string."

"Well I don't know," said Wit. "Do you think you are strong enough to hold me?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it. The air seems thicker and easier to fly in down here. Let's get you out of there and give it a go..."

And Sindé looked down her beak with such conviction that Wit thought she must really know what she was saying was true. He started to shift the sock rope up his chest a bit and raised his arms to slip out of the loop when a little lisping voice piped up from under his chin.

"Mr Twit, Sir, Mr Therasock said we were not to let you go under any circumstances."

"Oh, thank you. But I think I'll be fine. Sindé is here with me; she can fly me back up if there is any problem."

"Mr Twit, Sir, Mr Therasock said we were not to let you go under any circumstances."

"I see. Well you just stick together little socks. Trust me, I know how to look after myself."

"Mr Twit, Sir, Mr Therasock said you already lost your head once. We are not to let you go under any circumstances." And suddenly all the little socks shrunk a little and the loop around Wit's chest became quite tight and uncomfortable.

"Le'go of me you block heads!" shouted Wit. "I don't want you bossing me around. I'll jolly well trust whoever I want and be blowed with you!" And he started to wriggle around trying to get his arm through the hole.

~Section 18

With a twang and a twing, the little socks under Wit's chin sent vibrations up the rope and Wit hoped it was not a message to Thera to pull him back out of the hole. But he didn't appear to be changing direction; he was still gradually going further and further down into the Bog.

"Oh here comes trouble!" grumbled Sindé and Wit looked up and saw Sindé walking down the rope towards him. This was quite disconcerting and he looked from the Sindé walking down the rope to the Sindé flying beside him and realised one of them was not the real seagull. He heard Religion challenging this newcomer.

""Little SEAGULL, Why Don't You Trust Me? WHY Do You Hold To the Rope When I AM HERE To Hold You?!"

"Oh, you're a lark aren't you? Look at you flying around there like a cuckoo trying to get poor Wit out of his nest so you can roost in his mind."

Suddenly the Sindé who was flying around dived at the Sindé on the rope and went right through him. The dive was designed to startle; there was a flap of wings and a twisting around on the rope and a second when Wit closed his eyes so he didn't barf and when he looked up they were both on the rope flapping at each other and he couldn't tell which was which.

"SINDÉ! Go back up the rope and tell Thera to pull me up!" And both birds started walking up the rope glowering at each other.

"To hell with this!" said one of the Sindés and it jumped off the rope and flew back down to him. "Just hold in there, mate. Thera won't stop lowering the rope; he trusts me to keep my wits, and yours."

"NO, go away from me you crazy blackbird!" shouted Wit. "The real Sindé wouldn't let go of the rope."

"Yes that's right," chuckled the other Sindé. And she walked back down the rope and brushed a wing over Wit's face sending him into a trance. "Now Buzz Off You Feathered Freak Before I Turn You Into a Boa! He's Mine Now, Just As Soon As I Get This Stupid Rope Off Him." And she started pecking at the knot of the loop. The little socks however just tightened their grip and the real Sindé started flying in and out, trying to dislodge the imposter but to no avail as she just went through him every time.

"Oh Quieten Down You Goose," said the wraith whose beak seemed real as it picked at the knot even though his body offered no resistance to the swooping Sindé. And then, just as Sindé was flapping in Religion's face, he plucked a feather out from under her wing and glared down his beak at the little sock knots. "So You Want To Play Rough Do You?" he said. And bending down he used the feather to tickle the little socks under their chins.

"Tee-hee-hee," giggled the socks and, though they tried desperately to hold on, they were no match for this new heavy artillery and Sindé could see their hold was gradually slipping.

"Busted eiderdowns!" screamed the bird and she started to flap back up through the soupy air.

~ ~ ~

~Section 19

While Wit was in the trance, he had a vision of a street near his old home. He was hanging out in a back road with two of his mates. They were having a rest from playing on their skateboards when suddenly his Dad drove past and seeing him there screeched to a halt, reversed a bit and got out of his car. He came over and started rousing on him for having been so stupid as to have died! He said that he was glad he'd found him but boy was he in trouble and he should get back home to do detention. It started to dawn on Wit that it was a little strange that his father would be telling him it's good he was not dead, even though he knew he was, and he wasn't sure if he should try to work out why this seemed strange or just be happy that he wasn't dead any more. Suddenly something crashed into Wit's chest and he woke up with a start; a fleeting vision of his father wrestling with a dream of him evaporated on the burning sensation in his chest. He also had a new sensation - Falling!

~ ~ ~

While Wit had been out, Sindé had flow up and out of the hole. Seeing the Bog was about to win, she took desperate measures and grabbed as big a stone as she could carry and flew back over the hole. She took careful aim at the beak holding the feather and dropped it. The rock went hurtling down, appearing to get bigger as it went further away until it crashed into Wit's chest, crushing the faux Sindé and waking Wit up with a start. Unfortunately it also squashed the toe of one of the socks, which yelped in pain and accidently let go. Down went Wit with a somewhat startled look on his face. Down went the rock growing bigger all the time and down went Sindé flying after them as fast as she could.

"Oh crap!" she said and she crapped as she flew so she could fly faster without all that extra weight.viii Down went the crap, too.

About two thousand years beforehand, Wit came tumbling out of the sky along with a large rock and some seagull guano. They crashed onto the ground together beside a tree, the rock coming down with a thud onto an unsuspecting lizard's tail. The guano came down a second later covering all of them liberally. As expected, Earth Time had not taken kindly to being crapped on by End Time, or 'Bed Time' as he jeered, and he had spun the world while Wit fell, bringing him out in ancient Israel sometime around the lunar spring festival.

The Jewish lunar spring festival is commonly referred to the Passover, which was then Christianised into Easter. The timing of the festival indicates that it originated as a pagan celebration of the end of winter.

~Section 20

Wit, reincarnated as a pretty virgin called Witti, sat up and screamed. She was covered in sausages, as that is what the guano had reincarnated into. The rock had been reincarnated as a rock, albeit a big one, and it just sat there smirking at her long traditional dress and the veil she was wearing because looks could be conceiving. The tailless lizard scowled at her.

Witti's high pitched scream had caught the attention of a traveller who had been walking quickly away from the town behind, looking shifty and gripping a small moneybag tightly in his sweaty palms. Obviously a disreputable character, he was wearing socks and sandals. Though constantly looking back over his shoulder and hoping to get away unnoticed, when he heard the scream, he looked at his bag and then at the pretty Witti and back at his bag. Suddenly an evil glint came into an eye that was barely deflected by her archaic head covering. He swelled up slightly at the thought of his own power and, wishing to prove it to himself, swaggered over to the girl and ripped open his shirt so that his hairy belly flopped out. Witti scuttled backwards, afraid of becoming yet another ancient Israeli teenage pregnancy statistic. She ripped off her scarf so she could run freely not caring if his lust was inflamed as that was his problem, not hers. Thinking fast, she grabbed a handful of sand to throw and made use of the scarf to twirl a rock around her head. Both ready to throw when suddenly, a hessian rope flopped out of the sky and looped itself round the aggressor's neck. It jerked him up into the tree. Witti turned her head demurely until he stopped jerking and was off; as is only proper for a virgin in distress to do.

The notion that a virgin could be raped in ancient Israel is not a new one but there is no allusion to the conception of Christ because the protagonist in this paragraph is modeled on Judas Iscariot who betrayed Jesus before his death. The image of a traditional headscarf being used as a weapon in self-defense against male aggression is a veiled encouragement [excuse the pun] for anyone who wears a headscarf to remember that it is only a means to an end and that self-preservation is a higher goal.

When she looked up, she saw a glass slipper wiggle out of the sky, walk down the rope and tinkle, "Catch me if you can..." and turning to climb back up the rope above the tree, it pretended to slip a bit as it went.ix Witti's shoe-shopping instincts overcame her fear in an instant and before she knew it, she was scampering up the tree in a most unladylike manner trying to grab the slipper. The tailless skink scampered up behind her. She grabbed the rope and started to climb above the tree but the higher up she went the more the slipper looked like a seagull, the more the rope looked like a multicoloured chain of socks and the more Witti felt like 'What the...?!!'

Once Wit was high enough and looking like his old self, except that he had retained the flowing long hair, Sindé gave a whistle and the sock rope unraveled itself from the rouge's neck and he crashed belly first onto the rock that was covered in sausages. Later some passing Priests found the body and seeing the rope marks on his neck concluded that he had hanged himself and then fallen down onto the rock. Nobody noticed the rope was gone and only one dirty brown sock was left - and it wasn't the left one either. Opening his moneybag they kept a bit for themselves, 'as you do,' - if you're them - and then used the rest to buy the field as a burial place for strangeness; 'as you do' - if you don't want to notice what you can't understand.

Biblical accounts of Judas' death are contradictory. Matt 27:5 says he hung himself and Acts 1:18 that he fell over and burst open. Either one account is incorrect or, for Biblical purists, the two accounts must be woven together into a hybridised version as alluded to in the above fantasy.

~Section 21

Back in the throb of the Bog, Wit was thanking Sindé and the socks for saving him as he continued to climb hand over hand up the rope but not for a minute letting go. Looking around with his head on a bit of a tilt he found he was able to see through windows into different times and places but there was nothing that he recognised and even after he learned to swing the rope around to get a better look at more places, nothing made him feel he was home. Looking across the whole world through all the eras of mankind was just too big to expect him to sort through to find one family in all of human history. Which, being 6,667 times older than himx on a planet with a land area 340 million times bigger than he was,xi it would be 2 trillion points in time and space that he had to search though with just two eyes. It was a bit like looking through aerated froth and trying to pin-point just one bubble. To make matters worse some bubbles were shrouded in night and he couldn't see anything in them; others were in daytime but winked into night before he could focus on them. It wasn't too hard though as 71% of them were obviously just ocean so that narrowed his own lifetime down to one in 662 billion bubbles.

The repeated reminder of the massive number of other human lives on our planet is not meant to imply that any one life is insignificant but rather that we are only as significant as all the other lives we share the planet with. Every death is hugely, overwhelmingly significant to those effected by it but it helps keep our grief in check when we realise that others are also suffering in a similar fashion and that our experience is universal across history and cultures.

Finding his home and family would have been tricky enough if he hadn't also been keeping an eye out for more attacks from Mr Religion. So it was pretty lucky really that he recognised a ginger cat chasing rats in and out of the swirling rainbow pattern glistening around the side of one bubble.xii Keeping his eye on the ball, Wit swam side-stroke through the soup of other creatures' lives, still holding on to his sock-rope link to reality. As he got closer, the bubble swelled up to an enormous size in comparison to his present point in Time. He had been alive for 484 million seconds and he had to find just the right one of those to splice his life back into the point he had left it. But he was determined to tinker with time and yet needed to retain his links here in case it all went wrong so he pulled up the end of the rope and untied the last sock in the chain, a dirty brown thing that crumpled like a leaf. With some gagging and choking he managed to swallow the sock, smell and all, even though it was a bit crusty. It would be a link to follow back to Thera if he needed to. Then, when he was ready, he trained his eye on the right point of his life and jumped.

~Section 22

Not surprisingly all of the above took quite a bit of concentration and as a result he felt the thunk on the back of his head before he realised he'd been hearing Sindé shouting, "Look Out!" All around him arrows were shooting past. They had heads that looked like savage guinea pigs screaming a shrill war cry, "Wheeee," as they attacked. Most of them missed and fell into his life in some far away garden but the arrow that hit him sent him spinning off course and he landed in the right garden at the wrong time.

"Billy! There you are you naughty bunny rabbit," said a small boy who he knew groaningly was himself except that he was five years younger and, unlike him, was growing older every day; at least for five more years. Wit tried to open his mouth to shout, 'It's me! I'm you,' but the taste of sock gagged him and he burrowed his face into the ground and started chewing grass to get rid of the socky feeling. His nose wrinkled up and down constantly trying to shake out the odour and before he knew it, the boy had pounced on him and was locking him up in the old rabbit hutch under the olive tree. He didn't really have time to think about how it was he could fit inside the hutch; he just felt like eating and pooing and wriggling his nose to get rid of the dratted smell of sock.

Day in and day out, he was pulled in and out of the hutch until his life became a nameless grey blur. When he was lucky, he was allowed to sit under the fishbone ferns for a few hours and try to listen out for his name. Unfortunately his ears were so big all the sounds echoed around and he couldn't understand what the children playing nearby were saying. He tried to dig his way to freedom a few times but the boy, whose name he couldn't remember, kept dropping bricks in the holes and slowly he could feel his mind rusting over. Indeed it may have turned out that he would have lived the rest of his shortened rabbit's life there in the garden except that he was sometimes allowed to roam around in a harness and leash. One evening, he was left out when huge balls of fire started exploding in the sky. He vaguely remembered they were fireworks but the noise freaked him out and he panicked, bit through his leash and squirmed under the garden gate. Before he knew it he was racing down the road in a blind fright. Suddenly he screeched to a halt, he was seeing the light! Well two of them really and they were getting closer! But if there are two lights into the afterlife then which one was the right one? Did one lead to the pearly gates and the other to the pearly cooking pot? Maybe it was potluck whether you chose the right white light? Maybe there was too much to think about while you sat there watching the lights get closer. He wriggled his nose and the smell of old sock wafted out, steaming in the lights before him. He decided to call them headlights because they were coming towards his head but he thought the socky steam that was curling around in front of his nose would be strong enough to stop the lights and give him time to interview them before choosing which white light was right. Certainly the steam seemed to be getting thicker and fluffier and, when it began talking, it sounded quite reassuring. "Come on Wit, hold my leash," it said. He grabbed the rope that was offered to him and realised it was made of lots of little socks tied together and that he was being led along gently by a fluffy white dog who stopped in front of a post box.

"Lucky you ate that sock," said Parley or I wouldn't have smelt it was you. Normally I chase the rabbits straight over to the Alyssum Files otherwise they keep stopping to eat and chat up other bunnies on the way. They just don't get it that they are dead and no amount of food or sex is going to make them happy any more. But then, what would I know? I'm only a dog. Right?! Maybe in bunny paradise they get given a warrenful of brides. But if they are all ghosts how do they hug each other? Whatever, here you are laddy; Thera and Sindé are over there with the Taught-us having a war counsel but I'd cough up that sock before you join them if I were you; it's rank. Though I guess it smells a million times better to you than to me."xiii

The reference to 'a warrenful of brides' is a comment on any religion that believes there will be feasting, sex and other physical pleasures in an immaterial afterlife. It is also a comment that a polygamous afterlife would imply gender inequality was perpetuated in contradiction to a supposedly perfect social order.

~ ~ ~

Ch. 1 Cellar Notes* {skip chapter notes}

All links are correct at time of publication. External sites do not necessarily reflect the views of the author.

* From 'selah,' meaning: Pause, contemplate or weigh up the information; in other words, a cool place to ferment knowledge. (Warning: Contents may go to your head)

Jump to Version Without Notes

~ ~ ~

i Hogfather, Terry Pratchett (1996) Victor Gollancz Ltd {back}  
Available at all leading book retailers

ii Teenage pregnancy {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teenage_pregnancy

iii  In a queer time and place {back}  
http://books.google.com.au/books?hl=en&lr=&id=EzYS_V6s1CAC&oi=fnd&pg=PR7&dq=transgender+religion&ots=-SPQ-u7bGN&sig=oAnqNLsqs8u-0yIoROHtMY6Kx2g

iv  Penalties for Puppy Love {back}  
http://heinonlinebackup.com/hol-cgi-bin/get_pdf.cgi?handle=hein.journals/jgrj1&section=24

v  A lizard can be caught with the hand {back}  
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+30:28&version=NIV

vi Spatial vision in the purple sea urchin {back}  
http://jeb.biologists.org/content/213/2/249.short

vii  Avian optic nerve {back}  
http://campus.murraystate.edu/academic/faculty/tderting/anatomyatlas/salee_shaw/hawkonl.html

viii Autonomic nervous system {back}  
http://classvideos.net/anatomy/pdf/3712-pdf.pdf

ix  The broken wing display of the killdeer {back}  
http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/4079369?sid=21105100706801&uid=3737496&uid=2&uid=4

x Genetic and fossil evidence for the origin of modern humans {back}  
http://www.sciencemag.org/content/239/4845/1263.short

xi Earth surface area {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Body_surface_area

Body surface area {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Body_surface_area

xii  Thin film interference {back}  
http://dev.physicslab.org/Document.aspx?doctype=3&filename=PhysicalOptics_ThinFilmInterference.xml

xiii  What dogs see, smell, and know p71 {back}  
http://books.google.com.au/books?hl=en&lr=&id=pqJRCIXAFSgC&oi=fnd&pg=PA1&dq=dog+smell+million&ots=bXuRzK9RBo&sig=01etRP8jXHLL6CubMp4wpRMAjkk

~ ~ ~

Ch. 1 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS {skip Questions}

ANSWERS / Section

1) What does 'post' mean?

Afterwards

~Section 3

2) How many parasites and bacteria are happily living inside your body?

A quadrillion = 1015 = 1,000,000,000,000,000 = 10 x 100 trillion

~Section 1

3) Why is Wit's body all mixed up after he goes through the post box? What does this symbolise?

Because he is too early, he is not ready to die / His loved ones are torn apart by his sudden death

~Section 2

4) Why Doesn't Wit know his real name?

Because his family has not forgotten him, his name is still alive because they are still using it

~Section 4

5) If the afterlife is all upside-down and backwards, can you guess Wit's name?

Write 'wit' backwards and upside-down

~Section 4

6) Why is Thera wearing a sock over his head?

Because it is headless and it would be tasteless to walk around without a head

~Section 13

7) When Wit is in the Bog 'O Belief, he sees two Sindés. Is the first or second one the real Sindé?

The first one is real because it flies through the second one

~Section 18

8) Who causes the sock to let go allowing Wit to fall?

Sindé drops a rock on Wit's chest to wake him up but it squashes the sock's toe

~Section 19

9) What percentage of the Earth is covered by land?

Only 29%

~Section 21

10) Which Bible character does the man who threatens Witti remind you of?

Judas Iscariot who betrayed Jesus because of his bag of silver at Easter time

~Section 20

11) How much better is a dog's sense of smell than a human's?

A million times better

~Section 22

12) Human history is more than 100,000 years or about 6,667 times older than Wit. How old is he?

He is 15 years old

~Section 21

13) What animal did Wit come back as and who was his owner?

He came back as the rabbit that was owned by himself when he was five years younger

~Section 22

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

14) What year was "Birth Rates for U.S. Teenagers Reach Historic Lows for All Age and Ethnic Groups" published?

Published in 2012

~Note ii; References

15) How many U.S. states had rising teen birth rates between 2007-2010?

Only three

~Note ii; 'Birth Rates for U.S. Teenagers Reach Historic Lows...;' Paragraph 4

16) What is the opposite of the 'autonomic nervous system?

The somatic (voluntary) nervous system

~Note viii; Page 2

17) Which division of the autonomic nervous system deals with stress?

The sympathetic division powers the muscles to fight or flee

~Note viii; Page 5

18) Which division of the autonomic nervous system deals with defecation and why do animals defecate when frightened?

The parasympathetic division shuts down, causing the bowels to relax, so as to divert energy to the sympathetic division

~Note viii; Page 7

19) Why do bubbles have rainbows on the surface?

The thin film splits white light into the different colours of the spectrum because of interference between reflected and refracted light

~Note xii

20) What is the smallest size that _Strongylocentrotus purpuratus_ _can see?_

Something 10 degrees in angle from where it is

~Note vi

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

21) Discuss Sindé's comment, "People are losing their religion all the time, right? And others are adopting new ones all the time, too. So I've always suspected that Religion had a way to sneak back out of here." Which ancient religions have been replaced by current world religions? Which elements of ancient religions are still evident in current religions?

~Section 11

22) Wit 'sees' back into his old life a number of times? What is the allegory that the author is trying to convey?

The author is referring to the times a bereaved loved one will have flashbacks to moments from the life of the person they have lost

~Sections 8 & 19

SAMPLE WORKSHEET as text to copy and paste

### Parley After Life

D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes ~ by Robby Miller

Copyright © 2015 by Robert Miller: Worksheets may be reprinted for educational purposes

### Ch. 1 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS

a) How many parasites and bacteria are happily living inside your body?

b) Why is Wit's body all mixed up after he goes through the post box? What does this symbolise?

c) Why Doesn't Wit know his real name?

d) If the afterlife is all upside-down and backwards, can you guess Wit's name?

e) Why is Thera wearing a sock over his head?

f) When Wit is in the Bog 'O Belief, he sees two Sindés. Is the first or second one the real Sindé?

g) Who causes the sock to let go allowing Wit to fall?

h) What percentage of the Earth is covered by land?

i) How much better is a dog's sense of smell than a human's?

j) Human history is more than 100,000 years or about 6,667 times older than Wit. How old is he?

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

k) How many U.S. states had rising teen birth rates between 2007-2010?

l) What is the opposite of the 'autonomic nervous system?

m) Which division of the autonomic nervous system deals with stress?

n) Which division of the autonomic nervous system deals with defecation and why do animals defecate when frightened?

o) Why do bubbles have rainbows on the surface?

DISCUSSION QUESTION

p) Wit 'sees' back into his old life a number of times? What is the allegory that the author is trying to convey?

POINTERS

a) Section 1; b) Section 2; c) Section 4; d) Section 4; e) Section 13;

f) Section 18; g) Section 19; h) Section 21; i) Section 22; j) Section 21

k) Note ii; 'Birth Rates for U.S. Teenagers...;' Paragraph 4;

l) Note viii; Page 2; m) Note viii; Page 5; n) Note viii; Page 7; o) Note xii

p) Sections 8 & 19

Chapter 2 ~ War

~Section 1

At first, Wit was a bit confused. He had become so used to the vast open grasslands of Elysium that he wondered where he was. All he could see was a sea of heads sliding down the waning side of a huge swell and up the gibbous side of the next wave. But looking round, it was more of an amphitheatre made by a natural depression of the ground and filled with people, animals, insects and whole forests of shrubs and trees of every shape and description all facing into the centre where a thin line rose from the ground and reached up to the stars like a laser. As Wits' eyes rose up this line he noticed a curious difference to the Earth, which he remembered was capped in cobalt by day. Here it was always day but there was no sky; the stars were always out, twinkling black holes, pinpricks of lost hopes on a Russian blue background. Wit refused to wish on the sinkholes for he knew where he was and, more importantly, that he would get back. He looked round more and realised that the line was actually the Taught-us, still with its gentle spiral bulge in the middle, but the land looked so different because there were so many 'people' there. In fact, he wondered, maybe the ground is dipped down like this because of the weight of everyone. No wonder the Fields are depressed with the weight of everything that has ever died an untimely death sitting on it.i

Cobalt (the mineral, not the metal) is a shade of blue but a Russian blue is a grey cat. Likewise a dog's fur is also called blue if the colour is grey.

"Not everything Wit," hummed Taught-us' hollow organ music in the shell of his head. "Even the Fields are not big enough to hold everything that has died. These are only the things that have not yet moved to the Alyssum Files.

"Please take a seat and try to catch up." And Wit suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that he was listening to a live show and its replay both at the same time for the Taught-us was reviewing everything that he had missed in one ear while allowing him to listen to what was going on now, in the other ear.

Wit moved up to the sea of heads and coughed politely hoping they would make room for him to sit down. A small brown sock jumped out of his mouth as he did so and hopped off to join the group of sock children who were sitting whispering and casting sideways glances at him not far away. As the dirty brown sock passed through the crowd, a lioness and a lamb, who had been playfully biting one another both looked at the other and stepped back as if the other had passed wind and Wit was able to squeeze in and sit down. He let his long hair fall down over his eyes, the better to listen to both his ears.

~Section 2

He soon gathered that this was indeed a war counsel. Taught-us was railing against the lizards in particular and Wit noticed there were very few cold blooded animals of any sort in the gathering; certainly none of the big fish had brought their own pools to sit in though there were other pools with dolphins in them baring their teeth angrily whenever Taught-us mentioned that the sea was cursed with scaled ones. And, as she railed, she built up barriers in the minds of everyone there.

'Railing against' is a vehement denunciation but a 'railing' is also a synonym for a 'barrier.'

Soon they were all nodding and muttering that the lizards had to be dealt with. Apparently their crime was to have invaded the Elysian Fields. Orchestrating their own untimely deaths and arriving as the reptile un-dead, they were filling the land with disreputable gangs who were roaming around attacking anyone who was keeping lizard tails. It wasn't clear to Wit, however, if they were being told to hate the un-dead lizards because they were different or because they were setting the lost tails free. It appeared there was quite a trade in lizard's tails as domestic help. And since they had no known mouths, were paid starvation wages. Wit thought this sounded like slavery but the lioness on his right assured him that the tails were quite happy sweeping floors or fanning their masters. All they ever did when you let them go was thrash around anyway so they might as well be useful while they were doing it. She herself had a couple that she retained as masseurs though she drew the line at those who used them for mere tickling sensations. The lamb on his left blushed and bleated that a cougar he knew had done that, or so she'd said. The lioness growled and tickled him under the chin with a huge claw but it was all in good sport and Wit wriggled away to leave them to play their game of dare together, popping their paws into each other's mouths while pretending to snap down with their, in one case, fearsome teeth. Everyone else was gradually disappearing too, drifting away in muttering bands planning how they would ambush the next gang of lizards that they came across. However, it seemed the lizards were quite elusive and so there was a lot more muttering about what they would do than what they could do.

The myth of predators and prey cohabitating in peace is propagated by Isaiah 11:6 and 65:25, however, it would only be possible if consumption for nutrition was no longer required since many predators are obligate carnivores. They cannot survive without meat. This brings us back to the paradox of belief in an afterlife where there is feasting for humans but not lions.

"Wit, please join your friends," hummed his ears. And, looking out from behind his fringe, he saw Sindé and Thera standing near the centre. The land was a lot less depressed now that everyone had spread out and he ran over the flattened grass to join his mates. Just to the left he noticed Pillow sleeping with one eye fixed on his every move.

"It seems you have a talent for getting out of tight places," he heard from everywhere and yet nowhere. "You will play a vital part in our offensive against the lizards. We need someone like you in our covert operations. Someone who can infiltrate behind their lines and report on enemy movements."

"But - I don't believe the lizards are any real danger to us just because they are different," protested Wit.

"And you, who have been here five minutes, know about this do you?!"

"Well..."

"And do you also know then that you are partly responsible for letting this scourge into the Elysian Fields? You and Sindé with your escapades let an un-dead lizard climb up here and learn our ways! It has conscripted an army of thousands who have entered our free and open grasslands and who are now polluting our democratic way of life!"

"Oh, do you vote here?" asked Wit

"That is not the point, boy. You have let in a spy and so you must repay your debt by becoming a spy in return. You will seek out the lizards in their holes in the Mountains and send your reports back with Sindé, barely dead herself," the Taught-us said with crushing effect. "Then Pillow will enforce order and ensure the un-dead are sent back where they belong!" Pillow had sauntered over by this point and rubbed against his leg before curling up again a little way off. "Thera, make sure these two do not get out of line. This is your land we are defending. I am only here to keep the Piece as They want. Our Piece and the un-dead's should not mingle. Surely you can all see the wisdom in that?" and the voice purred on soothing Wit's worried ears long after the words had finished.

~Section 3

After Wit, Sindé and Thera were out of eyeshot of Pillow, which took quite a bit of walking to avoid that piercing half-closed stare, they started to talk a bit more freely.

"How are the un-dead getting here anyway?" asked Wit.

"It seems that lizards throughout the ages are enlisting in this rebel army by not dropping their tails when caught by a cat or a butcher bird. So, because they should have escaped, it is an untimely death and they get in," said Thera.

"But then they are dead? So why are we calling them un-dead?"

"A lizard with its tail must still be alive mustn't it?" said Sindé. "Normally they keep some life in the tail in case they need to drop it - to keep it thrashing around. It's like a little battery. So if they die without dropping their tail then there is still some life in the battery and they come here still a little bit alive. But that's enough to infuriate the cats who want to have a monopoly on after-lives. Lizards don't just have nine lives; they can keep coming back to life for as long as they can grow another tail. It's the age old battle between the Haves and the Wannabes."

"So you mean lizards can never die?! Wow," said Wit

"They can if you kill them after their tail has dropped. It is considered a great prize among cats to catch a lizard who has already lost its tail. No battery and out they go. Evil things they are though, playing with them first to show who has the most lives now. The other reason they play is to scare the lizards with tails into dropping it. That way they can bring the tail here to do work and the next cat who catches the lizard may snuff it out if it hasn't had time to grow a new tail."

"It just occurred to me," mused Thera, "that if lizards are known for their wisdom in high places and cats are known for their curiosity, we may be witnesses to a divine battle between Care and Dare. I wonder what part we will play? Will we dare to defy or care for our lives as I don't think any of us are a match for the Enforcer."

"The Enforcer?!" asked Wit worriedly.

"Pillow," squawked Sindé worriedly, remembering her own run-ins with cats: Turf wars over garbage cans beside far away beaches and one of the reasons she had kept moving on. She hunched down a bit on Thera's shoulder and glanced behind her.

~Section 4

Without realising it, Thera's long strides had taken them high up into Mount Way. Once they could see the other peaks around them Wit stopped to catch his breath only to remember he didn't have any. Still it was a beautiful view and he asked, "What's the name of the other mountains over there?" pointing as he spoke.

"To your left is Mount Whey and that wide one is Mount Weigh. On the far side is Mount Away and the smoky one to the West is Mount Wei," explained Thera. "But I think we should see Witch Whey before we stray too far. From what I hear it won't be easy to track the lizards up here. Hold on." And with a leap it had carried them across the valley and they landed at the entrance to a cave where glow worms clung to the ceiling, bathing everything inside with a sickly green light. Sticky threads of mucus and silk hung down like spider webs to catch the dim-witted moths that fluttered in to see the light show.ii The lost moths didn't mouth any complains; they got to go to Alyssum if they got caught.

'Witch Whey' is a play on 'which way.' 'Wei' in Chinese can be translated 'Hello.' The travelers are looking for directions so all of the mountains are homonyms for 'way.'

Wit peered into the gloom and saw a small child sitting on a large round cheese hassock. She was quite pretty if you didn't look at the flies buzzing around her piled up curls, or into her eyes which were staring into a bowl filled with a pasty white potion. It throbbed a sickly yellow and the little gobs of fat moved slightly, lining up to point at the strangers.

A hassock, pouffe or tuffet is a backless legless footrest or stool - e.g. Little Miss. Muffet sat on a tuffet. This one is made of cheese because whey is a by-product of cheese production - though here the whey is critical to the witch so the cheese stool is actually the by-product (excuse the pun).

"Come in," she smiled. Only one tooth was missing.

Thera ducked under the glow worm threads and approached confidently. The others held back a little waiting to see if he came out just as confidently.

"Ma Fate," said Thera. "Good to see you again. I told you the children would not forget to keep frightening you away and your rhyme wouldn't die or end up in the Lie Bury."

'Ma Fate' is a play on Muffet. 'Lie Bury' is a play on library - a graveyard for (fiction) books if they are not read.

"Yes, once again you have undertaken to bury my fears Thera. How may I be of assistance to you?"

"We seek an audience with the lizards. My friend Wit here has been commanded to seek them out but I have the feeling he would prefer to sit down and talk with them first. Wouldn't you Wit?" To which Wit merely nodded.

"I see, and so shall you," said the witch and she reached down and pulled up a large spider that was sitting beside her quietly knitting.

"Not the whey Ma'am!" it groaned but she merely giggled innocently and threw the poor thing up into the sticky mucus of the glow-worms.

"Ugh," it said. "I hate this bit." And, too heavy to be held up by the threads, it slowly sank down until it was dangling just above the bowl. Yellowish throbs pulsed underneath it and the globs melted and congealed into little arms that reached up and tried to grab the spider's hairy legs. He twitched and spun, trying to keep away from them until in the end, his legs were in a tangle pointing in an ungainly kind of way to the back of the cave.

"I saw it was backwards," she said. "You will find your lizards under the rocks on Mount Wei." And she cupped her hand under the spider and used a tiny spoon to scoop off the mucus that was stuck to its back. This she mixed in with the whey and then she carefully settled the spider on top of her head where it greedily snatched at the flies that were circling the tin of cat food nestled in her pile of curls. After a minute she plopped the spider back down on its own little cheese pouffe from where it gave her a dirty look as it picked up its knitting and tried to find the stiches it had dropped.

"Now make sure you find those stitches," said Thera sternly. "A stitch in Time saves nine but here a stitch out of Time risks ninety lashes. You know that."

"Yes Thera, Sir," piped the spider and, in a flash, six of its legs were furiously knitting while the other two legs were braced against the floor to stop it toppling off its legless backless stool.

"Thank you Ma Fate."

"Always a pleasure Thera."

And with that they backed out of the cave, Wit forgetting to duck.

"Off we go again," said Thera. "This is turning into a bit of a travel diary isn't it?"

"Why were you so strict on that poor spider?" asked Wit combing his fingers through sticky hair.

"I told you before," piped up Sindé, "it does your head in to think about what happens to things that get lost in the place where things go when they get lost."

"Not only that," said Thera, "in the nursery rhyme it is the spider who is always scaring the girl away. It doesn't hurt to give his alter ego here a fright in return; it keeps him on his toes. Besides, she makes a mean drop of soup. You should respect a woman like that."

"Woman? I thought she was a little Miss," said Wit.

"Flies in the face of reason, doesn't it? Take away the cat food and you would have seen what's what. Which witch reminds me, Mount Wei..." And they held on as it jumped - shimmering them through the travel in the blink of a die.

'Blink of a die,' is a mixture of the idiom 'blink of an eye' and 'roll of the dice' implying that chance can change or end someone's life in a flash.

~Section 5

Mount Wei, as Thera had said, was to the West and had a slightly oriental peace about it. The rocks seemed smoother, the breeze a little steadier; the lizard doing Wing Chun on Wit's toe a little more fast and furious.

"Hugo's where?" it shrilled at them as Wit hopped backwards.

"Whey won cheese," responded Thera, engaging him with the password and the lizard sentry snapped to attention and let them pass.

Wing Chun is a martial art designed to enable a weaker person to prevail against a stronger opponent. Like a piece of bamboo, the practitioner must be firm but flexible, rooted but yielding and is symbolic of how people can deal with grief.

'Hugo's where?' is a play on 'Who goes there?' 'Whey won cheese,' though containing two milk products is a nonsense password and a play on the Chinese word wèihūnqi the feminine form of fiancé.

Sindé was last in line and, looking over her shoulder she couldn't help thinking, 'What's a sentry or two less?' and she snapped at him with her razor sharp beak. In a flash, the lizard had slapped her across the beak so hard she had a crick in her neck for a week and her eye was watering from a lightening fast stab of its tail that she hadn't even seen happen.

Every rock they went past made scuttling noises but they didn't see another soul until they looked behind them and saw the path blocked by dozens of fierce lizard soldiers; some with pikes, some with arrows, some sitting on rats with cannons mounted on their backs.

'Wow,' thought Wit. 'If Necessity is the mother of Invention, then War is the illegitimate child's father.'

"I suggest you hold on in case I need to make a leap of faith," whinnied Thera. "These chaps are not quite dead so the same rules don't apply; that is, they don't really care who was here first."

"Hugo's where?" shouted a huge water dragon from in front of them. And Thera seamlessly responded, "Weigh one fool."

'Weigh one fool,' though 'Whey won...' and 'Weigh one...' are homonyms; this is again just a nonsense password and a play on the Chinese word wèihūnfū, the masculine form of fiancé. See Chapter 5, Section 6 to complete the triplet.

"Correct. You must be a spy," snapped the general and, aiming high, he shot Thera in the head! "Nobody knows the second password."

"Hurray!!" shouted the bloodthirsty warriors behind them.

"Ow," said the sock but Thera failed to collapse.

"Are you quite finished?" said Thera.

"Darn," said the general and shot off his own tail to test if his pistol was really working. A couple of skinks hurried over to stitch it back on. There were scars to show this was not the first time he thought his gun was faulty.

'Darn,' (a swear word for exasperation) is a homonym for 'darn,' to patch a hole in a knitted sock.

"When you're ready, we'd like to see your poet. That is if she's not busy planning the next attack," said Thera.

"Oh. You're not even going to play dead?" said the general. "Well, if you don't keep all your life in your head, you must be OK; follow me then." And it led them down the path away from some disappointed looking lizards.

~Section 6

Two slabs held up a dolmen of marble and under them appeared to be something of a nursery. Little tails were flapping around the place, some playing tag, others eating crayons and the rest swaying backwards and forwards sleeping. A black and white salamanderiii was holding some chopped liver and feeding one of the little tails. Her own tail was restraining two others from fighting. The general chuckled, tickling the fighting tails under their tips and then retreated to stand guard at the entrance.

"Mother of the son of a lizard,iv high status to your women," opened Thera with the traditional greeting.

Ironically lizards are more closely related to humans than to their ancestors, the salamanders. Ref. Cellar Note

"Beast of War, may your hunt be complete," the salamander responded politely and Thera relaxed just a little having been acknowledged as someone like-minded.

Thera was the beast of burden under War and supposedly hunting for his head, his Algernon. See Chapter 1, Section 14; Chapter 5, Section 14 and 17 for more information.

A plate of mealworms was set before them and Sindé started to peck them down greedily. Thera politely popped a few in the hole shot through its sock and Wit, who hadn't felt hungry since he arrived, suddenly felt less so. Thera's button eyes glared at him however so he smiled, picked up half a dozen and pretending to eat them, dropped them surreptitiously one by one down his sleeve where they wriggled under his elbow. He tried not to shudder, reminding himself that was still less horrible than having them wriggling down his throat.

"Mmm," mumbled Sindé, "Those are the fattest mealworms I've had in ages. Did you bring them with you?"

"Yes," answered the Queen of the lizards, a little bemused at this 'entertaining' bird.

"Oh, you've gotta love foreign food," said the seagull. "You wouldn't believe how dead everything tastes around here."

"Marmar, you have come far to nurse the little ones," interrupted Thera, pushing Sindé behind it. "Have you a way out when you have found all you are looking for?"

"We have always had a way in and out, Thera," she said. "But I think this is not the reason you are here?"

"May I speak Ma'am?" said Wit, respectfully looking between her and the general at the door. "I was told to come and seek you because the Taught-us said you were different and I am supposed to tell her army where to attack you. But all I want to do is get out of here back to my family. And I can see from the way you care for your children that you are just like my family or anybody else's. I don't want to go back to the Taught-us."

"Squarwk, hark at him," said Sindé. "The boy's been watching the History Repeats Channel. Well done. I wasn't going to sink to those depths anyway. If you hadn't drawn up such springs of wisdom by yourself, I would have accidentally gotten blown off course on my back to report to Pillow. Sigh, maybe getting 'lost' would have been my ticket out of here."

"Oh would you? Good on you," said Wit. "You could have just told me the truth." And he put his hand in his pocket letting the mealworms slide out of his sleeve. He tucked them down into the bottom, planning to lose them later; hopefully back on the other side instead of here.

~Section 7

"But you haven't answered if you have found all you are looking for," said Thera. "Unlike Wit, I do have to go back and tell the Taught-us something."

"And I perceive your real question is: Will we be staying once we have rescued all the children? No Thera, as you know, we have always come in through the cracks in walls to retrieve the lives that are lost when we have to drop our tails. But recently the cats have increased their efforts to torment us and have been enslaving our tails in great numbers. We have only raised an army here this time to defend our lives and bring the children home."

"But you know that any army in enemy territory is seen as aggressive," said Thera.

"Are you suggesting we talk with the repository of Lost Wisdom and expect her to listen to reason? Ha, Thera, you know the time for talk is passed and that the Taught-us is benefitting from the trade in slaves. Wisdom is not just the knowledge of Good."

"What?!" squawked Sindé. "Are you saying the cats over there are catching tails over there so their ninth life here can sell the lives here?"

"No, not the lives, the labour," she replied sadly. "All these children around us were rescued from hard work like rowing galleys, stirring mortar, weaving carpets... Comfort sleeps on coercion."

"Oh, that's dreadful," said Wit but Sindé and Thera just nodded as if they had seen this all before.

"Our question for you is: What are you going to do about it Thera?" And she fixed it with an unblinking stare. There was an uncomfortable silence broken only when Thera said,

"I am going to suggest you leave. It seems War has followed me here and even the Elysian Fields are not a safe place to rest. I regret that I have allowed good and bad desires to reside in the same resting place. They are coming together as they were before you came here. I will go and stop the Taught-us but I suggest you take the children to safety as soon as you can. Sindé, get Wit out of here." And standing up, it walked back out of the grotto and leaped out of sight over the rocks.

~Section 8

No sooner had it gone than a huge white cat's paw was scrabbling under the marble dolmen. It knocked Wit and Sindé to one side and Marmar to the other. She was still holding her infant when the claws unsheathed and she was pinned against the wall of the cave. One claw rent her from stomach to chin. Wit was horrified and raced to protect the children but before he could reach them the paw had scooped them up and was dragging them out of the cave. They wriggled desperately and Wit raced out after them only to be confronted by the hissing face of Pillow. The huge cat seemed to have swelled even more in size, though she might have just have had her fur fluffed up. She had leaped over the rocks the minute Thera left and was battling the lizards single handed. She had the general pinned under one back paw and was swiping at the army with the front. The other paw was cupped around the tails, huge talons curving upwards preventing their escape or rescue. Most disarming of all though was that one eye was covered by a sea urchin. The black spiny eye-patch poked outwards threatening to impale Wit as he rushed after the tails.

"I knew I should keep an eye on you," hissed Pillow and she stopped swiping at the lizards for a second, reached across to Wit's face and whipped his long hair out of the way. Her claw was so sharp his hair was shaved back to the scalp giving him a military crew cut and revealing, behind his unwashed ear, Pillow's other eye; the one they thought was closed as she watched them walking away from her after she had rubbed up against him. Wit frozen by the claw at his neck, allowed her to gently pluck the cat's eye out. She shook her head to dislodge the seeing eye-patch and popped her eye back in its socket.

The brief pause had given the lizard army time to regroup and two of the tank-rats had got into position behind Pillow's left flank. The lizards on their backs fired simultaneously and with a thud two puncture wounds opened up on her haunches. Pillow picked up the urchin and threw it into the army impaling a number of soldiers and skittling the others. Then she turned and leaped back over the rocks crushing the general under her paw as she carried her massive weight and the wriggling tails out of reach.

~ ~ ~

~Section 9

Once Thera had bounded back to the Taught-us, it found the circle of grass had widened and the steps that had been stretching up and down into the infinite reaches were now straining to loop back and join end to end. Opposites attract but in this case, not just into a massive circle of life with evil on the inside and good on the outside or vice versa depending which way out you were born. No, because of the natural twist in the Taught-us, the two ends would have crossed over and good would have melded into evil and evil into good; an eternal figure of eight, similar to a strip of paper, folded once and stuck end to end; origami without a kink. Draw a line on one side and it will never end because one side becomes the other and then back again; this is the false figure for eternity. Endless repetition of one side then the other because they are twisted to be the same. Try to cut down the line to divide good from evil and you will just make the circle bigger and doubly twisted. Sometimes it was better if opposites didn't attract for Thera knew that if the Taught-us succeeded in joining her two ends, she would become a god. Life and Strife, Dare and Care would ever be bound together in the Elysian Fields. These were things the Alyssum Files should keep ordered, not mix and meld in the afterlife as they had often tried to do in the pre-life. Worst of all, with so many twists, Taught-us' loop would mean people may never even realise they were just going around in circles; a maze with no corners but also no escape.

Thera also knew it was fairly simple to stop the Taught-us taking over. It ordered the grass to grow right up to the edge of the steps so there was no hole for the ends to meet in. Once the ends were separated from each other they would stretch back to eternity, steps leading to the knowledge of good on one side of the grass and to the knowledge of evil on the other. Learning to live when you've died was already enough of a hole without having to pass through it again and again and again. And so, with the grass choking off the Taught-us' mad plans, Thera turned and heard the lizards crying.

~ ~ ~

~Section 10

As soon as Wit saw Pillow escape carrying the children back into slavery, he raced back into the cave to find out what had become of Sindé. He found her flapping uselessly at the back of the grotto, a small bird scared to face a cat as big as a demon. Wit smoothed her feathers and talked quietly until she calmed down and then brought her gently out into the light so she could see the monster had gone. The first thing he noticed was the sea urchin slowly creeping down the path. He turned to see where it was going and spied a lizard disappearing into a deep cave; the black hole beckoning to the urchin to follow.v

"Come on," said Wit, trying to rally Sindé. "Let's see where that hole goes. Maybe it's the crack back to our world that the lizards said they can crawl through.

"Oh, worth a try I suppose," replied Sindé looking around and thinking that being down a hole was better than waiting for something else to leap over the rocks. So, pushing gingerly in front of the creeping urchin's spines, they made their way into the gloom.

They had barely gone two steps when the cave divided into two and, deciding to always choose the left path so they could find their way back on the right one, they went two more steps and had to choose again; two more and it divided again, two more and again they chose. By this time they were crawling because each tunnel was half the size of the last. Another two splits and Wit knew he would not get much further but, crawling through the last hole, he came out into a cavern. Rocks and ash were scattered over the ground around him. In the centre a moltres fire blazed, the smoke rushing up in a hiss of sparks towards a pinpoint of light at the top of the cavern. From the outside it looked like Mount Wei was volcanic, a flaming tiger roaring in its depths, but to Wit, deep in its bowels, it looked like an Aztec sacrifice.

'Moltres' is a Pokémon character. ~ ~ ~ "Tyger! Tyger! burning bright..." from William Blake's Songs of Experience, 1794. 'Tiger economy' is also used to describe some rapidly developing Asian countries.

Lizards were filing in from cracks and holes all around them carrying lost tails above their heads. They moved with the industry and determination required to improve their lives but didn't smile at their labour. Some wore tails, most didn't, but all of them were retrieving the life from tails they had lost in war. Carrying the tail over to the blaze, a lizard would throw it in and stand solemnly to attention. The tail would thrash for a second and then burst open into a shower of sparks. One would always fly straight into the chest of the tail bearer, burst with life and allow that lizard to bask in the sun of a minute star. The other sparks would fly off up into the smoke, some tumbling back down in a drizzle of ash, others flying out of the volcano and finally making their way back to a distant sun where their energy had first come from. Lizards on every planet bask in the rays of distant suns and butcherbirds eye their relaxation jealously, not realising the amount of work that had gone into storing the sun's energy for bird and beast alike.

Sindé's eyes, always the sharpest, spotted the pinpricks of light on the opposite wall of the cavern. She beckoned to Wit to follow, not wanting to disturb the ritual with her squawks. However, before he moved away from the hole, he built a small cairn of rocks beside it as he didn't want to get lost in endless tunnels if they had to retreat. Edging their way round the cavern they approached the pinpricks that barely got any larger as they got nearer. They did get a little irregular and crack-like and when Wit pressed his eyes against one he realised he was looking out through a crack in a wall on his world. He could just spy the wall opposite but see nothing of the room below, as he was too high. He moved to another crack that was a little brighter and saw that he was looking out of an outside wall into a sunny vegetable garden. The garden wall opposite had a lizard basking on it but it disappeared into another crack as a fluffy tortoiseshell cat prowled past.

"I can see the ocean through a sea wall! Oh, and a juicy crab," said Sindé. "Damn, this is frustrating. So near and yet so barred!"

~Section 11

The next crack Wit looked through opened into some sort of temple. Boys about his age and younger were sitting cross-legged around a senior priest or monk on a hard floor chanting in unison. Incense drifted up towards him.

"Excuse me Ear, could you move that head out of my way," said a small voice next to his ear. He looked down and saw a small skink, still glowing from having just retrieved her tail-life. He moved aside and she scuttled through the hole and into the temple. Looking through the crack again Wit discovered that Time had turned the world before the lizard entered so that it seemed to have been in the hole a shorter time than it had really taken to get to Elysium and back. He was now looking into the night before and the boys were stretched on the floor sleeping, incense malingering around the corners of the ceiling. The monk was sleeping too but not deeply as he kept rolling around adjusting his robes. Suddenly the man got up, rubbed his shaved head, looked around and walked down the row of sleeping boys. He reached down and pulled on the ear of one child who cried a little and looked scared but followed submissively behind the man. It seemed some of the other boys had only been pretending to sleep as a number of other scared eyes followed their movements. Wit gasped. The man was taking him back to his sleeping corner.

"What are you gawking at?" said Sindé and she pushed him aside so she could have a look, too. "Oh MY god! STOP IT," she screamed and Wit pushed her aside, in turn. He saw the monk had pushed the boy face down on the floor and was kneeling over him, covering him with his saffron robe. He felt ill as he realised what was happening and staggered away from the wall unable to watch a soul begin to die.

Sindé looked and again started screaming, "Stop! Stop!! STOP!!" But it made no difference. The monk ignored the ghostlike whistling from the crack high up on the wall and continued to, as he called it, teach the boy to 'accept any adversity and learn the potential for much good.' Besides, it would make him chant louder and stronger the next day as the other boys had learned to after their souls had started to die from pain, degradation and betrayal.vi

Attention has recently been given to child abuse in the Catholic Church and State run institutions among others. Originally these crimes were a taboo topic in western societies and the resulting silence enabled the perpetrators to go unpunished. Fortunately some light has begun to be shed on such soul-destroying practices. However, discussion now needs to be opened up around what other sects still treat pedophilia as a taboo topic - potentially allowing crimes against children to hide behind the sacrosanct reputation of their religion.

"Please let's get out of here Sindé," begged Wit. "We can't do any good here. There is no way we can get through these lizard holes." He was just about to turn away, when Sindé squawked, "Bugger! Yeah – Sod off!" And she pulled him back to look. "Ha ha; see, now that's better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick!" Wit reluctantly looked again at the dark hole but he could only see the monk flapping around trying to catch something small and fast in the corner and the boy crawling back to his sleeping position where he stoically curled up into a foetal position; not making a sound or even wiping at the blood.

"What happened?" Wit asked looking at Sindé who had a wry smile on her beak.

"That lizard dropped onto the monk's neck and when he startled and tried to swat it, it whipped its tail into the corner of his mouth! I bet there was some salmonella on there.vii Boy, he's going to have the trots tomorrow." And she continued to chuckle into her neck feathers as they made their way around the cavern and back to the cairn Wit had built.

~Section 12

When Wit and Sindé made it out into the open they found Thera was already back and stomping up and down impatiently.

"Did you see which way Pillow went?" it asked immediately, having already learned the children's news from the scratches in the marble.

"Back towards Mount Way I think," said Wit bursting to tell Thera what they saw and ask if it could stop what was happening through the Eastern Cracks.

"Oh no! The Bog! She wouldn't! Grab on!" And the moment they both touched it, Thera had bounded over to the Bog o' Belief.

When they leapt to the ground, they saw a crowd of people, animals and trees standing around, looking at Pillow who was next to the Bog. As soon as she saw Thera she stopped saying whatever it was she had been saying to the crowd, turned and heaved all the tails she had caught and many that the onlookers had caught into the Bog. A heart attacked her as she did it, arteries flailing - a lone protester trying to block her evil plan. Wit learned later that it had failed in a coup d'état back there so had been replaced by one generously donated by kind-hearted kin. It was now remorsefully waiting for its body to catch up. Pillow roughly thrust it aside. A phalanx of watching appendixes was too gutless to join the fray.

Organ failure, loss of a limb(s) and organ donation pose an interesting dilemma for those who believe they will be made whole in the afterlife. If an organ or limb fails and is removed or replaced without loss of life, did that organ 'embody' a part of that person's soul and will that piece of the soul wait somewhere until the person dies or will the soul remain whole but have to fit into a smaller body area? Likewise, if someone dies and donates their organs, will a part of their soul be transplanted into the recipient and not return to them until the recipient also dies? The most comfortable answer would be that the entire soul stays squeezed within its own body even if a part is removed. But them does it expand to fill a donated heart for example? And if souls can embody a donated body part, can they inhabit anyone's body? Is this how we have contrived the idea of possession? There is clinical evidence of heart transplant patients experiencing moods and emotions that are novel to them but were part of the life of the donor. Though the phenomena can be explained by the function of neurons embedded in heart tissue, the assumption that moods and feelings are part of what make us human - part of a soul - is challenged by the fact those parts of us can be removed and replaced with another person's feelings simply by a surgeon's knife. For more information please see Bunzel, Schmidl-Mohl, Grundböck & Wollenek, 1992; source -  Medical Daily 2013

"There," Pillow purred as she minced back into the crowd that parted respectfully before her. "Now there will be nothing for the lizards to come back here for. We take no prisoners, so they can just go back to where they came from."

The 'go back to where they came from' rhetoric needs to be challenged at every opportunity so that students realise they are not more or less important because of the amount of melanin in their skin. The chapter addresses this earlier in Section 6, "And I can see from the way you care for your children that you are just like my family or anybody else's."

But Wit wasn't listening. He was transfixed, his hair stood on end as he looked down into the Bog, watching the tails fall through the warps and foam of Belief. They were transforming, growing into monsters, some with massive tails the length of busses and the bodies of whales, their head as slender and long as another tail on the other end. Others put all their energy into growing huge back legs, forgetting to leave anything for their scrawny front legs. Then realising their mistake, they put all the rest of their growing into huge jaws and teeth. Still others grew wings and some split into teams of smaller monsters that raced around together gnashing their teeth at all the other monsters. Time there couldn't spin fast enough to avoid them and they scattered to the ground between 230 and 65 million years ago.viii

Wit turned back to see the crowd was walking away. Many of them had kneeled before Pillow who was breathing them to sleep one by one. Others muttered uncomfortably looking back over their shoulders as if they genuinely hadn't expected such heartlessness and a schoolteacher tried to shelter her class from being bowled over by the Taught-us' indifferent ideology. Suddenly the anger of everything he had seen rushed through him and he raced after Pillow and started pounding on her legs for having wasted such precious lives of innocent lizards. Pillow hissed viciously, batted Wit to the ground, stepped on him and unsheathed her claws.

~Section 13

"Pillow you know you can't kill him; he's already dead," said Thera. And Pillow turned and spat, then stepped away leaving Wit surrounded by a cage of razor sharp claws that stabbed into the ground around him and soared over his head, impossible to climb. With a dirty look at Thera, Pillow ran off, scattering the remnants of the onlookers and leaving Wit imprisoned.

"Oh gawd, he's in the guano now. Can you do anything?!" said Sindé.

Thera shook its sock and walked around the bars. It was roughly 8 feet by 6 ½ feet; long enough for Wit to lie down, not long enough to keep him sane.ix To add to his stress, five little socks came hoping over and started marching around the perimeter shouting, "Left, Left, Left, Right, Left!" A familiar dirty brown one crinkled at the head of the troop, occasionally poking out its tongue at him.

"Oh pipe down you lot," said Thera and made them stomp around in stockinged feet. "I think Pillow is hoping you will fall asleep in there, Wit. I suggest very strongly you don't touch the bars; cats' claws are full of bacteria. That's why they itch at even the slightest scratch.x Try to stay awake for a while, even if your eyes start watering from the cat perfume."

"Oh, I have an idea to keep him awake. How about we give him some soothing music?" said Sindé. "I'll fly over to the Count-Tree and Waste-Urn to get him some recycled headphones; hold on there Wit." And off she flew.

'Count-Tree and Waste-Urn,' is a play on a line from the 1980 movie Blues Brothers: "We have both kinds of music - Country AND Western."

"Well, I guess I can tell you a bad-time story to keep you awake," said Thera. And it plopped down on its haunches like a donkey refusing to walk.

"Why did Pillow kill all the tails? What was the point?!" asked Wit, sitting down also; a little way back from the bars.

"Spite. Envy. Just obeying orders. All of the above," replied Thera. "The Taught-us wanted to stop the lizards coming back to rescue their tails so she told Pillow to get rid of them. Pillow convinced everyone to give up their slaves to stop the gangs of lizards but there is really a more Machiavellian plan behind it all."

"What?" Wit asked, unable to think of anything crueler than killing your enemy out of spite; or worse, out of envy because they had more than nine lives.

"Power of course," said Thera "Trade. Now no one has slaves do they? So the cats can go straight back into business bringing fresh tails here. The more you trade, the more you earn; the more you earn the more powerful you are."

"But what do they earn? I haven't seen much money lying around here."

"No, there are lots of poker chips from the casino though. Those places are smart enough not to let people lose their money or it would end up here. Instead they give them chips to lose and keep the money locked up in a vault. But cats don't want money and they don't eat chips. They trade the tails for catnip."

"Catnip?!"

"Yes, for some reason, flowers are always losing their lives when people die. Most people come here clutching them or turn up with them all over their bodies. The cats here trade them for tail slaves and then smuggle the flowers back as drugs."

"What? How do they get them back?"

"They swallow them of course. Nothing needs to eat here as you may have noticed so what they eat has nowhere to go. To be honest I'm surprised all this grass grew so well with nothing to fertilize it."

"Thera, you're making more questions than answers..."

"Ah yes, well, the cats eat it here and chuck it up there. Simple."

"I don't get it."

"Oh I was hoping you wouldn't notice but I don't really understand it either. Somehow the cats eat flowers here though they don't need to. Then they can vomit them up there in their living bodies. Did you see them munching on grass before? That's to make themselves chuck up."

"So the flowers that died for the dead get imported by them and traded for tails. Then the dead lives of the cats export them by chewing them up here and spitting them out there? That's so weird. But I still don't get what that's got to do with catnip."

"By dying and coming back they get more flower power, they become intense, intoxicating, in short, a drug. And kittens, always keen to get more power, will do anything to get their hands on it."

"Huh?"

"Power; the cats are always in a rush to kill off a few lives so they can get one foot here and one there, then they have power. Catnip is a drug. Drugs increase risk-taking, sometimes even leading to death and, voila, the kittens can become cats - holding their heads high as they stand on the back fence looking down on a neighbour who hasn't managed to kill off a few of their lives yet. As I said, it's all about having others envy you, in spite of everything."

"Wow," said Wit. "And I thought it was just a war."

"There is no such thing as raw war," said Thera. "Wars get lost there and turn up here in the Piece. Everyone wants a piece of the spoils so it's really just raw greed and greed is really just so others will envy you. 'Why?' I'm glad you asked: If others are looking at you, then you're the centre of the galaxy. But it's very hard to look outwards from a black hole - much harder to consider what effect your rapacious gravity is having on others. It always leads to madness in the end. Look at what happened to the Taught-us."

~Section 14

"What happened to the Taught-us?" asked Wit "Is that why you left us on Mount Wei?"

"Yes, I wish I had been there to save Marmar and the children but I couldn't be everywhere and I had to stop the Taught-us becoming a twisted god." And it told Wit all about how the steps of wisdom learned through good experiences had curved down to join with the steps of wisdom learned through bad experiences and how, if not choked off by the grass, they would have formed an eternal loop of good into bad and bad into good. "Yin and yang might balance but they should never be confused for a cycle otherwise there is no reason for Progress," it explained and Wit thought he understood. However from what he had seen through the lizards' cracks he wasn't sure there was really any good anywhere that he could trust.

"Like marble, there are seams of black and grey in everyone," said Thera. "Oh sorry, I've done that answering-the-question-before-you-ask-it thing. I hate it when the Taught-us does that to me. But what I mean is, even if some people do some good things and some bad things they should applaud the good and un-reward the bad."

"But I wanted to kill the monk back there!" cried Wit.

"Yes, I saw that vein in you, too," said Thera. "But the worst thing is not even what he did but that he denies it even to himself. He tells himself it doesn't matter or that it's done for good and so mixes his evil actions with pure motives turning his good sense into a rotten heart. It's like the false loop of eternity, if you cut it down the middle it just gets bigger. People are always trying to cut away their bad parts but they grow back anyway and with double the twists. Cut it again and you will think you have made two loops but they are so wrapped around each other it is impossible to separate so people end up lying to themselves; telling themselves they are free of bad things despite living lives that have a twisted loop of bad actions right through their middle. Or like people who talk so much about being good that they pick all the black veins out of their marble until they crack. Better to be honest about your bad points and not lie to yourself or you lose your marbles. Hearts like that are lost for good; but strangely they never turn up here. I've often wondered what's walking on the underside of this grass but I can't say I've been curious enough to look. Fools go where cats fear to tread." And it looked down at its panther feet and back at Wit.

"Wit! Wake up!" it shouted for Wit had started to go to sleep to the sound of Thera's breezing.

"Oh! Sorry, I was listening," he said. "'Fools grow where cats' fears are dead,' see. I wonder where Sindé is?" he asked, hoping to wake himself up with a change of topic.

'Fools go where cats fear to tread,' is a play on 'fools go where angels fear to tread,' and a hint that in this afterlife the cats are the 'angels.' ~ ~ ~ 'Fools grow where cats fears are dead,' is a further play on the idiom yet modified by 'curiosity killed the cat.' I.e. risk takers increase in number among the deceased. On a personal note, this was true for the author's son. Here and later, Wit corrupts the original idiom by incorrectly reciting it, as if the game of Chinese whispers is played with us in our own memories. See Chapter 4, Section 1 for the second and third corruptions. See also earlier notes on the efficiency of memory, Chapter 1 Section 5.

"Lost most probably; she usually is. But don't worry, she has a marvelous sense of direction and always finds her way back. That's why she's still here poor thing." And they both looked up into the sky wondering if they could see her.

~Section 15

"Oi, what are you two gawking at the stars for?" squawked a voice at their feet. And they looked down and saw Sindé dragging a pair of large fluffy dice over the grass. "These things were too flipping heavy to fly with. No wonder they don't put them in aeroplane windows!" she muttered. "Here you go, reach out carefully between those bars. I'm not coming any closer. Those claws give me the willies."

And so Wit warily pulled the dice through the bars wondering where the soft duff-duff sound was coming from.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" he asked holding them up by their string so they hung anatomically correctly, one slightly higher than the other.xi

"Put them over your ears of course. Unless you want to fall asleep in that Guano Git's cage."

'Guano git,' is a play on 'shit head.'

"How will that help?" asked Wit but he did as he was told having learned that nothing was as he expected it to be.

As soon as the fluffy dice touched his ears he heard his most hated electronic trance dance music, if you could call it music, blaring out of him. He couldn't hear Sindé answer his question, though he could see her beak chattering away. When he took them off, the sound ceased immediately - not as if it had been turned off but more like it couldn't get out of his head anymore.

"How do these work?" he asked. And Sindé had to explain it all over again.

"Before they got lost, those fluffy dice had one job only, to absorb all the lost music from people who cranked up their car stereos and then cranked down their windows. That's why they are so heavy; they've absorbed so much of it. Anyway, there is always room for them to squeeze in a bit more music and if you put them to your ears they will suck out all the songs that you buried in there because you didn't want to hear them again."

"I didn't bury music in my head," said Wit.

"Don't be daft," retorted Sindé, "everybody does. When you hear something you like, you play it over and over to yourself don't you? Well when you hear something you hate, you bury it deep down in your brain somewhere."

"That doesn't mean it's lying there dead though, does it? I thought you just forgot it."

"Then how do you explain the ghosts?" said Sindé.

"What ghosts?!"

"When you bury something you didn't want to hear but it comes back to life and haunts you; rattling around and around in your head till it drives you bonkers."

"I've always wanted to ask, how can you win a war against ghosts if they can't be killed?"

"Same way you paint a punk elephant: One pink spot at a time," replied Sindé enigmatically.

'Paint a punk elephant: one pink spot at a time,' is a play on the mind game, 'Try not to think of a pink elephant.' Once imagined, it is impossible to remove the image by trying to concentrate on not thinking about it. It is also a play on Creighton Abrams' sage words, "When eating an elephant take one bite at a time." I.e. Insurmountable problems can be overcome if tackled step by step. ~ ~ ~ Sindé's advice is the key to the novel. It is premised on the belief that grief is a form of posttraumatic stress disorder PTSD because it involves involuntary repetition of memories and imagined interactions regarding a loved one who can no longer reciprocate. These memories are like ghosts, they are not alive but sap energy from us and can even drive us to distraction. The best way to stop thinking of a 'pink elephant' is to think of something else. For example, if you want to get an annoying song out of your head, don't try not to think about it - rather, think of a different song. Replace the focus of the neurons that were dedicated to the first song with a different focus rather than trying to leave them without a focus. You may find that the second song gets stuck in your head but hopefully you will have chosen to replace it with a song that is not so annoying. ~ ~ ~ The same principle can be applied to any number of mental images or combinations of images and conversations that can get stuck in our minds. Grief or PTSD can likewise be dealt with by learning to distract yourself. Trying to ignore the feelings and images or even to deny they are real may not help to stop them repeating nor alleviate the anguish or fears they reignite. The more effective method that the author is suggesting is to deal with them by recognising when they start then using that to trigger a process of active self-distraction. Pre-prepare other images or mental tasks that will refocus the brain's energy and draw you away from the source of anguish.

Please note, the author strongly recommends that professional psychological help be sought for PTSD and overwhelming grief. Grief counseling services based on cognitive behavioral therapy are an essential tool to help move through this period in your life. Likewise PTSD should not be seen as a mental health 'weakness' but rather as signal that the 'machinery' of the mind just needs retuning by a professional 'thought mechanic.' A Google search of qualified cognitive behavioral psychologists in your local area is a good place to start. The author recommends making an appointment today if possible. This advice is repeated at the end of the free versions of the novel in the hope they will assist anyone struggling with grief.

"If you've got music, a memory or even an imagination and you don't want it rattling around in your head, the first thing to do is remember it's only a ghost. It has no life of its own so it must be sucking some from you. So give it a shove in a new direction: paint the elephant with polka dots and barge it with a rhinoceros dressed like a clown. Conjure up a new picture you do want to think of and paint it over the top. Remix that irritating song with a favourite lullaby until it becomes a joke you can smile at and tuck into bed. Then, once the ghost has exploded in a shower of glitter, the music, pictures and thoughts that are alive in your head will come back out to play." Wit nodded, hoping he could remember this when he got back and was trying to forget he had ever died as he was worried an elephant that big would need a lot of blind spots to cover it before it felt like a piece of wall or a piece of rope.

"Anyway, put those conkers on your head and let them suck out all the music you ever heard and hated; it's a daft plug."

'Daft plug,' is a play on the French electronic music duo Daft Punk.

Wit slowly dropped the dice over his ears. Electronica streamed out of him jarring him out of sleep and into a trance. The more he listened the more he felt his head being split in two. The more he felt his head being split in two, the more he realised his head was being split in two! Either side of him was being slowly sucked into the anatomically correct dice; one slightly higher than the other like a statuesque owl's fluff covered ears. But he didn't mind, being split like an owl's ears seemed to give him direction.xii Anyway, his mind had already been sucked out and he was split down to his neck like a zipper opening down the front of a hoody so that within a few minutes he was split right down the middle and his legs and finally his feet were being sucked into the fluffy dice. When he was gone, they began emitting a quiet duff-duff sound again as if absorbing Wit had made hardly a dent on all the music that had been thrown at them before him.

All that electronica had to go somewhere though. Lightning cracked and Wit found himself pelted down from cloud to Earth. Time didn't even have time to spin out of his way before he slammed into the ground and so he managed to get back just after he left. The only problem was he had come back as a mosquito making that annoying humming noisexiii \- a definite disadvantage if you are trying to slip back into your family without anyone noticing you've died. Everyone knows that lightening causes mosquitoes as they always come out after the rain. What most people don't know when they clap their hands over a mosquito is that it might have been crazy old aunt Bertha who had died loving opera but been zapped back to Earth after having the pop music sucked out of her. Who could blame her for buzzing around their ears wanting to say "hi" and who could blame anyone for not realising it was her and clapping her straight back to where she came from. Then again, who could blame the old opera loving Aunty, when she sees the applause coming, for magically disappearing like a phantom in the light before the fat lady clings to your hands?

'a phantom in the light,' is a description of the nearly magical ability of a mosquito that is buzzing over your head in the dark to disappear from view as soon as the lights are turned on. ~ ~ ~ 'The fat lady clings to your hands,' is a play on 'It's not over till the fat lady sings.' The idiom is based on the classic opera format that ends with a female soloist. Many opera singers are of a large build as this accommodates the lung capacity required for singing arias. A buzzing mosquito that has been silenced by clapping your hands together may cling to them afterwards.

~ ~ ~

~Section 16

Wit didn't have much problem finding his old home after the storm had passed. Though Parley's clouds had moved on, he had apparently been stuck where he was, refusing to accept that he couldn't come back. Only here he was now; back. And refusing to accept that he couldn't get in through the fly screen. He buzzed incessantly against it smelling the fresh life of his family wafting out to taunt him. Suddenly he heard his brother reminding his sister that it was time for bed; his mother must still be at work. Actually it was already well past 9:00 and it seemed his brother had forgotten the world while he was reading. 'Just like him,' Wit thought but then he remembered his sister would have to open the back door to let her dumb dog out before bed so he hummed over to wait for his chance to enter.

Sure enough, after the proverbial procrastination, she opened the door wide and waited while her dog waddled out. Wit took his chance and, buzzing his wings at top speed through the smell of rain,xiv he ambled into the room.

"Hi! It's me, Wit! I'm back!" he shouted through his pointy nose. "Is anybody home?" apparently not considering his sister or brother to be an 'anybody.' She ignored him, as sisters do, though to this day she claims she didn't hear him, and closed the door. Wit buzzed around for a while shouting about everything he had seen but it was no use, she wasn't even listening to the drone of the mosquito and had sat down in front of the computer to finish decorating word-art on a picture of her lost brother.

"Ahhhhh, that's me you idiot!!" Wit screamed in her ear but she just flapped absent-mindedly around her head and then tightened her ponytail.

"Fine, I know how to get your attention. I'll get under your skin as only a brother can." And he flew down under the desk and approached her ankles. When he was half full of warm blood, he began to enjoy his new life but suddenly it ended. His sister had felt the itch of sibling warfare and clapped him out of existence.

"Ewwww!" she said inspecting the bloody splodge on her palm as she walked off to wash it with soap.

Fortunately for Wit though, he had pumped some of his life into her leg before he had started to suck. xv Mosquitoes believe it aids digestion to say, 'live-ah,' before you start drinking though others just say, 'ah-men.' It wasn't fortunate for his sister though as she now had Wit under her skin and by the time she came back from cleaning her teeth and had let the dog in, he was starting to irritate her just like he always used to.

He was quite proud of the lump he had caused on her ankle and he looked around wondering how long he could live as an itchy bite. Suddenly he saw all the other itchy bites that she had scratched and he began to tremble. If she scratched him he would die and be sent to the Alyssum Files! But flinching was a mistake. An itchy bite that twitches just has to be scratched and she bent over to see where on her ankle the annoyance was located. Just as Wit saw the slightly dirty fingernails of doom approaching, he heard a bang and the front door opened.

"Oh you wouldn't believe the traffic after that rain," he heard his mother say.

"Mum! Stop her! It's me Wit!" but, as his mouth was a tiny pinprick in the centre of a swelling, it's not surprising she didn't hear him.

"What are you doing darling?" she asked. "Is that an itchy bite? How many times have I told you, 'Poke; don't scratch?' You will kill it much faster. Here, let me show you again."

And Wit saw the slightly long fingernail of pain approaching. Using her thumbnail, Wit's mother pressed firmly into the centre of the itchy bite pushing Wit's life out into the blood where it swirled around and was lost among all the red blood cells that were on their way off to the kidneys for their bath time. She pressed again, one millimeter to the right squeezing out more of his mosquito life yet without breaking the skin as scratching does or even causing a bruise. She pressed again and again, millimeter by millimeter, until she reached the edge of the bite and then started again from the centre working her way out to the left until there was nothing left of Wit. Not content to leave anything behind, the fingernail was turned at right angles and again working her way out from the centre, one press at a time, his mum squeezed every last bit of itch out of her daughter's skin.

"I can do it myself!" said his sister as she bared her own thumbnail and started poking away at a 45-degree angle to the other marks. But by this time Wit couldn't hear a word as the massive thumping of her heart was mixing him around and around.

"Well make sure you do it again in the morning," said his mother. "And again tomorrow afternoon. And it will be gone before you know it! Remember, 'poke; don't scratch," she called after her daughter who didn't hear her as she was already around the corner talking quietly to herself about something else entirely.

The advice to 'poke, don't scratch,' is a proven home remedy for alleviating mosquito bites and some other insect stings. Swelling around the bite triggers an itching sensation because the foreign chemicals under the skin cause the lymph to flow to the area to neutralise it. By using parallel indentations of a thumbnail to press the lymph out of the immediate area, the swelling is reduced and the chemicals are spread throughout the blood stream rather than being concentrated in one area. The procedure may need to be repeated though it is important not to press too hard or too frequently as this may break open the skin cells and result in a bruise.

Pieces of Wit swirled through the blood, bones and brain, entirely lost in thought. Some of the white blood cells wanted to be quite friendly and cuddle up to him, wrapping him in cotton wool. However, one of the white blood cells was a little snappier. It was running round and round the others like a sheepdog rounding them up and keeping them at a distance. Except it was a pretty pathetic looking sheepdog being all small and white and fluffy itself.

"Hold my leash Wit," it called out and then Wit knew it couldn't be a sheepdog, as they never wore leashes; they were far too well trained. This pathetic little untrained pooch must be lost he thought. And he reached out and grabbed the leash only to find it was dragging him over to a red blood cell that looked suspiciously like a post box.

~ ~ ~

"Did you lose this?" Parley barked at Thera and Sindé who were engrossed in a Roman game of dice. Each of the five little soldier socks had been tied in a knot so they could use them as chips.

Roman soldiers were avid gamblers though the practice was forbidden.

"Oh there you are Wit," said Sindé casually. "Did you get to see them?"

"What? My Family?! You mean you knew the daft-plug would turn me into a mosquito?!" exclaimed Wit.

"Well of course," said Thera. "We had to turn you into something small enough to fit through the bars. And here you are."

And Wit suddenly looked down at his hands and feet and over at the bars that he was no longer behind. He flopped down on the grass, lay on his back and laughed at the sheer insanity of it all as well as in relief that he hadn't been scratched into Alyssum.

~ ~ ~

Ch. 2 Cellar Notes {skip}

i  Are Death Anxiety and Death Depression Distinct Entities? {back}  
http://baywood.metapress.com/index/20HL33JRVABJDLTW.pdf

ii  It behooves parents to respect their offspring {back}  
http://www.online-keys.net/sciaroidea/1981_90/Gould_1986_NaturalHistory_GlowWorm.pdf

iii Marbled Salamander {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marbled_Salamander

iv  The Myth of Evolutionary Advancement {back}  
http://www.nature.com/scitable/topicpage/trait-evolution-on-a-phylogenetic-tree-relatedness-41936

v Spatial vision in the purple sea urchin {back}  
http://jeb.biologists.org/content/213/2/249.short

vi  Child Abuse in Tibetan Buddhist Monasteries {back}  
http://lamashree.org/dalailama_08_childabuse_tibetanbuddhistmonasteries.htm

vii Reptiles, Amphibians, and Human Salmonella Infection {back}  
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/15095197

viii Dinosaurs {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dinosaur

ix  Guantanamo Bay - Camp Delta {back}  
http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/facility/guantanamo-bay_delta.htm

x Cat Scratch Fever {back}  
http://www.cfsph.iastate.edu/FastFacts/pdfs/catscratch_F.pdf

xi Right–left and the scrotum in Greek sculpture {back}  
http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/13576500342000149

xii Acoustic location of prey by barn owls {back}  
http://jeb.biologists.org/content/54/3/535.short

xiii  Flying in Tune back}  
http://www.cell.com/current-biology/retrieve/pii/S0960982206016368

xiv What causes the distinctive odour of approaching rain? {back}  
http://www.madsci.org/posts/archives/1998-08/897083302.Ch.r.html

xv Why Do Mosquito Bites Itch? {back}  
http://insects.about.com/od/insectpests/f/mosquitoitch.htm

~ ~ ~

Ch. 2 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS {skip Questions}

ANSWERS / Section

1) When did Pillow plant her eye on Wit to spy on him?

When she rubbed against his leg after the war counsel

~Sections 2 & 8

2) Which lizard did Wit let into the Elysian Fields?

The 'tailless skink' that climbed up the rope from Ancient Israel

~Chapter 1, Section 20

3) Why is a lizard's tail like a battery in this story?

Because it still thrashes around after it has fallen off

~Section 3

4) What colour is Marmar? What does this symbolise?

Black, white and grey - like marble / there is good and bad in everyone

~Sections 6 & 14

5) Which nursery rhyme is Ma Fate based on?

Little Miss Muffet

~Section 4

6) What are three words for a legless backless stool?

Hassock, pouffe & tuffet

~Section 4

7) What is whey the by-product of?

Cheese production

~Section 4

8) What does, 'wisdom is not just the knowledge of Good,' mean?

We can become wiser from observing good but also from observing evil. E.g. the Taught-us expands from lessons learned from both good and bad things

~Section 7

9) What is a disease that lizards commonly carry? What is a symptom?

Salmonella / Diarrhoea

~Section 11

10) How long ago were dinosaurs roaming the earth?

Between 230 to 65 million years ago

~Section 12

11) How did Wit get out between the bars of Pillow's gaol?

By becoming a mosquito

~Section 16

12) How are a punk elephant, a ghost in your head and an annoying song similar? How do you get rid of them?

They are all memories that are stuck, repeating themselves, in your head / By imagining they are gradually changing into something else less annoying

~Section 15

13) What should you do to a mosquito bite?

Poke, don't scratch

~Section 16

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

14) What does a glowworm turn into and what does it sometimes eat?

Moths and their parent moths

~Note ii

15) Does evolution always make things more advanced?

No, all organisms are equally advanced in success at living since the beginning of life

~Note iv; conclusion

16) How do owls navigate in the dark?

By having ears located at different heights so the sound reaches them at different times

~Note xii; Paragraph 6

17) Are lizards closer to salamanders or humans?

To humans

~Note iv; Paragraph 8

18) What does approaching rain smell like? How is that chemical made?

Ozone smells like it's about to rain. It is generated by lightening and blown down from the cloud

~Note xiv

19) How do mosquitos recognise a mate?

From the pitch of the sound they make while flying

~Note xiii

20) What causes cat scratch fever _?_

The bacteria on their claws

~Note x

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

21) Pillow is attacked by a heart after she drops the lizard tails into the Bog 'o Belief. Discuss the implications of organ transplants on the concept of reincarnation.

Refer to Teachers' Notes

~Section 12

22) "What happened to the Taught-us?" asked Wit. Discuss the concept of Yin and Yang, i.e. that good and bad are locked in an eternal cycle of interdependence by actually giving rise to each other. How does this contrast with what Wit is told about the point of Eternity in Chapter 1?

~Section 14; Chapter 1, Section 5; Also Chapter 4, Section 6

SAMPLE WORKSHEET as text to copy and paste
Parley After Life

D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes ~ by Robby Miller

Copyright © 2015 by Robert Miller: Worksheets may be reprinted for educational purposes

### Ch. 2 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS

a) When did Pillow plant her eye on Wit to spy on him?

b) Which lizard did Wit let into the Elysian Fields?

c) Why is a lizard's tail like a battery in this story?

d) What colour is Marmar? What does this symbolise?

e) What is whey the by-product of?

f) What does, 'wisdom is not just the knowledge of Good,' mean?

g) What is a disease that lizards commonly carry? What is a symptom?

h) How did Wit get out between the bars of Pillow's gaol?

i) How are a punk elephant, a ghost in your head and an annoying song similar? How do you get rid of them?

j) What should you do to a mosquito bite?

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

k) Does evolution always make things more advanced?

l) How do owls navigate in the dark?

m) Are lizards closer to salamanders or humans?

n) What does approaching rain smell like? How is that chemical made?

o) How do mosquitos recognise a mate?

DISCUSSION QUESTION

p) "What happened to the Taught-us?" asked Wit. Discuss the concept of Yin and Yang, i.e. that good and bad are locked in an eternal cycle of interdependence by actually giving rise to each other. How does this contrast with what Wit is told about the point of Eternity in Chapter 1?

POINTERS

a) Sections 2 & 8; b) Chapter 1, Section 20; c) Section 3; d) Sections 6 & 14;

e) Section 4; f) Section 7; g) Section 11; h) Section 16; i) Section 15; j) Section 16

k) Note iv; conclusion; l) Note xii; Paragraph 6;

m) Note iv; Paragraph 8; n) Note xiv; o) Note xiii

p) Section 14; Chapter 1, Section 5; Also Chapter 4, Section 6

### Chapter 3 ~ Famine

~Section 1

Once he had laughed himself sober, Wit settled down and watched the soldier-game for a while. A breeze of lost hopes wafted by and refreshed him and he heard a random sound of cogs clunking into gear. Suddenly he had a bright idea.

"Sindé, you're a seagull..."

"Last time I checked."

"So you might have gotten lost at sea before you flew in here over this sea! Maybe that's the way out of here, by sea!"

"OK that might work, for me. But I can't see you flying over the horizon with me? Besides I didn't actually fly here. Seagulls can float and I was sitting on the ocean having a bit of a snooze when I woke up to the sound of skim milk waves snoring onto a beachful of buttons."

"OK, so same thing," replied Wit. "You got here floating over the ocean so let's float back out. I can float too you know."

"What, on skim milk? There's no fat to sit on, you'd drown."

"No, on a boat. There have been plenty of boats lost at sea so there must be some here?"

"Well you're right," said Thera "but they have all walked inland to the Dry Dock and never want to see the sea again. They are a wreck, pottering around in the Ship Yard out the back mowing the grass and pushing up daisies to keep their mind off it. They're all in therapy; even a glass of water makes them sweat."

"Oh, I heard there was some progress," said Sindé. "One Mexican vessel had started the Society for Wave Appreciation, Mentoring and Protection.

'A Mexican vessel,' is a pun on the crowd game 'a Mexican wave' because these ships are afraid of waves. 'Society for Wave Appreciation, Mentoring and Protection,' is an acronym for 'swamp,' meaning to be inundated by waves.

Though they have not actually left their backyard to save any waves yet, they have written an excellent charter on boats not cutting a wake and hope that, if they take the first step of staying well away from the swell, this will pacify the waves and one day tame them."

"So no boats?" said Wit

"Not unless you want to drug one, carry it into the water and float it against its will," said Thera. "But I don't like your chances. There is a nasty clipper there that I wouldn't want to meet in a dark ally; though maybe I'm just testy about clippers."

Thera is a gelding, i.e. has had his testicles castrated thus is 'testy about clippers.'

"So if none of those boats want to set sail, let's make one," cried Wit jumping up with excitement.

"Out of what?" asked Sindé askance.

"Wood of course," retorted Wit. "I saw whole forests of trees listening to the Taught-us before. We can cut them down and cut them up."

"I don't think you understand; they are dead," said Thera.

"So much the better, if they are deadwood then they will be lighter and float easily."

"You goose," jumped in Sindé. "You can't source your wood from the trees here. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Pillow couldn't kill you because you're already dead, so you can't kill them. Besides, if you take a gander at them you'll see a lot of them are Amazons;i they put up a good fight."

To 'take a gander,' is an idiom meaning to look at something. ~ ~ ~ Deforestation of the Amazon rainforest is implied here to be a major cause of trees dying before their time. The Amazons were a tribe of fierce female warriors who are reputed to have established some of the major eastern cities of Turkey. Despite the goddess Hera trying to stop him, Hercules killed their Queen, Hippolyte, because his Ninth Labour required him to get the belt of Ares, god of war, from her.

Wit was out of answers and sat down again.

~Section 2

"We could ask the Wee Kid Witch of the Waste to help us?" mused Thera.

'Wee Kid Witch of the Waste,' is a play on Wicked Witch of the West from Lyman Frank Baum's novel The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, 1900

"What, you want me to fly back over to the Waste-Urn again?! Well I suppose I should return the die. Don't dice with life, They say. And I'm sure we're finished with them since Pillow won't attack us near the ocean. So waste not what you don't want and you won't want for it in the Waste-Urn.

'Waste not what you don't want...' is an encouragement to recycle by not wasting your waste products. 'You won't want for it...,' means not need, i.e. not wanting for something, as in 'waste not want not.'

They stood up to go.

"Your turn to carry the die, sunshine," said Sindé to Wit. He picked them up with great difficulty, as the daft-plug was incredibly heavy now it was compressed down to dice size. He put the die in his pocket but a voice squeaked out, "are you trying to kill us?!" so he had to shift them to the other pocket away from the mealworms.

Once they were ready to leave, they looked around to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything.

Wit saw the five socks still tied up and asked, "Should I..."

"Of course," said Thera. "We leave no prisoners." And so Wit knelt down and untied them one by one.

"Fluffing hell!" said the brown one. But the others shushed it and after conferring in a huddle together for a minute looked up and said, "Please Mr Therasock, Sir. If you are going on a boat trip, could we come? You might need a crew."

"Hm, you are right little socks. We might," said Thera. "Hop on board then." And with a 'whee' four of the socks jumped on his back. However, the brown one just sat on the ground and stank.

"You too," said Thera - pointing at it with its tail. And when it just shuffled around looking sulky, Thera's tail reached down and picked it up, careful to touch as little of it as possible. "You can come for a milk bath, little one." It said

"I'm not going anywhere unless he promises not to swallow me again!" shouted the sock.

Wit looked a little guilty and said, "OK it's a deal. I won't swallow you if you promise to do what Thera said and have a bath."

"Fine," said the sock a little crossly but it seemed to be enjoying the attention anyway. "Let me up on your back then."

"No, I think we'd better keep you downwind for now," said Thera. "Right, are we all ready?" And once Wit and Sindé had grabbed on, it bounded away.

~Section 3

Thera sprang inland, far away from the ocean to a line of tall pines. On the far side Wit could see the tall masts of dozens of sailing ships swaying - their rigging singing the high notes in the SWAMP therapeutic choir. The bass line was carried by a throbbing boom, that he couldn't yet see. Towering over all of them was a copper-green giantess conducting the song with a blazing torch. In her other arm she held what looked like their songbook.

As they pushed through the trees, Wit discovered what was making the deep throbs in the music. A number of steam ships and a few diesels were standing in the back row shuffling their rudders and rocking on their keels. The tall masters were also swaying to the music and Wit felt himself caught up in the spirit of the song.

At the end of the piece, Thera pushed Wit forward and they approached the giantess.

"Hello Wee Kid," shouted Thera and, with a groaning of tree branches, the giantess bent over, stretched out her book and said,

"You'd better come up here on my spell book. My ears are a bit wooden these days." So Thera leapt them up to stand on the platform.

Now he was closer, Wit could see she was not copper but the colour of cooked peas. Also the book was made of wood. 'Come to think of it, her dress was made of wood too and her cooked-pea face seemed woody as well.' Wit assumed this was because it was such a big face. She smiled at him. And creaked! Wit thought it polite not to stare. Even if her teeth were wood, they were also as big as his head.

Unfolding descriptions of the Wee Kid will reveal she resembles the Statue of Liberty

"Would you help my friends please?" asked Thera up front. They wish to sail over the Sea of Opportunity in the hope of getting un-lost. We are looking for a ship that will take us over the waves. Could you suggest anyone we might ask?"

A number of the tall masters suddenly dropped their sails and hid behind them like a lady hiding behind a fan even though it only covers her nose.

"Thera, not so loud please. You know how they feel about the 'W' word," reproached the giantess.

From among the flapping sails Wit saw one three master walk out in front of the others. How it walked he couldn't see as it was too wide in the beam but he imagined it had a lot of little feet working together like a centipede. Its sails were furled and standing quite tall and straight, it pointed its bow at Thera, coughed a little and said,

"I believe I'm the man for the job."

Most of the sails behind it flapped in a squall of nervous anticipation. One old barge said, "Good on you Loch Ard! That's the ticket. Stepping out on the high seas again after all these years. You're a better man than me."

The Loch Ard was a sailing ship that was lost at sea, along with 54 lives, near Mutton Bird Island off the Coast of Victoria, Australia in 1878. There were only two survivors.

But the Loch Ard didn't hear him. At the word, 'high seas,' it had listed a little to port and then keeled over in a faint. A little ballast escaped from a sprung seam.

"Thar she belowes!" shouted a squeaky blonde rat from the rigging.

'Thar she belowes,' is a play on the traditional whale sighting call, 'That she blows.' Though in this case it denotes something going down.

"Abandon ship!" screamed two other high-pitched voices. And three little rats scampered off the lopsided gunwales and across to where the giant stood.

"We hear you're looking for a crew Capt'n," said the first rat standing as tall as a rat can and bellowing up to Thera through a squeaky loud hailer.

"Oh well done little Star! Nice blow," said the grey rat behind her. "She's a chip off the old block, my little twinkling diamond."

"We couldn't be prouder of sweet rati Cate," said the half black and white rat beside him, and held the grey rat's hand.

'Raticate' is a Pokémon character. Cate Star's pet name, 'twinkling diamond,' is reminiscent of the poem, "Twinkle twinkle... like a diamond in the sky," by Jane Taylor, 1806. Stars have long been an essential part of seafaring navigation.

"We taught her everything we know," they said together and beamed at their daughter and then at each other.

"Allow me to introduce my father, Anul Star, and my step-father, Eclipse Star; the finest navigators on the briny blue."

But at those words there was a terrible crash as a clipper and two steam vessels also keeled over in a dead faint.

"Oh come, let's get out of here," creaked the giantess. "You are not helping." And the three rats scurried up her dress and saluted in front of Thera.

Already the giantess had turned and was striding over the grass and Wit just had time to see the old barge pushing the ships back up while suggesting a rousing chorus of 'Home On The Range.'

~Section 4

Within a minute they had arrived at a huge Grecian urn soaring out of the grass at a wonky angle.

"I can feel someone is carrying some extra weight," said the giantess. "You can leave your excess baggage here; it will be quite safe as nothing goes to waste."

"That's your cue boy," said Sindé; and Wit realised she was talking about the two dice. He heaved them out of his pocket, staggered to the edge of the spell-book deck and dropped them over the lip of the urn just below. They hit the bottom with a single huge 'Duff!' and fluffed back up.

"Now Thera, no beating around the bush; I know you would like me to float your friends to liberty but what's in it for me? It would be a waste not to earn a little something for my troubles."

"Spoken like a true witch," said Thera. "We have some live mealworms that the lizards smuggled in?"

"Living?! Powerful magic: life. Alright one mealworm apiece; toss them in the Earn and we'll be off." And Wit counted out a mealworm for everyone except Thera, who wasn't leaving the Fields, and only one for the socks as they had bundled themselves one inside the other to look smaller. There were only two left so he tossed them in too so they wouldn't be lonely.

"Ow! Watch the owl," said a hollow voice from inside the Urn. A barn owl flew up out of the dark and perched on the edge. "How am I supposed to count the tickets if you throw extras at my head? Now you've paid for those seats you have to take two more passengers! If you keep doing that the boat will be overweight and sink. I don't care if you're so desperate to get out of here that you'd risk your life but you are not going to die on my shift! Honestly, trying to smuggle people into the There-before \- over my dead body! I can see I'm going to have to watch you like a hawk," and it flew up to the deck, buried its head under its wing and went to sleep. "Full steam ahead," a muffled voice mumbled out from under its feathers.

"Oh? And is there anything more you want Oliver?" the Wee Kid cooked-pea-green wood witch muttered. But she was smiling as she strode over the grass towards the ocean.

They arrived at the button beach in no time. The skim milk lapped drowsily on the shore like lost sleep in the morning coaxing them away from rest to where they knew the day wouldn't rest until mishaps, storms or fogs would inevitably have them lost at sea and where hopefully they would wash up in a sandy cove on the other side.

Without further ado the Wee Kid lowered the spell book so they could jump off then sat down in the surf with her back to the waves and her legs on the buttons. She opened the spell book and flipping through, found the double illustrated foldout pages that she spread out to either side and then held it flat against her chest. She lay down, head first into the waves, and Wit realised that she did indeed make a reasonably efficient boat, with the book spread out from shoulder to hips making a fine deck for them to walk around on. She stretched out a hand and lifted them two at a time, the three inseparable rats first, onto the deck. Thera hung back and Wit went to say goodbye.

"She's huge," he said. "Why do you call her a kid?"

"She hasn't stopped growing yet," replied Thera.

"Wow, so, should I call her 'Wee,' 'Wee Kid' or 'Witch;' or 'pea-body?'"

"You can try calling her 'pea-body' if you like... It's been nice knowing you," it said with a wry smile. "I suggest you stick to 'Wee Kid,' 'Kid is too informal and 'Witch' is her job. May I give you some advice?" said Thera.

"Of course, please."

"Don't call her Kid Wee."

"Um, sure," said Wit. And then it was time for him to board the Wee Kid, too.

~Section 5

The 'boat' bobbed up and down. They all sat down and looked out to sea, the waves lapping at the shore. The boat bobbed up and down. Wit looked around wondering what would happen next but everyone else was looking out to sea lapping up the anticipation. The boat bobbed up and Wit opened his mouth to ask...

"Oh be patient," said the owl. "You're the one who paid for two extra seats. Be grateful I took one of them; we would be bobbing here all day if we were waiting for the Taught-us to step this way.

Wit looked around again and this time saw Pillow in the distance, sleeping but with her claws dug into the grass carving deep furrows through the ground as she was dragged rear first, by some invisible force towards them. Wit's eyes widened as he looked askance at the owl. The owl looked back with equally wide-eyed reproval, "What? Didn't you know there is no arguing with the Haves? You paid, and a pretty high price too I might add, so you Have the seat - someone will Have to sit in it. If not, the Have Noughts will swamp us, scrabbling to fit all their uncles and cousins in it. And no, I don't care if They can't choose their relatives; I can choose my fiends so not everything is relative." By this time, Pillow was already gouging lines through the buttons and had bumped against the witch's bare feet. She pointed her toes and Pillow was dragged, still sleeping, up over the green knees to the top of her legs. With a squeaky mew she curled into an even tighter ball on the witch's lap, scrunched her eyes up tighter and wrapped her tail around her, well away from the waves.

"What a beautiful kitty," concluded the owl wishing she would become his relative one day.

"All are bored?" said the witch.

"We're not there yet!" shouted the socks running up and down the deck in excitement.

'All are bored,' is a play on 'all aboard.' 'We're not there yet,' is a play on the classic child's driving complaint, 'I'm bored, are we there yet,' though most misadventures are not boring.

"Right, we'll be off then. "Miss Adventures Tours Ahoy." And with that the witch lifted her other hand, popped the torch handle into her mouth so it poked up like a giant smokestack and started swinging her arms in a steady backstroke that pulled them past the breakers into the white horses behind.

"Swell!" squeaked the rats happily as they clutched the crown on the witch's forehead and caught the spray in their whiskers. And Wit's chest swelled with hope as he saw the button beach fall away behind them with each rise and dip of the swell.

The swell swell swelled to meet them - i.e. the good waves rose to meet them.

No sooner had he had the nerve to relax than Wit heard a number of voices chanting, "Walk the plank. Walk the plank. Walk the..." A high-pitched screaming and the kerfuffle of someone being wrestled into position made him realise this was not just a game. The four clean socks had pushed the smelly brown sock to the front corner of the deck and, while two held it there, the other two ran down to the rear corner. Suddenly the sock was pushed over the edge and was washed by, spluttering and screaming, down the witch's side to where the others pulled him out again. It immediately started fighting back but the other socks all rushed onto it giggling and clapping; shouting, "Better already!" Then they bundled it up to the front of the deck again for the rinse cycle. By the time they had done this two more times, the poor little sock was bedraggled but decidedly more tan coloured. When they finally left it alone, it splodged over to Wit who was talking to Sindé, and looked up at him crying. He picked it up and wrung it out gently then held it in his hands to warm and dry it. After a while it fell asleep and he tucked it into his pocket to keep it out of the wind that had picked up, possibly a pipe dream, and was whistling past them. The sea too was looking a little more menacing, possibly a reaction to having been forced to dissolve the grunge off the little brown sock.

'The wind had picked up... a pipe... and was whistling...'

~Section 6

While Wit kept out a weather eye, his companions prepared to batten down the hatches. Pillow crept quietly under the spell book to be out of the wind. She could be heard giggling, which Wit assumed meant she had found something bad to amuse her. The socks swabbed the deck and the rats kept measuring the wind speed, direction, wave height, salinity and the length of each other's whiskers. Occasionally they blinked at the stars at high noon that glistened like their eyes. Checking no one was lost, Sindé walked around and asked everyone if they had seen Oliver but no one could recall when the last time was he had asked for more speed or more slack or less laughter. She finally spotted him nestled beside Pillow under the deck and whispering jokes in her ear.

"Meowth," giggled Pillow.

'Meowth' is a Pokémon character.

"Are you the captain or the conductor?!" reproached Sindé.

But he simply replied, "To wit, to woo."

How do owls propose? With a joke. Why? Because every good owl knows, 'To wit, to woo.' The romantic relationship between Oliver and Pillow on a pea green boat is reminiscent of the poem the Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lead, 1871.

What Wit didn't see was the flying fish launching 400m out. He didn't hear the drone of their wings approaching at 70km per hourii and he certainly didn't know what hit him. He did know it when he hit the skim milk and he held his breath for a minute before he remembered he didn't need to breathe.

He nearly let out a wail, "lord!" knowing it would be a long way down, because he didn't know there was a whale just below him. As he floated down to eye level, he also realised he didn't know why whales are so fat.

'Wailord' is a Pokémon character.

"You're fat," he said in a deadpan voice that he hoped would make the whale defensive and so give him the conversational advantage; a large hope considering the whale was 20 times longer than him.iii

"Why thank you," said the whale with a smile that could have swallowed six of him. "I'm flattered that you noticed. Most people are too polite to admit their own insignificance. I wish I could say the same of you but of course you are a scrawny runt though a little more substantial than a krill. Sadly they all are these days; it's hard to catch a decent whale shark but a fat dolphin wouldn't go astray." And it licked its lips in a way that made Wit start scanning through his repertoire of other conversation stoppers; he came out with a grunt and turned sideways hoping it would make him look smaller and less appetising.

"Well in you go," said the whale matter-of-factly and smiled a little wider. "Unless you're one of those, 'Let me say my last words,' types?"

"N-no not at all," stammered out Wit.

"Are you shy? I don't mind indulging you," said the whale. "It's always so amusing to hear what the little folk have to say; keeps me on my toes." And it stretched out a flipper as if to reassure Wit that they were not so distantly related.iv Wit did not feel reassured. His brother was quite closely related and he was scared of his teeth too.

"May I have a last question?" he asked.

"As long as it's not the last word," said the whale. "What is it then? And take it slowly, I've got all day, and the next. That's the problem with being long lived in Elysium. I've another 80 years until my time is up.v So what's your question, small fry?"

"Why?" asked Wit and stared unblinkingly into its pupil.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked the whale. "That's The Question. And I think you know it, though maybe you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Why?" asked Wit, again.

"Oh, you were serious? Or do you mean why is it a dangerous question?"

"No, I mean, 'WHY?'"

"OK, you asked for this so don't blame me if you don't outlive the answer. And remember, the rule is you can't leave until I finish." And suddenly Wit saw why it was a dangerous question to ask. If the whale went on and on for years, his time might be up before he ever had the chance to get home. 'Still,' he thought, 'it's better than being eaten for now; at least until I can think of something else to lampoon him with.'

'Lampoon' is a sharp or virulent satire. It also rhymes with harpoon.

~Section 7

The following discussion with the whale is an allegory about pirate Capitalism. His adopted mother, the Wee Kid Witch of the Waste, is responsible for introducing the idea that he can swallow up any competition thus becoming a monopoly. He is sucking time from others so that he can get to Alyssum sooner by making their waiting time longer. This theme is continued in the description of the Wee Kid at the Count-Tree, Section 16. Being extremely fat, the whale acts as a contrast to the discussion with the anorexic eel, Way-Lean about her friend More-Ray, see Section 12.

"It all started when I was a baby, not much bigger than a bus I was," began the whale. "I was small for my age and my mother was worried so she fed me the best milk she could get. Porpoise milk, orca milk, otter milk; they were all forced to help out at the store. It was an excellent store with pretty much everything that was edible and before long I had stored them all inside and moved on from milk to solids. Most of them complained but I never saw it bother my mother so I followed in her footsteps. I still remember the day we first swallowed a neighbouring store, mother and son taking out the competition. Glorious."

"Hold on," said Wit. "I thought blue whales only ate plankton."

"Have you forgotten where you are?" he asked. "I thought boys only ate doughnuts but I don't see you boiling any oil or even knowing how to cut sugar cane."

"What's cooking got to do with it?"

"What's food got to do with Elysium? Like you, I haven't been hungry since I got here."

"But you were talking about your mother stealing seal milk?"

"Not my 'mother' mother; my other mother. Brother, are you daft. Put a plug in it and let me start from the beginning."

"I thought you did start from the beginning."

"Not my beginning, The Beginning."

"You mean the beginning of Time? Which one?"

"The one here of course; who knows what's going on back there?"

"But that will take forever," said Wit. "I'd like to get back to my friends if you don't mind."

"But you asked, 'Why.' Though if you're ready to come inside I can make the answer shorter?"

"OK, you tell me 'Why' but you don't start at the beginning of Time. Maybe you could explain who your other mother is?"

"Ah, now she was a woman you could look up to. I believe you've met her," and the whale looked up.

Wit looked up, too, to where he could see the shadow of the witch's back circling slowing.

"You mean... this was a set-up?"

"Business dear boy. Just float there and I'll explain why you can't get away. I love captive audiences - so attentive."

And Wit, though angry, conceded to listen and learn. It was still better than being taken in.

~Section 8

The whale started again, "I came here when I was a boy, like you, but already as big as a bus. Who wants to swim in skim milk?! So the first thing I did was to try to get back by beaching myself. I didn't even realise you can't die here." Wit nodded. "And while I was lying there waiting to dry up,vi a nasty way to go, the Wee Kid came past and scooped me off the beach. She made me an offer, said she could see I had potential, naturally gifted, big boned; so we went into business."

"Doing?..." urged Wit

"Doing what everyone here is doing: killing time."

"Huh, how do you kill Time?" Wit gasped, forgetting he was under milk.

"No, not Time's time. The time Time gives everyone else. Their waiting time, we kill the waiting time."

"But that's awesome, then I could go home!"

"No, then you would go to the Alyssum Files sooner."

"Oh. How does that work?"

"Well if your time is up here then your time is up there. Back there, some people die natural but still untimely deaths: a heart attack when you're 42 for example. Or hitch hiking in someone else's car accident.

Forty-two as in The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy's answer to Life, the Universe and Everything; Douglas Adams, 1978

Anyway, that's what can happen to you there but it's natural so you'd still go straight to the Files even though it was untimely. So for those of us who are stuck here, we can make the wait shorter if we get more time here; it reduces our time there. It's a simple principle: keep the balance."

"But everything here is dead right, apart from the lizard tails, so how do you get more life here? Oh my giddy aunt, you're not stealing tails too are you?!"

"A few piffling tails? Who'd bother? No, you can get bigger by taking the waiting-time from other people, and then the balance is maintained here. It's like a set of scales sitting on a set of scales. Even if you move weight from one side to the other it all still weights the same. By taking their waiting-time, there will be more people with less on one side of the scales but one person with more on the other so it's still equal."

"That's not very fair!"

"Fairness has never died an untimely death so you won't find her round here. Children there are always supplicating, 'It's not Fair!' so we don't have to worry about her fortunately. Equality, on the other hand, is always getting lost so there's plenty of it here keeping the balance. Put me on one side of the scales and it equals 181 million white bait on the other.vii Those little silver fish are all that's left after I get closer to my goal."

"You've lost me again."

"No, you're right where I want you," and he smiled a little wider still.

"OK, but before I agree to come inside, could you explain what I've got to do with you getting closer to the Files?"

"Simple, see my teeth?"

"Ah, no, duh; you're a filter feeder."

"Correct. So I suck things in, squeeze out the milk through my baleen plates and then lick off all the insignificant little life forms that got stuck on the filter."

"Um, hello, I'm not insignificant; I'd choke you!"

"Ah, you buoy me up with your innocence. I'll be sucking the time out of you, making you insignificant, making myself fatter. I can't kill you but I can make you smaller. The oceans here are full of krill and plankton: the small fry I made to balance out the scale that's holding me up."

"But why do you want more time anyway? I thought you were trying to make the wait shorter."

"You really are backwards and upside down aren't you; as innocent as a wee kid. The more time I have here, the less I have there; balance remember? And when my time is up, I can go to the Files, right? So I need to get more time here so I can end my time there and move on. I could wait another 80 years for that to happen naturally or I can get fat here and hopefully have a heart attack or get diabetes. I think I'm starting to go blind as it is.viii Everything I filter out here is making me fatter. You could say they keep me company; I like company."

"So, if you get fatter here and smaller there, what about the things you make smaller here? Do they get longer lives there?" pondered Wit.

"Minor details," mumbled the whale.

"Then every life you make into a shrimp here is getting longer there so they take ages to move to Alyssum?" accused Wit

"Yes, well, they weren't born with such long lives to start with, were they? You can hardly expect me to compare my 80 years with their 180 days can you?ix I mean, it's not as if we were all born equal."

"We're not born the same but that doesn't mean you can steal their lives to make your own easier."

"Well now you're being judgmental and making me upset. I think I'll just eat you now and you can whinge about it through the filter."

"Hold on," said Wit. "I wasn't allowed to stop listening so you're not allowed to stop telling me 'Why.' What's the Wee Kid go to do with all this?"

"Ah she's an inspiration that little girl!" sighed the whale. "Taught me everything I know."

"What does she get out of you getting fatter?"

"Well she's the ferry-woman, isn't she? People pay her to get to the other side and instead she betrays them and drops them off here. That is to say, the flying fish get a cut for dropping them off here. I get fatter filtering out their time and she gets a little more evil for having drowned them in hope."

"Why does she want to be evil?"

"So she can grow up, of course."

"But she's huge! How much more grown up does she want to be?!"

"Your cogs are groaning. She needs to become evil so she can be a grown-up, then she can stop growing. Only then she will have the liberty to choose if she will be evil or not."

"So she wants to grow up so she can stop growing up? And she's doing it by stretching out other people's time here? How nasty."

"Well their lives are making mine better. That's the balance."

"And what's the balance to her becoming more evil?!"

"Well I guess that's you realising what little you are good for. Are you ready yet?"

"Yes I'm ready to tell you you're fat and I know how to make you fatter..."

"Well it wouldn't be by eating you obviously; go on..."

"Eat the witch!"

"What?!"

"Eat the witch, she's massive; I bet you would explode. Your life here would be over and you can go and rest in Alyssum without stealing from the little people any more."

"Are you crazy?! Bite the hand that feeds me?"

"Are you afraid you couldn't swallow her?"

"I could swallow you first and then think about it," mused the whale out loud. But it was too late, it had taken its eye off Wit and he had taken the chance to swim like a frog fleeing boiling water back towards the pea-body. He could see Sindé's webbed feet swimming around and her head poking under the milk to look but she was too buoyant to swim down to help.

~Section 9

Wit was nearly to the boat when he felt a huge suction behind him. He looked back and saw the whale's mouth wide open and his throat swelling as it sucked in vast quantities of skim milk. He was sure he could make it away anyway but suddenly the Wee Kid, who seemed to be able to see out of the back of her head, put her hand under the milk and pushed him down. Instead of dodging her, Wit grabbed the long finger and held on tight, pulling the fist back obscenely until he heard a crack. Up above they heard the witch shout, "Mercy," as the wrist started to snap but they didn't realise what was going on because the milk around them had begun to spiral into a whirlpool that was sucking the whole Wee Kid down. In a minute the extra twisting had broken the hand off completely and Wit bobbed to the surface clinging onto the side of a cupped-hand coracle.

'Mercy,' is a children's game of strength where two people press their palms together with the fingers at the top then interlace their fingers. They then try to bend their opponent's wrist backwards until the joint hurts. The loser is the first to cry out, 'Mercy.'

"Abandon ship!" screamed the rat husbands as the witch was sucked lower into the whirlpool. But they needn't have bothered; lil' Star was already aloft, being carried upwards by Sindé after Anul and Eclipse had begged her to save their daughter the second they smelt trouble. The witch pulled the flaming torch wand out of her mouth but it fizzled in the milk and the socks jumped self-sacrificingly into her maw to gag her from doing any magic. And, with characteristic self-preservation, Oliver and Pillow were already hugging in the handy lifeboat that had spun off and away from the edge. The rat dads leaped as one and landed on Pillow's head, unafraid of what might happen to them there.x

The survivors of the wreck looked back and saw the witch spin head first down into the centre of the vortex and twirling faster and faster disappear under the milk. Wit couldn't help wondering whether the whale realized he was sucking his mentor in. He ducked his head under the waves to look and was surprised to see the whale's eyes wide open and pinning the witch with a greedy stare. The witch did not return his gaze; she was spinning like a dervish as she disappeared between the whale's lips still clutching her spell book. She was roughly the same sizexi but the moment her spell book was behind his baleens, he clamped them shut, though not before a small white dogfish swam in, then started squeezing the milk back out. Wit felt the force of the milk press him against the side of the coracle and push them away. They rode a pressure wave out of the danger zone and just in time, too. The whale didn't even get to finish filtering the time out of the witch before he exploded into a rainbow of fluff, sea lice and white bait. The little silver fish glittered in the sun, finally free of their prison. Wit watched in amazement as they, in turn, swam around each other in tight schools, gradually combining into larger companies that became bigger fish like trevally, tuna and even a swordfish. They thrashed their tails and cut through the waves; swimming for their lives as if the whale was still in their wake.

~Section 10

One fish that didn't swim away as quickly was a hammerhead shark. Its fins had been cut off and it was wearing a red gridiron helmet; it's eyestalks poking out from either side with a face guard covering its mouth. It paddled past Wit with its stumps and gave him a wink.

"Thanks mate; Capital show!" it said floundering in an eddy.

"What did I do?" asked Wit.

"Set us free, of course. And with such style; taking out the witch too, what flare!"

Wit looked at the shark's teeth and shuddered. They were poking out at all angles like his brother's used to before he had braces. But the gridiron grid in front of them reassured him that he wouldn't be bitten so he decided to inquire further.

"So the witch and the whale are both gone?" he asked

"Oh she'll be back," he replied. "She was more than a mouthful, even for him."

"But where did they go?" Wit wanted to know.

"Well the whale exploded before he could filter all of the Wee Kid so what's left of her will have gone back to kid size. And I've a hunch you may have stopped her growing up at last. Becoming an adult is not just about learning what evil is but also knowing when you've gone too far with it; I think you did her a favour."

"And the whale?"

"Too big for his own boots. His dream came true, Parley took him off to Alyssum, didn't you see Them waiting?"

Wit admitted he hadn't and the hammerhead explained that the sea lice had taken the whale's fluff to be filed in the 'Alsatian Fur' section.

"It's where the fleas hang out when they are not filing things in the rest of Alyssum. They say it's a terribly itchy place to go; no rest for the wicked," he concluded.

By this time, Sindé had dropped off lil' Star with her fathers. She had also flown off and rescued the witch's torch that had fizzled out when it hit the skim milk. She had dragged it back to the boat where the rats had helped her lift it aboard and now she was floating around looking down at Wit. She couldn't help asking the hammerhead, "Why are you wearing a gridiron helmet?"

"To reassure the silver fish that I won't hurt them," replied the shark.

"Isn't that a bit weird, a shark who doesn't eat fish? What's your name?"

"Anchor Fungixii \- I'm a fun-guy; boom boom. But it's a sinking feeling being a shark in the entertainment business. I do libelous comedies normally. That's why they cut my fins to make shark fun sue; boom boom."xiii

"But the helmet?!" persisted Sindé

"The grid across the mouth reassures the audience that I'm not taking them in," replied Fungi. "The clown fish bars are the best stripe joints for the fans; I'm a Nemo sister."

Anchor is the name of the hammerhead shark in the movie Finding Nemo, 2003

"Doesn't that make you your own nemesis? What do you eat? You're a shark!"

"Gags mostly, but they choke me!"

"Oh dear," said Wit, "I can see why you're a lone shark."

"Do you want me to leave you a loan? Boom Boom, Kching," and Fungi grinned so widely his teeth nearly popped out of their cage. "Sorry I know that was lame," and he wiggled his stumps in mock apology.

"No, no. But maybe we could borrow your time, if you'll lend us an ear," replied Wit.

"Look at me, I'm all ears,"xiv said Fungi and so Wit explained that he and Sindé were trying to get back home.

"Would you like to ask someone in the audience?" asked Fungi and when Sindé and Wit looked around, they saw they were surrounded by krill all waving their antennae in applause.

~Section 11

"OK, does anyone know how to get out of here?" shouted Wit."

"You could ask More-Ray and Way-Lean," suggested Fungi.

'More-Ray,' is a play on moray eel. He suposedly 'gets back to life' by starving himself to death in the afterlife by not even thinking about food. Way-Lean is also an anorexic eel hoping to mimic his way through being lean, i.e. thin, though she is dissuaded from the unhealthy route of anorexia towards the end of the novel, see Chapter 5, Section 8.

"Why didn't you say so," said Sindé. "And why didn't I think of that? Do you know where they are?"

"Ask Oliver, he knows more about his cousins than I do," said Fungi looking up at the owl leaning over the side of the coracle trying to see what was taking so long.

"Pillow and I would like to go island-hopping if that wouldn't inconvenience you too much," called out the owl sarcastically.

"Hey do you know where Way-Lean is?" called back Sindé.

What?! More-Ray and Way-Lean? You turkey, they'll ring your neck if you stick you nose into their lair.

In the poem The Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lear, 1871, the marriage celebrant is a turkey. Further use of these key words is discussed below.

"A risk we're willing to take even if it takes us a year and a day so long as it gets us out of here. So do you know?" Sindé snapped

"I can only know where they were last time I saw them."

And Wit listened carefully as Oliver, Sindé and Fungi swapped nautical information about how many leagues to starboard and fathoms deep they would find the pair. He waved goodbye to Fungi, followed by that awkward moment when the other person waits for you to realise your faux pas, then settled on a huge grin as a parting gesture and swam up to the coracle.

He wobbled his way in, upsetting everyone as he tried not to upset the boat. It was quite squeezy but the owl politely stopped swinging the cat to give him room.

Not enough room to 'swing a cat' means a small space, though in an adult relationship 'swinging' could mean something else.

Wit picked up the torch to use as a paddle but it flared to life again at his touch. He nearly dropped it in surprise, the end falling back into the milk where it fizzled up a plume of steam. Pulling it out he saw it flare up again. He looked at Sindé who just shrugged and tilted her head to say he should keep trying as it was the only paddle they had.

Each time he dipped the torch into the milk it would fizzle and steam would twist around them like a Chinese dragon chasing its tail.

Chasing the dragon is an idiom for smoking opium.

But they seemed to be making slow progress each time he pulled it through the milk, sending little swirls behind them. Pillow even helped by dipping her paw gingerly into the milk on the other side like a cat trying to catch fish without getting her fur wet. At least it was enough to stop them spinning around, as coracles are wont to do. The steam seemed to follow them however, maybe attracted to the magic of the wand that had made it, and before long they were paddling along in a little cloud, quite unable to see the sea around them.

"Lost in a fog," chuckled Sindé to herself, "things are looking up."

Then after a few more minutes, Anul and Eclipse piped up, "We're here."

"How can you tell?" asked Oliver. "We're more of less where we were when we started."

"Ah, but now I can see Eclipse's tail in the milk," said Anul. "And such a sweet tail it is too."

"Thank you darling," said Eclipse. "Besides, the Body-clock told us its time."

Wit peered through the white fog into the white milk and saw there was now a slight reflective quality to it. He leaned out, trying to see if something was shining up through the milk.

"Get on with it," whined Pillow and she suddenly lashed out at him, deftly grabbing the torch out of his hand at the same time as knocking him headfirst back into the milk.

"You, too," hooted the owl, swiping his wing at the rats and knocking them head–over-heels after Wit.

"Mutiny!" screamed Sindé and, flapping her wings, she landed in the milk beside Wit where she conceded to let lil' Star climb up on her back after Anul and Eclipse begged her.

"Who needs a plank?" Pillow hissed. "Its quicker if you surprise them," and she picked up the torch and started paddling away.

"Wait!" called out Wit. "How will we get back?"

"Walk your way out of the land of Bounty; that's what's below you," sneered Oliver.

"Pirates!" shouted Sindé. "Is nothing beneath you?!"

In this land of opposites, if bounty is below them then nothing is beneath them.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones - if I had any," he retorted. And he swiveled his head around so he could keep staring at them as the boat was pulled out of sight by Pillow. It was soon lost from view in its little cloud of steam.

~Section 12

With only the stars blinking at him, Wit looked under the milk to see if there was anything to guide them. Immediately he realised why the milk had a slightly shiny look to it. Covering the seabed were a billion shopping bags piled high with tins of food that people had bought and forgotten to open. Piles of them formed little turrets and trenches. Suddenly little Star did an elegant dive off Sindé's back and started swimming nose first down to a deep ocean vent that was blooming clouds of skim milk up into ocean. The father rats started to swim after her calling out that she should be careful and Wit decided the only way out was down.

"You'll have to carry me," said Sindé as he looked at her. "I'm too buoyant to sink." And she perched on his shoulder and held on as he duck-dived and swam down towards the vent.

When he got close enough, Wit saw the vent was actually a huge tetra box belching out the skim milk that was no doubt bought and never opened at the back of countless cupboards. Around it, little hard-boiled Christmas candies crinkled like crabs snapping at the crumbs off the table that floated past.xv Further down in the trench, the plumes of skim milk cleared and it was easier to see the angler fish that lurked among the tins luring their husbands to bite them and gorge their puny bodies, drunk after a hard day's fishing.xvi And there swaying to the rhythm of the swell was a lank eel, beautiful in her slender way yet listless from hunger. She looked at Wit through dreamy eyes that stared out of pallid skin drawn tight over the bones of its face. She looked famished.

"Hello Way-Lean," said lil' Star, "Where's More-Ray?"

"He's gone back," answered the eel smiling. "I hope I'm not far behind."

"You mean you've found a way out of here?" asked Sindé excitedly.

"Well I didn't exactly see him go. But I know he got there because he's not here now. He left me a message, 'I'm not here, so long.' Or was it, 'I'm not here so long?'" Sindé looked a bit quizzical. "But, I'm fading away even as we speak," she said confidently though Wit thought she couldn't get any thinner than she already was.

"How? Tell us?" begged Sindé arching her neck in excitement.

"Well you've met More-Ron the whale no doubt?" she answered, "Nobody gets this far without him idiotically advertising his brand of power. Trying to eat himself to Death; it's disgusting."

"Wit stuffed him!" squeaked Eclipse proudly.

"Well done, the Late More-Ron, but there will be more taking his place later on.

'More-Ron' is a homonym with moron. 'Save something for Ron. / Who's Ron? / Later-on!,' is a colloquialism. His replacement by another greedy whale is confirmed in Chapter 4, Section 9.

There's a great company of them trying to be the fattest. I, on the other hand, am trying to starve myself to life. Surrounded by bounty, I'm refusing to even think about food."

"But no one needs to eat here," said Wit and he pulled a tin of baked beans out from between some bottled spring water and a packet of instant noodles that was masquerading as a sea sponge. He opened the tin and picked out one bean but, when he bit it, it just turned into a bubble and floated upwards, "See? Yummy-yummy. Would you like some more?" he said offering her the tin.

"Fie foe!" she wailed and snapped at his finger, slicing the end of his left ring finger open with her razor sharp brown fangs. "You know what beans means... Is that the fee you'd pay me for the bread of wisdom? Grind my bones but don't feed my mind; you ingrate!" And she slipped back into her hole to ruminate alone.

'Beans means farts,' according to The Goodies,1970s, spoof on the Heinz advertisement. ~ ~ ~ 'Fee,' 'fie,' 'foe,' 'grind my bones' and 'bread,' are all words found in the English fairytale Jack and the Beanstalk, 1800s, though the beginning of the giant's famous cry is found as early as 1603 in Shakespeare's King Lear (Act 3, Scene 4).

"I don't think I can stomach that way out," said Sindé still perched on Wit's shoulder. But he wasn't listening. He was staring at the cloud of silver blood that was streaming out of his cut finger. It bloomed in front of him like a pool of mercury and he was looking at someone who looked like him staring back out of a mirror.

"Oh my. Love a duck!" said Sindé seeing through the mirror too. "Your blood's making a window back into your own life! May I come too?"

"Of course," said Wit and they stepped through the mercuric haze into a snowy street where a man who looked half like him was waiting in a white car with skis strapped on the roof.

~ ~ ~

~Section 13

Wit didn't recognise the car as it was the one his father had sold before he could remember but he'd heard about the three child seats crammed in the back of a hatchback; just a bit too crowded. Now those baby seats weren't there and his brother and sister were standing there under a clear white sky waiting to get inside. Their dad was picking them up from their Mum's place. His sister was carrying a small black kitten that he didn't recognise but he knew it was real because his father was characteristically telling her off for not carrying it safely in a cage. Then suddenly he saw himself, two years younger, running down the steps calling out plaintively, 'Papa, don't leave me here!' and they all piled into the back seat. The car door was still open and Wit was about to slide into his own lap to get on with his life when he felt a tickling in his ear. He ignored it and moved closer to the door when he saw a duck sitting on the roof. Sindé stepped off his shoulder and walked up to the duck as if she recognised her. The tickling in his ear got stronger and he looked around and saw lil' Star's tail wiggling towards him. She was holding onto her father's paws and he was stretched out into the scene, his tail tied to Eclipse's in a love knot.xvii Eclipse was holding onto the edge of a mirror that reflected his fine features contrasted against the snow around him though behind the glass Wit could dimly see the Sea of Opportunity littered with the tins of uneaten opulence. In Eclipse's left paw he was holding onto a baked bean bubble; it was all that was keeping them afloat in the mercuric.

"You're ravishing," squeaked lil' Star.

"Um, thank you," said Wit thinking it was nice that someone else recognised how handsome he always knew he himself to be; "halfies are hot" he reminded himself as if he had momentarily forgotten.

"No, I mean you're ravishing yourself; you're so hot you're feverish; you're in a fae-mind."

"A famine?"

"No, there's no such thing as famine; only fair minds out of balance: the whale on one side making shrimps of everyone else. Look at all the food around Way-Lean: one man's food is another man's famine if he doesn't think about sharing. "But you're in a fae-mind, a dream you made in your blood by craving something. This one came from longing too hard to get home. It's like mercury in your veins; it's made you mad."

A symptom of mercury poisoning is neurological damage. Hatters used mercury in the production of felt in the 1800s and Mad Hatters disease was made famous by Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, 1865.

"But this is real."

"Really? When was the last time you saw snow? And why in Sindé canoodling with a duck?"

Wit looked around him and realised he had never even been skiing. The images bleached just a little as the car door closed. The car started to pull out of the driveway, still with Sindé and the duck arm in arm on the roof.

"Grab onto my tail and Eclipse will pull us out."

"But I want to..." yet even as he said it Wit kept his head and reached out to hold lil' Star. With the other hand he grabbed Sindé's leg though not before she had kissed the duck. They were pulled back through the pool of mercury by the chain of rats and beak-to-beak the duck was pulled through too.

"Mother of goodness, look what you've done," the rats reproached Sindé. But Sindé, thinking fast, realised this was her passage out, since it wasn't her dream. She grabbed an open pickle jar, evicted the inedible sea cucumbers that had taken up residence there and scooped up the pool of mercuric blood. As if they understood each other without even talking, the duck screwed the lid back on and tucked it under her wing.

"Let's have a look at your finger," said the duck, "I'm Dorothy by the way. We'd better get that cut tied up before you spill too much more of yourself. Do you have anything to wrap it in?" And Wit, remembering the little sock, pulled it out and stood still while Sindé and Dorothy neatly bandaged his finger.

'A friend of Dorothy,' became a euphemism for a LGBTI people after the actress Judy Garland - a gay icon - played Dorothy in the movie The Wizard of Oz, 1939.

~ ~ ~

~Section 14

"How are you going to use my fae-mind to get back to the other side?" asked Wit.

"What's fae for you is real for me if you say it is. That was your real life wasn't it?" said Sindé.

"Pretty much. Maybe a bit younger than now."

"Fine, then I could live in your dreams happily so long as it's not a nightmare. But you can't live in there, it's your own fae-mind. You will know when things aren't quite right so you'll always feel like you're in a dream, maybe one where you even imagine you woke up, only to get confused when you really do begin to wake up."

"So if my fae-mind is real for you, why don't you just live there with Dorothy?" asked Wit.

"Oh Eye Ronny, the cyclops, loves his little jokes, I spend my life travelling and finally meet my soul mate only to discover she's from the one place I've been trying to get away from. We will share our lives between both worlds so we can both enjoy a piece of home and the peace of being away from home."

'Eye Ronny," is a homonym with 'irony,' i.e. it is ironic that Sindé has fallen in love with someone in a dream inside the afterlife that she was trying to escape from. Irony is a cyclops because it is not 'Eyes Ronny.'

"Your home isn't peaceful?" asked Wit

"I thought I had binocular vision and wasn't expecting to meet someone so alike. But we both enjoy swimming and flying or walks in the park to pick up chips. I'm not going to discriminate against her just because she prefers fresh water whereas I like salt. We'll mix it up a bit; variety is the spice of life, isn't it? But peace? No, two girls wouldn't get much of that in most cities we'd like to travel to. Look at Anul and Eclipse. They wanted to get married but the turkeys always ring in the nosey pigs who wrung their necks!"

'Pick up chips,' sounds like 'pick up chicks.' (Author's tongue in cheek) ~ ~ ~ In the poem The Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lear, 1871, the marriage celebrant is a turkey using a ring from the nose of a pig. Use of the word, 'pig,' here as urbane slang for the police - who have sadly often brutally enforced anti-homosexuality laws in countries where those existed or still exist - emphasises that in some societies marriage is only acceptable between those who are different, men/women or owl/pussycat but not between those who are similar, two rats or two water fowl.

"I thought you couldn't get married in the afterlife?"

"That was before they got here of course. But one-eye Ronny always has the last laugh. They lost the chance to marry there so they grabbed the opportunity here. Personally I don't see the point in a certificate. The people who write them often know little about love but that's no reason to deny others. If Dorothy wants a paper later we'll get one here and endure the hatred there from the people who preach about love."

"Speaking of here and there, where are we going next?" asked Wit

"You could try the vent?" suggested Eclipse.

"It must go somewhere," said Anul.

"But it could choke you," cautioned lil' Star. And Wit and Sindé both looked into the belching white and shook their heads.

"Do you think it comes from the centre of the earth, like lava does over there?" asked Wit.

"Maybe," said Sindé. "Let's drop a rock in and check." And she started looking around for one from her perch on Wit's shoulder. Dorothy also searched as she was able to swim around under milk. However, everything was covered in tin cans so Wit picked up a tin of asparagus and walked back to where the milk was pouring out of its massive open tetra pack. He threw the tin into the middle and stepped back. It did not shoot back out as he feared but sank slowly, fighting to comply with gravity.

After a while the milk turned green and the tin, free of its contents, caught the updraft and sprayed out as confetti.

"Um, I think we'll give that one a miss," said Wit; Sindé and Dorothy nodded their heads.

~Section 15

"If you want to go back to Elysium, I suggest you catch a sea snail," said lil' Star.

"Eww," said Anul and Eclipse together.

"That's a sticky way to go," said Anul.

"But she's right of course," said Eclipse.

"Always," they said together and smiled at her again.

"Follow me then," said lil' Star swimming along a line of slime.

"How could a snail be a fast way to get anywhere?" Wit asked.

"It's the Fibonacci spiral.xviii Time gets compressed by 1.3 with each inward turn and before you know it you're there. The problem is getting inside, I don't think you're going to like this..." And Wit looked up to see lil' Star was waving down a snail as if it was a taxi. It slowed imperceptibly and she beckoned them to come and lie down if front of it.

"Allow me to go first," said Eclipse taking the position closest to the snail. "It looks worse than it is and it only takes half an hour to scrape the slime off afterwards." And to Wit's' horror the snail's one foot engulfed him bit by bit and sucked him inside. When it was his turn, he was temped to excuse himself and walk except that his friends were already inside and lil' Star and Anul were looking at him. The first half of the engulfing was the worst, a bit like the first half of walking into cold water is the hardest; once it passes your tummy you've passed the point of no return. Only with water you can dive in and get it over with. Here it was slow motion through every agonizing millisecond as the soft oozing foot crept slowly up his chest and neck. His body was rigid with revulsion but he was determined not to scream, that is, until it reached his chin when he let out a 'YAAHHH' of disgust before it covered his lips. Anul looked on in sympathy remembering his own first time as Wit's eyes bulged in an ,'Is this the end?!' kind of farewell. The last skin crawling sensation was the slime seeping through his hair roots; his feet and legs were already numb.

What happened next was almost pleasant by comparison. Wit felt himself soaking upwards slowly as if leaving the body he wished he had. And then gently at first he felt the speed of travel increase exponentially until he was racing through time in a spiral of green slime that was lubricating him from the friction of passing through so many photons so quickly. He just had time to be grateful that snails move so slowly on the outside or the insides would be travelling past the speed of light and he would have been obliterated, slime or no slime.

As an object's speed approaches the speed of light, the number of photons it encounters in passing increases to the point that it would be 'sunburnt' to oblivion.

The really disconcerting part was he also felt himself reducing in size exponentially until he felt little more than a pinprick in space. He counted his heartbeats on his fingers and before he had to take his shoes off, he saw a little hatchway in front of him being held open by Anul. Sindé and Dorothy were already on the other side of the shell, also in miniature. He stepped through and wondered if this was how They felt jumping around on the back of Parley.

Once everyone had passed through the hatch, they crawled like mites across the shell on the snail's back towards its massive head. Stepping onto the neck was again disgusting as Wit's feet sunk into the soft sticky flesh but he gritted his teeth and pushed on with the group. When they finally reached the eyestalks, the others spread out evenly around either one while the eyes lowered down to their minuscule height and Wit copied the others as they reached out to touch the bulbous eye. As the eyestalk rose up again, Wit felt himself rising, too. And he kept on rising back to his full height, greatly relieved that there was no permanent damage, apart from the slime that covered every inch of his body and clothes. It did indeed take half an hour to scrub it off, thrashing around in the skim milk and scraping handfuls of buttons over his face. It was almost worth it though for the look of amazement on his face when, within a few steps, he found himself walking out of the whispering surf and back onto the button beach.

~Section 16

As the small troupe walked up the beach they heard a scuttling sound and, looking around, saw the Wee Kid's hand hiding behind a rock. It was standing on its fingers like a small elephant, its long finger curled around the torch, carrying it like a log. It appeared to be watching them shyly. Sindé whistled and it crept out and followed along behind them. Walking down the beach, they met Thera just before their legs started to ache from the strain of walking on moving ground.

"I see you have brought a stray elephant home with you," it said. "You know you are going to have to feed and clean up after it."

"Be serious Thera," scolded Sindé. "You can see we're tired. Do you know where the Wee Kid is? I think it's looking for her."

"Yes, she's at the Count-Tree. Hold on everyone." And they crowded around it before leaping across Elysium again.

On alighting, the hand spotted the witch, who was now just life sized and a bit smaller than the giant hand. It rushed over to her. Dropping the torch at her feet, it grabbed her in a hug and they spun around together. Suddenly the hand broke away and stepped back warily. It pointed at her and then at the huge abacus that was in pieces on the ground under the tree. The witch had been in the process of pulling off the large abacus beans that hung off the tree like rare fruit. She was slotting them onto the bamboo bars of the cage with her one hand so she could count ever-larger profits from the Waste Earn. Four little sock P.O.W.s had been tied to the bars. The finger waggled at her reprovingly.

"What?" she said innocently but when it just waggled again she said, "What?!" more heatedly. "I earned them!" And when she put her hand on her hips defiantly, Wit could see the severed stump of her other wrist splintering against her dress. He cringed at the disfigurement he'd caused but was transfixed by the pantomime being played out before him. The giant hand had crossed its fingers and turned its back on the Wee Kid. She picked up the torch angrily and it flared back to life as she pointed it at the hand shouting, "Get over here you mangy rebel. You can't even feed yourself without me! I don't care what you think about my business methods; nobody shares the Shares. I own you! I Am Your Mother!"

'I am your mother,' is a spoof on the movie Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, 1980, where Darth Vader reveals to Luke Skywalker - after cutting off his hand \- that he is his father.

At this the pea-green hand flushed red, spun around and stalked straight back towards her. It reared up on its wrist, plucked the torch out of her other hand and flicked it into the midst of the abacus. The beads immediately started to crackle and the witch screamed and tried to fling herself on top of the fire to save the precious counters. However, the hand plucked her up by the collar and held her off the ground, her legs kicking and arms flailing uselessly. The sock bandaged around Wit's finger cried out and wriggled off. It hoped over to save its four friends from the fire. Just as it got them free, there was a huge pop and one of the beans exploded like popcorn, still on its shish kebab. Another bean popped and another at which point the witch slumped and in a smaller voice said, "Fine we give away a few beans-worth to those who turn up here clutching anything less than a flower." But the hand just shook her and lifted her a little higher. "What? If you don't want to give it away, what do you want? It's not like they know how to make More from Less like I do." This time the hand dropped her on the ground and sat on her. It reached over to the fire and stepped on a bamboo bar, splintering it under its weight. Some beans rolled off away from the fire and it flicked four of them over to Thera who clutched one under each paw. The witch looked on in horror as Thera banged two of the beans together and Wit gaped, as the four beans became 16. It banged again and the 16 became 256, turning Rare into Share. It was about to bang them into 65 thousand, when the witch screamed, "Stop, devaluing them! You'll ruin me! FINE, we lend some at low interest and see it they can compete." The giant hand didn't move but just sat there warming itself by the fire while Wit counted off five more resounding pops. At that point, the Wee Kid slumped a little deeper into the grass and muttered, "What? Are you crazy enough to lend it interest free in small amounts to the poorest of the poor?!xix Oh, Whatever! Let Me Up." But the hand still sat there, flicking beans down the bars so they could catch the flames. Thera picked up his two beans again and she stuttered out, "N-No!" holding up her hand to stay it. "Seven point five percent of profits and not a cent more!" But as Thera's paws swung down towards each other, she screamed out, "OK, OK, this is getting out of hand!. Ten percent and accountable accounting! If that's not good enough for you pirates then I'll go and dump the whole Urn in the ocean and take up basket weaving!!!"

At this the hand finally lifted its weight off her and, stretching over to the fire, smothered the flames under its thumb. It picked up the torch, turned back to the witch and tussled her hair before dropping the torch at her feet again and crouching down submissively in front of her.

"Ahhh, grr, you..." she said as she picked up the torch and, holding it between her splintered wrist and the free hand, she welded herself back together in a shower of sparks. As she did so, the life in her body and hand balanced out so that the hand shrunk down to fit her and she swelled up to fit it. In the end she was a bit fatter and looked a bit older but she sighed as if she had finally relaxed enough to stop trying to be taller all the time. She clapped her hands and rubbed them together then suddenly covered her mouth with one and an ear with the other. She screwed up her eyes and whispered, whatever you do, don't tell the owl what I've done with his share of the Earn!

"Who?" hooted a voice from up in the tree. "Who cares what you do. Whoever you invest in, I will invest in, too, so there will always be more profits for me to woo."

"It will never be fair," said Thera as they walked away. "But we must keep the balance between the Haves and the Have Noughts. Too many on one side of the scales means they can't all fit, then bits will fall off the other side like the whale did. Since one man's might is not another man's profit, it can be a bitter pill to meet them part way." At which, it leaped them over to the Dry Dock Ship Yard to drop off the rats who parted with hearty seafaring waves. Then Thera asked if they would like to see something interesting and leaped again without waiting for them to answer.

~ ~ ~

Ch. 3 Cellar Notes {skip}

i  Amazon deforestation {back}  
http://lightning.sbs.ohio-state.edu/geo622/paper_amazon_lean1989.pdf

ii Flying fish glide as well as birds {back}  
http://jeb.biologists.org/content/213/19/3269.short

iii  Blue Whale Interactive {back}  
http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/blue-whale-interactive

iv Transitional forms of whales {back}  
http://evolution.berkeley.edu/evolibrary/article/evograms_03

v Sears R, Calambokidis J (2002). Update COSEWIC status report on the blue whale Balaenoptera musculus in Canada.. Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada, Ottawa.. pp. 32. {back}

vi Why whales die from beaching {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beached_whale

vii  Blue whale {back}  
http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/blue-whale/?source=A-to-Z

viii  Visual loss in a diabetic population {back}  
http://ukpmc.ac.uk/abstract/MED/8008348/reload=0;jsessionid=HzUvBnyyWMdYExv1JZcI.4

ix Krill lifespan, page 8 {back}  
http://www.int-res.com/articles/meps/119/m119p063.pdf

x  Look what the cat dragged in {back}  
http://www.nature.com/news/parasite-makes-mice-lose-fear-of-cats-permanently-1.13777

xi Liberty enlightening the world {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Statue_of_Liberty

xii Now hold it together, mate! {back}  
http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0003706/

xiii Shark fin soup {back}  
http://www.whalesharkfest.com/pdf/economicimportance.pdf

xiv The Electric Sense of Sharks and Rays {back}  
http://jeb.biologists.org/content/55/2/371.short

xv Deep sea hydrothermal vents {back}  
http://www.whoi.edu/main/topic/hydrothermal-vents

xvi Anglerfish {back}  
http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/fish/anglerfish/

xvii  Oriental love knot {back}  
http://oldislandstamps.com/index.php?route=product/product&filter_name=love+knot&product_id=243

xviii Sea shell spirals ~ copy URL below {back}  
https://www.sciencenews.org/article/sea-shell-spirals

xix Grameen Foundation {back}  
http://www.grameenfoundation.org/

~ ~ ~

Ch. 3 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS {skip Questions}

ANSWERS / Section

1) What famous landmark does the Wee kid resemble?

The Statue of Liberty

~Sections 3 & 5

2) Why do the owl and the pussycat, Oliver and Pillow, travel on the pea-green boat?

Because Wit dropped two extra mealworm 'tickets' into the Waste-Urn

~Sections 2 & 8

3) How far and how fast can a flying fish fly?

Up to 400m at 70km/h

~Section 6

4) Where do the fleas go for a rest?

The Alsatian Fur section

~Section 10

5) How does More-Ron the whale kill time?

By sucking the waiting time from other people so he can pass through time quicker

~Section 8

6) Why does the Wee Kid's hand break off?

Because Wit is pulling back on her finger at the same time as More-Ron is sucking her down in a whirlpool

~Section 9

7) Why do some fishermen cut off sharks' fins?

To make shark fin soup

~Section 4

8) What is a sea cucumber?

They are part of a group of sea creatures including starfish and sea urchins, called echinoderms because of their spiny skin

~Research

9) Does the Fibonacci spiral match the spiral of a nautilus shell?

No, the nautilus is smaller

Section 15 vs. Note xviii; Paragraphs 8-9

10) How tall was the Wee Kid after the whaled sucked up her time?

As tall as a normal person, bit smaller than her hand that had been broken off beforehand

~Section 16

11) Which part of the sea snail made them grow tall again?

The eye stalks, when they rose up so did the travellers

~Section 15

12) Why did the hand set fire to the abacus?

It wanted to stop the Wee Kid from making money from hurting people

~Section 16

13) Why did Thera multiply the beans from the abacus?

Because the more beans there are, the less value each one has - then other people could afford to do business in competition with the Wee Kid

~Section 16

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

14) Compare the size of a blue whale to the Statue of Liberty?

A blue whale is 30m; the Statue of Liberty is 46m

~Note iii & Note xi

15) How many T. Rex weight the same as a blue whale?

Thirty

~Note iii; Weight

16) What does a male anglerfish look like?

It looks like a parasite stuck to the side of the female

~Note xvi; Paragraph 4

17) How far down to krill live?

From 150m to 200m deep where blue whales feed

~Note iii; Behaviour

18) What parasite makes rats lose their fear of cats? Is it permanent?

Toxoplasma gondii; Yes

~Note x; Paragraphs 1-2

19) Does water boil at 400 OC near a deep-sea vent? Why _?_

No, the extreme pressure stops vapourisation

~Note xv; Paragraph 2

20) How do sharks find hidden fish?

They have electronic sensors that can detect the fishes' bioelectrical activity

~Note xiv; Paragraphs 6-7

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

21) Anul and Eclipse's relationship as well as Sindé and Dorothy's are homosexual in nature but are regarded as conventional by the other characters. Compare and contrast the author's treatment of this topic with another novel of your choosing.

~Multiple sections

22) The Wee Kid is an allegory about Capitalism. Yet part of her body, her hand, has a different view on how to manage the economy. Compare and contrast different views about whether a strong economy will improve society or if a healthy society will improve the economy. How does the Wee Kid resolve this dilemma?

~Section 16

SAMPLE WORKSHEET as text to copy and paste

### Parley After Life

D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes ~ by Robby Miller

Copyright © 2015 by Robert Miller: Worksheets may be reprinted for educational purposes

### Ch. 3 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS

a) What famous landmark does the Wee kid resemble?

b) Why do the owl and the pussycat, Oliver and Pillow, travel on the pea-green boat?

c) How far and how fast can a flying fish fly?

d) Where do the fleas go for a rest?

e) How does More-Ron the whale kill time?

f) Why do some fishermen cut off sharks' fins?

g) Does the Fibonacci spiral match the spiral of a nautilus shell?

h) Which part of the sea snail made them grow tall again?

i) Why did the hand set fire to the abacus?

j) Why did Thera multiply the beans from the abacus?

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

k) Compare the size of a blue whale to the Statue of Liberty?

l) What does a male anglerfish look like?

m) How far down to krill live?

n) What parasite makes rats lose their fear of cats? Is it permanent?

o) Does water boil at 400 OC near a deep-sea vent? Why _?_

DISCUSSION QUESTION

p) Anul and Eclipse's relationship as well as Sindé and Dorothy's are homosexual in nature but are regarded as conventional by the other characters. Compare and contrast the author's treatment of this topic with another novel of your choosing.

POINTERS

a) Sections 3 & 5; b) Sections 2 & 8; c) Section 6; d) Section 10; e) Section 8;

f) Section 4; g) Section 15 vs. Note xviii; Paragraphs 8-9; h) Section 15;

i) Section 16; j) Section 16

k) Note iii & Note xi; l) Note xvi; Paragraph 4;

m) Note iii; Behaviour; n) Note x; Paragraphs 1-2; o) Note xv; Paragraph 2

p) Multiple sections

### Chapter 4 ~ Conquer

~Section 1

Wit looked around and couldn't see anything much. He did have a vague sensation of moving forward but mostly it was quite dark except for a circle of light high above.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Inside the Waste Urn," replied Thera. "Since you've met Dare and Care; War and Piece; and Whale-Lean, it's time I introduced you to the power behind the throne. Welcome to the world of the Term-Mights. You're standing on them by the way."

Wit looked down and realized why he felt he was moving. Around his feet crawled two million termites all busy about their work including the hundred thousand whose job it was to transport him underground.i He looked up nervously at Thera.

"I thought you said it wasn't safe to go under the Elysian Fields; something about, 'fools show we're all cats in the head,' he said.

Second corruption of 'Fools go where cats fear to tread,' i.e. we are all curious / risk takers to some extent. See also Chapter 2, Section 14 and below. This phrase is repeated by to Wit in Chapter 5 Section 7.

"I'm glad you remembered something," said Thera, "but you don't need to worry here. The difference is you are burrowing deeper into Elysium, not peering around the edge. Tread too near angle's Mare goes food. She's a dark horse who'd eat you alive. Term-Mights on the other hand wouldn't bite you if you were not wood."

'Tread too near angle's Mare goes food,' is the third corruption of 'Fools go where cats fear to tread,' except that this version is also in reverse order in keeping with the theme that everything is backwards and inside out. It also plays with the idea that a fool / risk taker will feed the nightmare of grief. I.e. even the curious cats / angels have a nightmare - to lose a loved one or themselves through risk taking. See also Chapter 2, Section 14 and above.

"Um, it's termites," corrected Wit.

"Not in a democracy," re-corrected Thera. "They are the power behind the throne balanced around you but they are only here for a term; they might or might not achieve anything in that time depending on the poles."

"You mean polls?" Wit asked hesitantly.

"No, the Beast Pole or the Waste Pole. You've come in through the Waste because the Fun rises in the Beast.

'You've come in through the Waste because the Fun rises in the Beast,' sounds like, ' ...through the West because the sun rises in the East.

To put it another way, people are losing power all the time, it turns them into beasts; others are wasting power all the time, lights left on in closed rooms must illuminate something. So, like either end of a magnet, both powers parley here and it energises the Term-Mights to produce something that either power alone couldn't achieve by itself: cooperation."

"But I heard that bees and ants cooperate over there," said Wit.

The following story is reminiscent of the Biblical story of the Three Wise Men from the East who came bearing gifts.

"Yes, and I'm sure you know the story about how the three wise women of the Waste saw a scar in the Fun so they travelled to the beasts and said, 'You social creatures, what gifts could you share with us?

'You social,' is a homonym for 'eusocial,' which describes those insects like ants, bees and termites that live in a cooperative group.

And the ants gave them Bold, the bees gave them Sense and the Term-Mights gave them Mercy. Then the three wise women travelled back to the Waste and came before the Queen but as they unwrapped the gifts, her husband grabbed the Sense and boldly made himself king. But he was too focused on his new power and didn't wait for the wise women's Mercy and so began the conquest of men over women, man over beasts, dominion over the earth, rat races over your social creatures etc., etc., etc. No one can have both sense and power when they are boldly climbing the pole from Beast to Waste though some at least still say, 'Merci,' en route."

"I thought money was the route of all power?" said Wit, amazed that he was following all this.

'Bold,' symbolises power; 'Sense,' symbolises knowledge; 'Mercy,' symbolises compassion. ~ ~ ~ 'Money is the route of all power,' is a corruption of the Bible verse, 'Love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.' (1 Tim 6:10).

"Indeed, but every route has two gutters, Money on one side and, thankfully, Mercy on the other; otherwise we would be rooted in evil lives."

"Um, Thera," piped up Sindé. "If you don't mind, I might skip this part of the tour. I once paid Oliver to lead me through the dark to find a way out of here but it was just a bottomless pit. Are you sure you want to go further into this Wit?"

"Seems like I'll be here for a while and getting back there at the right time is a bit random so I might as well learn something for the term that I'm here," Wit pondered.

"Well in that case, Dorothy and I will be a bit antisocial and pop out through your fae-mind. She would like me to see Anne and Terry, a couple of soldiers who have been watching out for her for years."

'Anne and Terry,' sounds like Xian and terracotta soldiers. See Chapter 5 Section 12.

"OK," said Wit, careful not to show he might be lonely.

"Thanks, but if you get in a pickle, just open the jar and sprinkle some sand in. When the sandman dreams it to us, we'll be there for you." And with that, Dorothy unsealed the tin.

"Be careful not to gaze too long into your own imagination Wit," cautioned Thera.

And the two birds stepped through the opening into a world that was real for them and where Sindé could, at last, get a decent feed of chips. Thera sealed them in and Wit put the jar carefully in his pocket, unsure if they would feel it if it was bumped around.

~Section 2

"Stand up straight," said Thera, "we're nearly there," though Wit couldn't see where there was. He could still feet the soles of his feel crawling as a million souls carried him down and finally the air seemed to lighten fractionally by the glow of a firefly at one end of a hall and the fire of a glowworm at the other. In the middle was a miniature love seat set like a throne on a dais and sitting regally in it were the Term-Might King and Queen.

Realizing that his towering height was insignificant in this royal court, Wit whispered to Thera, "Am I supposed to bow?" afraid that if he moved he would crush the throng around them.

"No, but you'd better listen through that straw," it replied, pointing to a thin piece of wood that the Term-Mights were holding up to his knee. It had a hollow clay pipe running up one side, which acted like a speaking tube.ii By crouching down and holding it towards the throne, Wit could hear tiny drums beating messages backwards and forwards between the Queen, King and courtiers.

"What are they saying?" he asked.

"Shhhh," hushed Thera, "just watch." And so Wit tried to work out what was going on just by observing the context and hand gestures as if he was in a foreign country. After a while he was able to distinguish between the drumming noises of the King and the tapping noises of the Queen. The throbbing noises of the courtiers was harder to distinguish as there were so many different tempos but he could at least tell when it was the court 'talking' or the royal couple responding.

"Have you worked it out yet?" asked Thera

"Um, I've no idea what they're saying but the Queen certainly has a lot to say about it; she's not just sitting passively beside the throne."

"Try to see the pattern," hinted Thera and they lapsed into silence again as Wit strained his eyes to see what was going on around them.

Casting his eyes wider, Wit noticed the Term-Mights were swirling around in a huge figure eight with the throne in the middle. The formation was elongated towards the firefly and glowworm at either end making them look like iron filings around a magnet. Messages started being tapped at one end of the chamber or the other and would vibrate their way through the crowd until they reached either side of the centre. There would be a great flurry of drumming and tapping between the King and Queen and then the response would radiate out simultaneously to both poles and be carried out of the hall towards the workers in the Would mines. Interwoven through all of this was a dance of miners bringing in processed food for the King and Queen and nurses carrying out minors who were being born every two seconds.iii Though there was jostling, there was no shoving. Wit also noticed that the Queen was not the only one producing babies and that the other children were carried off to the nurseries with as much care as the royal children.

'Would mines,' is further explained at the end of Section 3 with the tongue twister, 'How much wood would a wood mite bite of a wood mite would bite wood."

~Section 3

"Hang on," exclaimed Wit in a whisper, "I thought there was only a Queen in these places. What is the King doing there?"

"Good question," encouraged Thera. "Anything else peculiar?"

"Yes, I thought only the Queen laid eggs but here there are other children besides hers."

"Correct. The Term-Mights are the most cooperative of your social creatures. They do not try to control power by killing any other Queens like the hazmat stripediv bees do or by chemical warfare against their sisters to keep them working.v Nor do the male and female compete like the fire ants do who try to conquer each other even in the egg."vi

"And the power behind the throne is?..." asked Wit.

"You've heard of the Tunnel of Babel?vii Together they are as intelligent as you.viii A million Term-Mights have a billion brain cells like you do.ix But the energy of so many cooperating, at the centre of the poles between Beast and Waste, makes greater power than you alone who rarely cooperate with anyone and sometimes not even with yourself. It's like two billion people in contact over on the Internet;x their combined knowledge is greater than the sum of its parts enabling them to pull down conquering tyrants."xi

"That's not what I was expecting when you said this would be interesting."

"I said interesting, not exciting; but it is exceedingly rare and valuable."

"How is it valuable to me if I can't control it or exchange it for something I want?"

"What do you want Wit?"

"I want to go home! Is that too much to ask?"

"I don't know; let's ask," said Thera in a deadpan voice that didn't betray if it was serious, sanguine or seditious. It started to click its claws together in tiny staccato beats. "Oh dear, I'm a bit rusty at this. It's been a while since I've shown anyone around who asks quite as many questions as you." But Wit was transfixed; the beat of Thera's clicks had been taken up by the courtiers and was being passed through the crowd. Wit realized something else. The courtiers were adding to the original message, not changing it but contributing to the information so that by the time it reached the Queen and King it was almost a whole song. A flurry of drumming and tapping erupted from the throne and finally a single pitter-patter of little feet swelled out through the crowd around and reached Thera's ears.

"Oh dear," it said. "I wouldn't have guessed that would be the answer."

"What?!" asked Wit excitedly, hoping this was finally a clue to his departure.

"'How much wood would a wood mite bite of a wood mite would bite wood?' Or to put it another way, 'Might a wood mite not bite wood if wood mightn't bite a mite?'"

'How much wood would a wood mite bite of a wood mite would bite wood,' is an adaptation of the tongue twister, 'How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.'

"What?!" asked Wit bamboozled.

"I'm sorry but the only way out of that conundrum is down," said Thera. "I would that wood only went up but the root of the problem goes down and so must your route; alone." Wit gulped. "Don't worry, if she eats you alive, Parley will bring you back," said Thera reassuringly. "She can go anywhere." But Wit wasn't at all sure this was at all reassuring.

And so Wit, without moving a muscle, inched away from Thera on the back of a hundred thousand footmen. Slowly he sunk down an invisible slope and, as his eyes dipped below Thera's knees, he thought he heard an owl hoothoot, "Twenty-two to one that he doesn't make it. Place your bets before he sinks; quickly, quickly, he's going down." But that was all he heard because, along with the thickening blackness, came deafening silence.

'Hoothoot' is a Pokémon character.

~Section 4

Wit's ears began to prickle at every imagined sound but he learned to calm his nerves so much that the first time he heard the clink of a chain he didn't even hear it. The second time he dismissed it. The third time it was accompanied by a low moaning sound and when he turned his head he didn't see a veiled figure flitting out of view. Where he was now looking was as void as the pupils inside his eyes. Yet on the outsides of his vision he saw more wisps as people floated in and out of view, disappearing as they came in front of him. He turned his head from side to side trying to catch sight of these apparitions, wondering if this was her first attack but he saw nothing head-on and so became more and more alarmed by the clanking chains and sighs. He nearly stepped off his platform of footmen except he remembered they were the only ones who knew where he was going.

"Close your eyes so you can see us," whispered a voice in his ear.

"See who?" he called out. But another voice just repeated,

"You can see us if you close your eyes."

"Who are you?!" he called out again, trying to sound tougher. A third voice piped up, still whispered but more jarring,

"Oh come on kid, shut your blinkers. You're not afraid of ghosts are you?"

"How can you be ghosts?" scoffed Wit. "You're on the wrong side! We are all ghosts here so nobody is, really." And he scrunched his eyes shut and flung up his arms in case there was an attack from his blind side because, even though he had to prove he was not afraid of anything, he'd had enough bad falls to be wary.

'The 'hanging rock,' in the following description is reminiscent of the novel by Joan Lindsay, Picnic at Hanging Rock, 1967, and movie of the same name, 1975, in which two girls and a teacher go missing and are never found - an experience that the author can only imagine is even worse for a parent than being told that their child has died.

Above him and around him were dozens and dozens of bodies floating like helium balloons around a hanging rock at the roof of the cavern he was still inching his way through. One of the bodies was sitting cross-legged, upside-down to Wit, on the underside of the rock. The floor below him was invisible in the dark but each person above emitted an eerie glow of hope though shackled in place by a thick chain that plunged down into the blackness below him as if there was no ground to either side of his feet. The chains clinked mournfully as they wafted. Wit looked around with his eyes tight shut and saw they were mostly younger people, some barely children clutching lollipops that were stranger than those he'd ever been given. Others were a bit older, apparently travellers; still clutching the machete they had been blazing a trail with. The man wearing pilot's goggles sitting on the underside of the rock stood up, pulled his chain to the side and floated off to allow a young sailor to squat upside-down on it taking the weight off his chain. Seeing one boy about his own age who was holding nothing more dangerous than a car key, Wit pulled on his chain and lowered him down to talk.

"What are all of you?"

"Dead of course," replied the boy eyeing him up and down, "Aren't you?"

"Well I don't plan to be much longer. I'm going to find my way out of here."

"Huh! Good luck with that!" retorted the boy. "Each of us is off to the Files as soon as our chain breaks. It's no picnic being stuck here."

"Would you like me to try to break it? So you can come back with me - or wherever?" asked Wit, not quite sure how he could make good on that offer.

"You wouldn't have a hope," snorted the boy. "This chain was forged in my mother's determination not to let me go. He pointed up at an innocent little girl and said, "Hers was forged by her father's disbelief that this could ever have happened on their holiday. We all died without our loved ones knowing if we are dead or not. Chained to the Mis-steps, we're waiting until we can go to rest in Alyssum. It will be my turn to take a rest on the hanging rock soon. It gets you down having this chain pulling your leg all the time."

"Come on, come with me then!" said Wit.

"What? back there! There's a catch - I've been dead for 22 years! Do you think they would even believe it was me?! I should be 37 by now. Nobody knows I'm buried in rubble at the bottom of a gorge. They didn't even know I knew how to hot wire a car because I was careful not to tell them what I talked about with my mates."

"Oh," said Wit, realizing the dilemma. "So what's keeping you here? Apart from these chains?" Wit had to tug on the chain a little tighter as his feet had moved a little further away along the path."

"Love. What else binds them all? We're caught between a crock and a dark place. She won't let us back and they won't let us go. But you can't blame them. Faith, hope and love are the same thing in a parent. They love us till we die whatever happens, right?"

Multiple stories have claimed that love is the greatest magic of all, e.g. Harry Potter or Narnia, asserting it greater than Tolkien's, 'One ring to bind them all.' The trio of faith, hope and love is adapted from the Bible verse 1 Cor 13:13.

"Right," hesitated Wit.

"So they hope we are still alive and they have faith that if they keep waiting we will come back, or the police will find us. But faith is in a crock, our heads, and there are some things that faith just can't do. They have to hope we're alive but it can't make it true but they have to keep believing because they love us; a Catch 22."

_'Catch_ - _22'_ is a satirical novel by Joseph Heller, 1961, in which an individual cannot escape a paradox because of contradictory requirements.

"But then they bind you here because they love you?" asked Wit.

"It's not my mum's fault!" said the boy getting defensive. "She can't stop loving me, she's my mother; see. So she'll never stop looking for me even when her eyes are closed because my image is burned inside her eyelids - tattooed there by the tears she's wept for me. Where there's hope there's life - for her - or she'd die of a broken heart. She's chained, too, by the curse of the hollow men." Wit raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Men with no heart. They snuff out other people's hearts without caring and then they don't even have the guts to tell someone they killed us so our loved ones could grieve," he shouted but then crumpled into himself and swallowed his tears. "Only for me, I was the hollow heart who didn't tell them where I was going and was gone before I could tell them where I was! That's why we sit on the rock up there. For our loved ones, when we die or disappear without trace, their whole world collapses around them and they feel rooted to the place where it all went so wrong - like they are standing on a rock floating over an abyss. It doesn't get better over time, they just learn to sit down so they don't trip and fall into the void. Only, down here, we know what happened to us, nothing holds us down any more except the fact that we can't move on. So we float endlessly and can only take a rest by sitting under their abysmal reality..." The boy stared around him vacantly until Wit was embarrassed to hold onto his chain any longer and slowly released it so that he drifted back up beside the small girl. She vainly tried to comfort him with her lollipop as it had once comforted her after the man took her away from her school picnic 45 years before. For all the boy's angst, Wit could see there was nothing he could do to help. None of the ghosts had dimmed so much as a flicker. The hope and chain that kept them floating in the dark was between them and their parents and no one could come between.

Wit opened his eyes and the apparitions again flitted only at the corners of his mind, instead of in his face, and he travelled on in silence, too, still without moving his feet, brooding over the boy's words and wondering if the greater horror was to be stuck here or to be family stuck back there not knowing where he had gone. For all that he still couldn't understand why they wanted to go into the Files. Finally, with a judder, he stopped short and heard a clicking cry, "Last one out's a peanut butter sandwich!" and he felt himself drop two millimetres as the Term-Mights scampered out of the way. Their footsteps clicked hurriedly back into the distance. Feeling like there was no point standing still waiting to go dotty, Wit slid his feet forward to test each step and little by little edged further into the night's mire.

~Section 5

After a while he started to see things ahead. He was not sure if it was a trick of his eyes that had been wide open seeing nothing for so long. His eyelids ached and felt dry but the eyes themselves felt quite relaxed having not seen a garish colour or pedantic pattern for hours. What he did see now however was impossible to interpret though he did feel he could get used to it. Everything was in negative. All the colours of the world were inverted and every shade was there but going from light to dark instead of dark to light. Shadows were lighter, the sky was grey and there were pinpricks in it; black stars twinkling around the dark side of the moon which was brightly visible at last. Beside it the usual craters shone brightly on a black background. Wit's brain could only take in one anomaly at a time and it took him a second to realize all this was below his feet and somewhere above his head a vast plain of grass spread to the horizons though it, too, was in negative and each blade of grass was a dark rustic grey with a white shadow behind it. One thing looked familiar - a set of steps spiraled gently out of the grass above down into the abyss of the black stars below. It gave him a sense of place for he was sure this must be the other half of the Taught-us, the lost steps of wisdom learned from mistakes. Only now they were in their true colour, black, for wisdom about what's bad can also be learned from mistakenly doing something better than an evil mind had intended. Shaded by whites and greys the steps still held wisdom in what not to do but Wit was sure it would be a good idea to stay away from the dark-side of the Taught-us as he did not want to know too much about the bad things people had done. Unfortunately his intentions, like his eyes, were also inverted because the slope he was walking down did not take him up to the reddish grass but was sloping more and more towards the lower tip of the spiral steps. It was becoming steeper and steeper until Wit nearly lost his footing and had to sit down and slide on his bottom. Eventually even the added friction of his pants gave way and he started to slide on his back down and around the Taught-us in a counter clockwise corkscrew that deposited him at the last step.

Wit hesitated. It seemed the only way up to the grass was via the steps yet he had serious misgivings about trusting the Taught-us. Even as he paused, another three steps were added to the bottom of the staircase by people who had lost their step over there but who had learned to do worse things than before from the experience. Wit's invisible slope also dropped down a bit further to match the new lower level and he remembered this was an endless staircase, for 'of making mistakes there is no end' and the study of it would weary his legs if he waited longer.xii It made sense to boldly jump on now and start climbing to the merciful sanity of the grass above before it got even lower. And so he looked before he leapt, hoping he would not lose his head learning about the evil others had done.

~Section 6

Climbing the steps was not as bad as he had dreaded. At least the Taught-us did not read his mind and so stayed silent. Maybe it couldn't since his mind was not inverted; he was just a tourist in this universe of negatives. Progress, he realized, was better seen but not heard. He could however hear the sad clink of chains when he passed a step that had the thick iron links shackled to its side; chains that soared off into the vault around and seemed to hold the very stars in place. Concentrating on his path, he was pleasantly surprised to find that his legs didn't ache; pain it seemed did not make it here since the people who could afford pain killers were a tiny minority and so the vast bulk of pain was never lost over there.

_America has 5% of the world's population but consumes 80% of painkillers. Extrapolate that to the rest of the developed nations where 10% of the world's population owns 85% of global wealth and it is quickly apparent that about 90% of all pain is suffered without medical help. Though we pride ourselves on no longer living in medieval times, basic scientific breakthroughs have yet to reach the vast majority of humans. Or in other worlds only 10% of the world, e.g. those that can access an ePub reader, is no longer 'Medieval' with respect to pain and suffering._

What he did discover was that so many of the steps were repeated and repeated. Each lesson he climbed shone on him from its shadows and he got a passing glimpse of the mistake that had formed it: So many people making the same mistakes over and over. If only they would learn from each other's errors they would become geniuses but instead each person was determined to do it their own way and learn from their own mistakes. Maybe that's the only way they can remember the lessons, wondered Wit. After a while, he realized it was not essential to study each mistake in detail and started walking upwards two steps at a time. Soon even this became boring and he started to run and finally to sprint. Keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him and not looking at his feet, Wit found he could gallop through the ages, something he was very grateful for when he passed through certain periods of history when everyone seemed to be committing one atrocity after another and learning from each how to do worse the next time. He would stumble into these periods suddenly as he was travelling backwards through time and each era of evil seemed to come to a sudden end as empires collapsed under the weight of their own self revulsion and people reverted to normal human kindness in rebellion against tyrannical rulers.xiii The first such sustained period he ran into was the fall of empires in the Middle East, then through the fall of communism and before that the fall of the Nazis. On and on the pattern went, periods of mundane mistakes repeating their neighbours' mistakes interspersed by bursts of steps that were so black that in negative they blinded him. Wit wondered if the inability to learn from others' common mistakes was why people didn't realize sooner when they were entering a time of atrocious mistakes. They were so busy losing their step and learning from that experience that they didn't step back to look at the wider picture. One mistake he did notice again and again was all the times people ignored those few individuals who did warn those around them of an emerging pattern of corruption, nepotism and cruelty that seemed to typify the start of tyrannical control.

Wit then sped backward through ancient history and was horrified by man's inhumanity to man. The unspeakable cruelty seemed alien to him and yet resonated with what people had done to others in more recent times. Finally he saw the grass approaching above him and he got to the last step more quickly than he had feared when he first set out. Curiously, the last step showed him a man killing his brother. Wit winced; life seemed more precious than ever to him since he'd met Parley. He moved on, reaching out to touch the grass ceiling but his hand went straight through it. He felt the steps continuing on the other side and realized this must not be the real end. Where, for example, was the lesson about not eating from the tree of good and evil? Or was that lesson on the other side of the Taught-us, since learning about what was good and bad had surely been a good thing? Wit poked his head through the grass hoping he would come out in Elysium but instead he just saw more and more negative steps going an infinitely longer way back in time. The lesson about the tree was not on this side of the Taught-us and it was also definitely not the beginning of the lessons. Wit could see 100 thousand years of people learning from lost steps in front of him and he realized that this must be the nightmare that everyone warned him would eat him alive: seeing his own insignificance in history. He wondered if this was why one of the mistakes of history had been to build a false beginning, a fake grass field a mere six thousand or so years back to give people a false sense of importance. Maybe when it was first built it was closer and more believable but now it was already so far away people were losing touch with it and it no longer gave them a sense of place in the universe. Maybe knowing just how insignificant they were would have been a better place to learn from rather than a false and fading sense of importance.

_The reference to a 6,000-year-old history for mankind relates to the Judeo-Christian-Islamic notion of Adam and Eve. If true, then the indigenous inhabitants of Australia, a civilization dating back 60,000 or more years, could not be regarded as Adam and Eve's descendants. The only logical conclusion is that they are either not human (obviously DNA compatibility discounts such an absurd idea) or the original 'Adam and Eve' are much much older, predating the concept of a single deity by 100,000 years or more. For martyrs who have died trying to restore humanity to Edenic perfection, though fully believing the information available to them at the time, have sadly died without the information now available through verified and re-verified scientific investigation of pre-history._

Wit decided to try to rely on his insignificance to give himself a place in the universe. He leapt into the centre of the spiral and hoped that, having no place of his own, he could be any place. He reasoned that if he was as pointless as a dot in time then he was immeasurably small. Eternity might be infinite but that only made her immeasurable, like a point. And he had finally gotten the point \- immeasurably large just meant unmeasurable. With no dimensions he too could be anywhere she was. Maybe this was how Thera shimmered from place to place; knowing it had no point allowed it to be at any point. Fortunately Wit didn't obliterate at the thought but within 300 millionth of a secondxiv had travelled back through 100,000 years of human history, not counting the six-million-year dawn of self-awareness, creativity and humane behaviour preceding that, and so he landed head first on the real underside of the Elysian Fields.

Wit's coming to terms with his own insignificance concludes the discussion about the point of eternity started in Chapter 1, Section 5.

~Section 7

On reaching the negatively russet grass roof with its white shadows, Wit clung onto the tufts and pulled himself hand over hand, hanging down like a monkey. Fortunately he didn't weigh much or he might have been afraid of falling into the void below. Looking around he saw huge mushrooms as big as trees growing down from the ceiling; small birdies flitted between them. They were flying upside down and looked at him quizzically. Wit realized he would appear to be standing on his hands in a field if the grass was beneath him and gravity beneath that.

"Hello," said a white unicorn stepping out from behind a green-topped mushroom in front of him. She was standing upside down on the grass; though right way up from the unicorn's perspective. "I'm not as scary as you think." But he couldn't hear a world, as with the Taught-us, it seemed he couldn't hear in this inverted world. He held on tightly to the grass and watched as she mouthed, "I see, your eyes are inverted but your ears are not converted." And before he could flinch, she bent her head towards the grass but instead of eating, planted a rubbery horse-lipped kiss on the side of his head. He could feel the teeth against his ear and a wind whistling through them into and around his head making him squint. He could also feel the wind blowing out the other ear, much to his annoyance, as it confirmed what his mother had always said about him. However, he found he was now sitting right way up on the grassy plane as the world had spun round and up was now down. Stars twinkled blackly above him.

"Hello, I'm the Night Mayor as I guess you've guessed but I'm not as scary as you imagine. You'll soon understand that I'm just your fae-minds played backwards to help you sort them out." Wit wasn't yet sure if she wasn't scary as he noticed she had horses' legs, hooves and head but the body and tail of a panther - arched like a cat, albeit an albino, being in negative view. "If you left Them to do all the sorting out in Alyssum, you'd be insane before you got there. So I kind of point out your fears, get you to face them and nudge you onwards. So what's your name?"

'Arched like a cat,' if cats are the 'angels' then 'arched cat' implies archangel. See Chapter 5 Section 7.

"They call me Wit; I don't know my name. I think it hasn't been forgotten yet." And he nudged a tear out of the corner of his eye in case she saw his fear.

"Are you here too early?" she asked

"Yes, I didn't think anything could go wrong."

"Fearless?"

"Totally!"

"And now?"

"I'm not afraid!"

"Even of Parley?"

"Of anyone or anything!!"

"Of yourself?"

"I can look after myself."

"And yet you're here."

"I just want to go home!!"

"But you can't because you are in Night Mayor's territory."

"I'm not afraid of you!"

"Cats fear Parley."

"Parley can go to hell!"

"He will if you die here," she mused. Wit blinked. "Even Famine hardly ever visits; like most horses, I feel forgotten. But I think you will find a way out when you accept you can't go home; ever. Sorry." And they lapsed into silence while Wit thought of ways not to accept what he didn't want to agree with.

'Parley can go to hell... if you die here,' is clue that this territory is the waiting place for those who have died with evil in their hearts. I.e. the area surrounding the miss-steps: lessons learned from bad behaviour that gave further insight into how to misbehave. ~ ~ ~ Horses, like boats, are often bought by those with disposable assets - albeit with the intention of regular use - but are too often neglected.

"I'll get out of here; just you watch," he bluffed.

"Sounds like hot air to me, you'd better see someone about that." And she suddenly reared up and charged at him. She knocked him to the ground and stood on his gut, winding him. A large bubble of hot air wheezed out of him and hung in the air turning. Wit staggered to his feet and looked at the bubble; being clear, it looked like a bubble even in negative. It juddered and turned to face him; it had a face.

"The Bubble says: Do to others what they did to you," it said wobbling angrily in the Night Mayor's direction.

Wit looked at the Mayor who lowered her horn just a fraction. He decided this was not good advice.

"Just ignore it," she advised. "Better out than in, I always say. But now that it's here we will have to burst it, humanely. Could you please put one hand into the platitude and grab it by the pompous. When you're ready, use your other hand to grab the point." And she lowered her horn in a friendlier manner. It glowed like a night traffic-director's baton.

Wit, disarmed by her civility, did as he was told. He pushed his fingers through the sticky bubble and found the hard part in the middle that gave it self-importance.

"The Bubble says: If a monkey holds a nut in a jar, it will not let go until it is captured," it popped warningly.

Wit glanced anxiously at the Mayor but she smiled.

"Just ignore it. Hold on." And as soon as Wit touched her horn the world around him went white in negative and he shielded his eyes from the brightness of it.

~Section 8

When Wit looked out from behind his arm, everything had changed. They were surrounded by barely dressed but pregnant dancing girls and longhaired musicians, that were playing repetitive music on instruments carved from musical fruit; sweet potatoes. The girls were feeding spoonfuls of sweet potato, seasoned with baked beans, into the mouths of straightjacketed eunuchs. He assumed they were eunuchs from their size.xv As big as cows, they grazed without ruminating. The air around their other end was filled with bubbles and robed men with heads shaved out of respect to the Bubble were netting them in flimsy veils that he presumed had been borrowed from the dancers. Resting on a mound in the middle of the ceremony was an enormous bubble; its fat face gazed at him languidly and winked at the bubble around his hand. A man with a shaven head rushed up to it and pressed his netful of bubbles against its side where they were absorbed into the flobulating globe.

"The Bubble says: Feed the Bubble and It will make you full." And the hot air in his hand vibrated in anticipation of losing itself in the Great Bubble of Bubbles. The Mayor nudged Wit forward with her horn and he approached respectfully holding his bubble before him. As they came closer, the fat face smiled beneficently at Wit and pursed its lips into a kiss that stretched out to meet his bubble's throbbing excitement. The two bubbles fused and Wit was tugged forward, only remembering to let go of the pompous just before he was sucked in, too. He staggered backwards and shook his head. The fat face turned to look dispassionately at another shaved head that was rushing up with more bubbles.

"What, not even a thank you?" grumbled Wit as he turned back to the Mayor. A dancing girl with a black eye slapped his face for his impertinence and hissed,

"The Bubble says: He who feasts with the King should cut his own throat."

This platitude is a corruption of the Bible verse, 'When you dine with a ruler... put a knife to your throat if you are gluttonous.' (Prov 23:1-3)

Suddenly there was a deep glubbing noise, like bubbles under water.

"Boo! Ha!" belched the Bubble smiling deliriously.

"Duh," thought Wit.

"Do not strike the simpleton who damns the never ending Instruction for he will be dammed by never ending happiness." And it laughed at its own joke, its D-cup breasts juggling in sycophantic agreement.

'Damn,' meaning curse is a homonym for 'dam,' meaning to hold back something liquid - I.e. if you curse religious instruction you will fine happiness stops from progressing (in the religion).

"THE BUBBLE HAS SPOKEN!" chanted everyone around them as they bowed to the ground, eunuchs emitting a stream of bubbles from both ends in their excitement at this bum steer. Musicians hastily wrote conflicting versions of the platitude into song.

"His Omenence saw me," squealed the dancer who had struck Wit. However, the exertion of anger followed by an endorphin-fueled exhilaration seemed to trigger something inside her and she gasped, cried out and bent double. When she stood up, she was cradling an infant with a baby's body and a bubble instead of a head. Wit could not tell whether the father was one of the priests or the Bubble himself but he could see it would grow up in the ways of the acolytes around it. Still, he hoped it might grow a brain for itself and burst the bubble its parents had put around its head. Its mother discreetly hid it behind a veil as she fed it, chewing a baked bean for it in her mouth and squeezing the juice into her baby's bubble. When she had finished, she gently patted it on the back until it burped into its own head, swelling it slightly. It also emitted its first little bubble from the other end and she devotedly took this to a priest kneeling as she presented her child and the small bubble. He added the bubble to his netful to be offered to the Bubble later.

While they were distracted, the Mayor nuzzled Wit who, resting his hand on her horn, was transported away from the distracted throng before they strapped him into a straight jacket and turned him into a eunuch too.

~Section 9

A safe distance away and behind a row of black polka dotted mushrooms, Wit asked the Mayor, "Why don't the Bubble's disciples notice how obscenely obese he is? He's a bully bloated on their labour; indulging in pleasure by denying theirs. Yet they love him for it like a herd of heifers and steers!"

"Have you ever seen anything like that before?" asked the Mayor.

"I saw the whale before he exploded..."

"I heard there's another one now."

More-Ron's replacement by another greedy whale was predicted by Way-Lean in Chapter 3, Section 12.

Wit shook his head sadly, "He was even more bloated than the Bubble, yet somehow his piracy was honest. At least everyone knew what he was doing and hated him for it. But I just can't understand why the disciples agree to their slavery?"

"Because they don't see it as slavery."

"Is he paying them?!"

"Not as such, no."

"Then what do they get from him that makes them want to labour for his ever expanding grandiosity?" asked Wit exasperated.

"Labour is power, yes?" asked the Mayor leading the witness.

"Yes, I guess that's what people buy when they employ others, the power of many."

"And if the others remain separate then you have to keep paying them, right?" Wit nodded. "So if you make them part of you, they would be doing it for themselves, wouldn't they?"

"OK, I'm following you," said Wit, "But I didn't see anything to show they are on the same level as the Bubble. He was herding them, exploiting them!"

"And do you think they also knew they were not on his level?"

"Sure, they were obsequious; kowtowing to him."

"Then all he needs to do is feed them Hope. Hope that one day they can be like him, on his level. Hope that he will accept them even though they are lower. Hope that he won't condemn them to the hell he created in their imaginations."

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Wit. "He controls their minds!"

"Worse. No one can conquer your mind. Yet some animals will domesticate themselves by begging for the crumbs from the table.

'Begging for the crumbs from the table,' is reminiscent of the Bible verse where a Samaritan woman compares herself to a dog eating the crumbs from the master's table in order to win acceptance of her request. (Matt 15:27)

However, if you live for a false dream you may forsake your common sense, even into Death. Those disciples wouldn't be the first or last to wonder why they are lost when Parley comes panting into their martyrdom."

"You mean they wanted to die for something over there and now they want to die for the Bubble here too?!"

"Yes, some people are slow learners. By-the-way, do you still want to go home?"

"Totally! I'm fixated on it. It's my sole purpose for living. I can't think of anything more important," cried Wit zealously.

"See."

Wit has just confirmed that he is a slow learner, too.

"See what?" he asked, bemused by the apparent change of topic.

"I see," she didn't reply, "back to school for you. Go fish. Maybe you would like to see yourself as I see you." And she poked a pair of eyeholes in the side of a mushroom so it looked similar to a submarine's periscope except that when he looked through them he saw his old life as if through a kaleidoscope. Each of the glittering beads was a picture of himself forcing himself to do something impossible; snapshots of his life replayed in a loop. There he was climbing a pole that no one else could scale. There he was riding his first bike down the slope in the back garden. There he was learning to do back flips, pushing himself to practice over and over again until his knuckles were grazed but conquering the skill to his friends' amazement. Between the bright beads were gaps, also filled with replays of his life. There he was putting his headphones on so he couldn't see his homework. There he was quitting his soccer team after the first game. And there he was sitting at the back of the concert hall refusing to play his clarinet for the band that wasn't good enough for him even though he wouldn't practice.

"I see," he said, "I'm a bit of a loser aren't I."

"I don't think you counted the wins and losses. I'd say they are about even."

"But I'm great at what I like, hey?"

"I thought we were talking about the disciples," said the Mayor, steering him back on track. "This is not about you, it's about self control."

"I have heaps," he said then stumbled over what he had just seen. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"I'd say you have a healthy lack of self control," said the Mayor. "Sometimes."

"Um, isn't that a bad thing?" asked Wit.

"Was it your self-control or your lack of it that brought you here early?" she asked, piercing like an arrow.

And Wit had to admit, "I conquered my fear of being a loser by imprisoning my common sense. And I cared too much that no dare would get the better of me. I guess I was trying too hard..."

"As are the disciples. They can't see where they are because they are trying too hard to get somewhere else. The only thing you can conquer is your mind; take it prisoner. But if you do capture your common sense and imprison it in a herd, I think it's better to go quietly and look for a way of escape than to pretend you're still free. We are all school fish at heart but it's the scale of self-imposed domestication that steers us." Wit thought he understood, until she asked, "Are you still trying to get home with the same determination?"

'Steers us,' means to get direction but 'a steer' is a castrated bull. Like the eunuchs, we can be so driven to be self-made that we focus on progress but lose control of the direction.

"Yes," he answered with the same conviction on the outside.

"I'm glad you've dropped the, 'Sole purpose for living... Nothing more important,' bit," she sighed.

"Well I guess it won't kill me if I don't. But I'd still like to... Is that a better way of putting it?"

"That'll do for now," she smiled. "See, I told you your Night Mayor wasn't going to be so scary." And Wit smiled, too, as if he had got an assignment right at school.

~Section 10

"Maybe it's time you had a friend down here. If you still want to go home, you could do with some company to help take your mind off things.

"Do you see that flock of birdies over on those mushrooms?" Wit nodded. "The one in the middle is alive. I've been having the Dickens of a time stopping all the dead ones from teasing it. Could you see if you can do anything? I'm sorry but Parley's just brought in someone who blew himself up. It scares the willies off them when they see me in my true colours, unlike the negative perspective you walked in with. Not that I see anything wrong with being a black unicorn. We are all black on the inside if our eyes really are the windows to the soul. But even with a mirror it usually takes a while to talk them out of the expectations they bring with them. It doesn't help that the dancing girls are so will willing to comply with their need to breed. But those 'halfies' they churn out are not what I'd call 'hot;' still, it takes all sorts. What amazes me is that most of the guys are so determined to hold onto their convictions that they actually submit to the knife when the older and shrewder ones, like first wives in a harem, sabotage their aspirations. They know they can please the Bubble by enslaving others as it has enslaved them. Anyway, on your bike, those birdies are ganging up again." And she disappeared in a flash of white that blinded Wit's negative perspective.

As in the Elysian Fields with Sindé, Wit now gains another living bird as a companion.

The little birdie that the Mayor had pointed to was hard to see. However, the flock of birds surrounding and taunting it was unmistakable to anyone who has been through primary school. Children can be the cruelest creatures over there and it appeared they could be the cruelest here, too; not because they usually inflicted great damage on the victims but because their victims are so sensitive, fragile and easily damaged. The teased take what their peers say to heart, having so little else in the world to compare with what's happening to them. Sometimes it builds resilience; sometimes it shatters self-esteem. Wit couldn't tell in this instance what the little birdie was thinking, as it was cowering against the trunk of a mushroom looking around defensively in case any of its tormentors should cross the line between insult and injury. It had an egg balanced on its back like a cuckoo, which made it look like the egg was hatching it, answering the age old question about which came first.

As he got closer, Wit heard their jeers and understood their motives. Simply, the little bird was different; being alive didn't make it look different; being alive didn't make it act or feel different but it was enough that the others knew it came from somewhere else to make them feel superior.

"Your mother's so fat, you need to migrate just to kiss her goodbye!" called out one.

"Your father's such a cuckold, you're cookoo," called another.

A 'cuckold' was a man whose wife committed adultery. If she got pregnant to the adulterous man, he would be like a cuckoo to the cuckold driving him cookoo.

"You're so old, you're the king of the dinosaurs," quipped a third.xvi

But the taunted birdie was not without spirit. "I'm going to kill a mocking bird; oh, you're already dead!" it retaliated.

Reminding the gang that they were here and not there was not the best lesson in how to win friends, though it did influence them. They rose up in twos and threes and started to dive at the birdie's head. The egg wobbled, toppled and Wit instinctively reached out to grab it though he was too far away to be of any use. The egg cracked and a wail split the air scattering the crowd who were afraid they would get the blame for having unleashed a dervish. Even the little birdie took a step back as if shocked that a skinny screaming baby had rolled out of the eggshell instead of a fluffy chick.

"What on earth is that?" gaped Wit aghast at such a ghastly looking baby. The poor little thing was so skinny and thin it could have been washed in a jug.xvii

"I don't know," said the little birdie. "I found it under the bed. Can I keep it?"

"What were you doing under the bed? And what was that doing under the bed?" asked Wit, wondering how to shut the baby up. "Um, do you have a name... by the way?"

"Birtie; I was under the bed because I took a nightmare to Ally. She gave me the egg and promised I would grow out of my fears if I took it further into the dark. Do you know how to shut this baby up?" it asked.

"We could play with it?" suggested Wit. "Who's Ally?"

"The gory monster under my bed. What's your name? Do you think we could wrap the baby and roll it around the mushroom?"

"Are you crazy? That will make it cry more. And who goes chatting to monsters under the bed? I'm Wit."

"Nice to meet you. Well I had to face my fears. And it seemed a reasonable deal to carry the egg into the dark. Only I got lost and so I'm stuck in here with this; I wonder what's its name is?" said Birtie pointing to the baby.

~Section 11

Wit cast his eyes around, always a painful process in retrospect, and they fell on the mushroom behind him. The eyeholes that the Mayor had poked were oozing milky tears and after carrying the baby over he cupped his hands and caught a handful of them. The baby greedily gulped as he let them slide down his fingers into its mouth. After it had a full tummy it was less of a handful and Wit wiped his hands of it.

"We can't just leave it here," said Birtie. "It might have a face only a mother can love but full term it might turn into a hero."

"A tiny Might, isn't it? I wonder if the Term-Mights might be able to look after it?" pondered Wit.

"Might be worth a try but how will we feed it until we find them?" asked Birtie.

"Well these mushrooms are growing all over the show," said Wit with superfluous eloquence. "Maybe they all weep if you poke 'em?" And he walked to the next to indulge his elegantly satisfying theory of elephants and fish for tea.xviii

Wit and Birtie travelled from mushroom to mushroom taking turns to carry the baby skeleton covered in skin and being taunted at least daily by the flock of dead birds with nothing better to do.

"Your baby's so ugly you could use it as a pin, except then you wouldn't have a voodoo doll to stick it in," was one regular jibe. Wit noticed that the teasing was repetitive. They would regularly pick on Wit for feeding the baby just because they couldn't understand why you would be nice to anyone. They also kept picking on Bertie just because he was from somewhere else. Wit assumed this was because they lacked the imagination to put themselves in his shoes, to feel what it would be like to be in a strange country, mixed with the lack of intelligence to understand how it could benefit them to share that country. On one occasion, one of the biggest bullies came too close and Wit flicked it in the beak, drawing green blood. It kept the peace for a while; the flock respected his power but hated him more for having exposed their weakness. Revenge was not far behind; one birdie gained local hero status by dive bombing him from behind and clipping his ear. Having gotten used to the negative view of this world, Wit was surprised so see his own blood was green and he wondered for a moment if he was an alien until he realized they were all aliens outside of the Alyssum Files. It was the first time he thought it would be nice to go somewhere where everything made sense because everyone had their own place. 'Only to visit of course; you wouldn't want to live there.'

~Section 12

Wit was not exactly sure where to find the Term-Mights. He could hear the tapping of their drums in his head and thought he recognized where he had come in from the pinprick pattern of black holes in the grey sky above. The further they travelled, the fatter the baby became. That is to say, the less emaciated it looked and the louder it screamed when it was hungry. Wit and Birtie had a harder time feeding it and had to poke two holes in each mushroom to get enough milk for it and once, when Wit was looking into the dry holes to see if there was another drop, he discovered that the mushrooms were in fact periscopes looking back into his old life. It was nice to see something that was not in negative for a change. More exciting was the discovery that, as they travelled on, he found they were getting closer to the point where he had lost his head. This was just as well or he might have fixated on one mushroom and refused to move again but the desire to see the next scene pushed him onwards. And then one day they had passed it. He was looking into a funeral where his brother and sister were handing out origami instructions to a busload of schoolmates and scouting friends who folded paper cranes to put on his coffin.xix The sight of his own coffin shocked him. Later his brother spoke about how he grew up the day he had beaten him at chess. Wit strained to hear his own name and pressed his ear to the hole. Frustratingly he kept missing it or having the clatter of the flock block it out. He tore at the hole to make it bigger and discovered he could pull the mushroom apart and was soon able to get his whole head inside. By that time, people who hadn't contacted his father for a decade were telling him how deeply they felt his pain and how close he was to the daily care of a nameless god; presumably why they wouldn't feel the need to contact him the day after either.

'A nameless god...' Though not strictly making him anonymous, the Hebrew name for God was too sacred to be spoken so was written without vowel sounds and consequently pronunciation has been lost in antiquity.

That was when Wit had a brilliant idea. If he went back one mushroom to before he died, he could dig a hole into the side of the mushroom and tunnel his way back up into his life. He would just need to wait in the background until he died and then walk home. But, like all great ideas, he suddenly saw a catch: it would be a bit awkward to be there, alive, when they were viewing his dead body and he thought of a few crazy plans to get rid of his body before anyone found it. Until of course he realized he would need his body so he had to stop himself killing himself. But if he did that then he wouldn't be here to go and stop himself; Catch 22. Finally he realized the only way he could get back was to go and possess himself! 'What could go wrong,' he reasoned. 'I'm sure the me-before will understand the me-now. If I just explain it slowly, I won't go mad. Maybe this happens all the time.' And satisfied with his own ingenuity he set about convincing Birtie that the best place to find the Term-Mights was inside the mushroom just behind them.

"Would you like to go home, Birtie?" asked Wit. "It's been the purpose right behind me since I got here and I think the answer is right behind us."

"Would I ever!" exclaimed Birtie. "But what about the baby?"

"We might meet the Term-Mights on the way. Or if not, we can give it to my mother, she's always wanted to adopt a nameless orphan."

"Well, if you're sure it's alright... Come on, let's conquer Death! Hey, maybe there's no such thing as Death anyway; just getting lost?!!" And the little birdie started to hop up and down excitedly.

And so they backtracked with the tail of bullies swirling around in circles above their heads calling out, "You're bound-to-be bound-for out-of-bounds! We're bounding off to tell the Mayor," yet not leaving as they watched the progress of the three travellers with boundless fascination.

When they arrived at the previous mushroom, Wit found the holes he had poked to get the baby's milk and pressed his eyes to them. There he was sitting on the bed in his normal coloured bedroom reading that text from his ex-girlfriend. 'OK,' he thought, 'this would be a good place to get back. I'm sure he's ready to meet me.' And he poked another hole in the stop-light green polka dotted mushroom, collected some milk for the baby and set about widening the hole.

'Stop-light green,' remembering that all the colours are in negative and if inverted the mushroom would have been a classic stop-light red similar in appearance to an Amanita Muscaria which, because of its striking appearance is sometimes misrepresented as the Death Cap Mushroom in fictional stories.

The flesh of the mushroom parted before him with squelching plops that repulsed him but he pushed on, determined to beat his disgust if it got him to the point of being alive. Birtie pecked at 20 pecks per minutexx and together they managed to widen a hole big enough for Wit to squeeze his shoulders through. The baby sat to one side sucking on fistfuls of mushroom pulp, black spittle dribbling happily off its chin.

Once the hole was wide enough, Wit pulled himself through and looked around. The inside had a hollow column and he could see his bedroom just above. He reached back out and grabbed the baby, gently prized the pulp from between its fingers, and pulled it in after him. Birtie hopped in last and they looked up towards the cluttered room.

~Section 13

Wit ignored a tapping on his foot, spread his legs and arms wide so that they touched with either wall of the chimney about as wide as a door frame and, bracing his arms, first jumped and then braced his feet so that he was suspended half a metre off the ground. He then reached down and took the baby from Birtie, waited for Birtie to fly up onto his head, then passed the baby up onto Birtie's back. Bracing his arms and alternatively his legs, Wit scaled upwards. However, his old bedroom remained just out of reach and after a while he felt a tapping on his hand. Looking up, he saw a Term-Might wagging its antenna at him. He paused to look at it and it tapped him again and pointed to the baby.

"She says you can't take the baby out without a valid visa, passport and return ticket," translated Birtie.

"Oh? Where do we get those?" asked Wit.

"You can't. It has to apply for them by itself." Wit looked bemused but Birtie reassured him, "Don't worry, she says you can leave the baby with all the other Term-Mights who died before they saw the light of day."

The Term-Mights are here revealed as representing the myriad of lives that are lost to miscarriage (around 40 million of the world's 211m pregnancies p.a.), abortion (46m p.a.) or stillbirth (2.6m p.a.). Respectfully, their innocence may be what qualifies them for eusociality.

"You mean it will grow into one of them? That's impossible," said Wit, forgetting where he was.

"I don't think we can keep the child even though we want to," suggested Birtie reluctantly. "Maybe this is what Ally meant about growing up." He had also grown attached to it in their short time together.

"Well I guess it will be in good society," said Wit and lifted the baby off Birtie's back. About a 100 thousand Term-Mights were grouped around Wit's right hand and they gingerly received the baby from him and started to carry it away. As they receded into the gloom the baby appeared to shrink until it was no longer any bigger than the rest of them and finally rolled off the back of the last one carrying it and was lost in the throng heading towards the Would-have-been mine. Wit asked Birtie how it had become one of them and Birtie tapped out the message with his beak. The Term-Might near his hand tapped out a reply then turned and waved an antenna as it followed the others away on an invisible path to the left.

"She said that because the baby was lost before it learned to choose between flower and power so it can join their society under the hill. We, however, are already over the hill and have to find our own place; either live or Dog. So, forwards or backwards?..." And they continued to clamber up the chimney, the bedroom above getting gradually closer.

'Find our own place; either live or Dog. So, forwards or backwards," Forwards means to find your own place of peace for both the living and the dead (the dog being Parley, Death). Backwards, 'live or dog,' transposes as 'god or evil,' / for good or evil - the choices everyone has to make about their life.

~Section 14

The hollow of the mushroom brought them out in the shadows under Wit's old bed. As they crawled over the edge between dark and light, a gory monster blocked their passage.

"Hi Ally," said Birtie. "This is Wit."

"A pleasure to meet you," said Ally customarily. "Did the Night Mayor give you a day pass?"

"Um, not exactly," said Wit, not expecting to have to go through Customs to get back. 'At least,' he thought, 'that must mean this really is the real world and not a fae-mind.'

"I'm planning to stay for the term of my natural life," continued Wit. "Let us past or I'll set my point setter on you!" And he pointed at Birtie's beak hoping this would hound the monster out of the way.

'Let us past,' literally, 'let us into the past,' which is literally impossible without time travel - something most bereaved people will have wished for. ~ ~ ~ A point setter is a breed of hound.

"Glory, do you think I'm a bird brain?" yawned the monster. "Look, I'll cut you a deal. I'm gory for a reason; shed a drop of blood and you may pass. If you're a ghost you won't have any. No ghosts under the bed, only monsters, got it?"

Wit hesitated but Birtie stepped forward and said, "Pluck the parson's nose if you like; I've got enough blood for the both of us." And, pulling a feather out of his rump, he splashed a droplet on the floor. Birtie bent round to pluck again...

"Pass," said Ally and she shimmered. Before Wit could blink, he saw that the monster was now between him and Birtie. "Sorry sunshine, the blood must be spilt on the inside; seems you're out already. Fly away little birdie, you're free now. So where's your blood, Witless?" Ally said with a sneer.

But Wit wasn't witless at all and he pulled out the pickle jar from his pocket, opened it quickly and dripped a drop of his fevered mercuric on the floor beside Birtie's. It fizzled and steamed as the two mixed.

"Nice move," admitted Ally, "but..."

But Wit hadn't finished his move. Remembering that he was insignificant, he closed his eyes and conquered his dislocation by becoming pointless and therefore virtually anywhere. The universe shimmered around Ally as he opened his eyes and smirked. He had made it to the other side.

Ally snuffled, shrugged her shoulders and grunted, "People smugglers, huh? They'll get you in the end. Just get out from under the bed and don't come back; monsters only, got it?" And Wit slid out, only too happy to oblige.

'People smugglers,' are a cause of many deaths but denying the right to seek refuge in a safe country of asylum has also led to many deaths. Some decisions are a case of damned if you do, damned if you don't. The author would recommend compassion guide such difficult decisions.

~ ~ ~

~Section 15

Finally beside himself, Wit could barely contain his joy. Birtie, on the other hand, peeked out tentatively from under the bed, unsure how the arrival of a small bird in a room with a closed dark window would affect the occupant. The boy sitting hunched over his knees did not look dangerous but he didn't look welcoming either and even though he was braver than a country mouse it still paid to be wary.xxi

He was beside himself with joy. ~ ~ ~ The story of the Country Mouse and the City Mouse is an allegory about risk verses rewards.

"Hi, it's me," whispered Wit, not wanting to startle himself.

The boy hunched tighter into a ball and tossed the phone he had been clutching to the end of the bed.

"Um, I know we feel really down about this but by this time tomorrow night that text will be the least of our worries. Can we talk?" said Wit a bit louder and the boy looked around the room, apparently aware of the voice in his head but unsure where it could have come from.

"We need to talk about tomorrow. We need to go to school then to work as usual. Just be good at being alive. You don't have to prove you are anything special to anybody, especially me; OK?" said Wit raising his voice.

The boy stood up, opened the window and looked out to see if one of his mates was outside playing a joke on him.

"Look, just let me possess you, I mean, my body and it will all make sense. By-the-way, what's our name; I've been dying to know."

But the boy just shook his head and muttered to himself, "Well, if I don't even know who I am, it can't matter if I go to school or work or anything tomorrow. I might just dump them all for all I care." And he hunched back into a ball, his back to the fresh air.

"Look!" shouted Wit, grabbing the boy's forearm. "You Have To Let Me In! I know you're cut now but I can help us get through this!" But as he tightened his grip so did the boy, digging his own nails into his arm, gouging the skin underneath his shirt. The pain stopped them both. The boy rolled up his sleeve and in his anguish picked out the razor blade he kept hidden inside that book of Sunday children's stories he'd stopped reading so long ago. Wit stepped back aghast as the boy caressed the blade and then gently rested it against his forearm. He pressed just deep enough for a bead of blood to glisten around the metal. The pain distracted him from his own inner anguish but Wit cried out in horror, reliving the pain in his heart that had driven him to do this the night before his accident.

"Stop, please!" cried Wit. "It's not normal to feel this bad, someone can help us through it if you just ask..." and a tear glistened in the corner of his eye as he saw his own blood drip on the floor. But the boy's tears burned behind his eyes at the pain he felt against the world and he moved the blade a millimetre further up his arm, refusing to listen to reason, even from himself.

If this passage disturbs the reader or reminds you of anyone you know who has ever engaged in self mutilation, the author would strongly recommend seeking professional help. A Google search of qualified cognitive behavioral psychologists in your local area is a good place to start. The author recommends making an appointment today if possible.

Suddenly Wit staggered backwards as he spotted the elephant in the room - himself. He was caught in a Catch 42. Not only was it impossible to be here, dead, to talk himself out of dying but he had actually, inadvertently, become part of the problem. He had given himself the idea that it didn't matter how he lived. He had started himself thinking about some way to make a name for himself. And he had even increased the physical pain that led him to seek some extravagant release from the anguish of being bullied by his own insignificance. He was his own worst enemy and couldn't help himself now any more than he could before. He turned and fled through the window, Birtie fluttering out unseen behind him.

Every human you meet will be the most complex of creatures you will have to deal with. This is equally true of your relationship with yourself. You can be your own worst enemy or your own best ally. Those struggling to be at peace with themself are strongly urged to make an appointment with a professional counselor.

~ ~ ~

~Section 16

When Wit landed in the cool air of the street he realized he had to tell his parents that he needed help if for no other reason than to stop them finding out the shocking truth behind why he always wore long sleeves these days. If he let himself die tomorrow, someone would eventually cut away his clothes to check his body and then everyone would know. Surely his mother could tell him what to do - if only he could keep his head - but no sooner had he thought that than he flinched at the strangled scream of a crow behind and saw out of the corner of his eye a huge raven swooping out of his window towards him. He turned and ran into a nightmare where running was the only thing he could think about but where he was never more than two steps in front of the assailant. His mother's house fell away behind him and, hoping to reach the safety of his father's, he turned to the right. Almost immediately a black unicorn galloped in from the side, cutting him off. He swerved out of its way and it fell in beside the crow chasing him along an endless gutter.

The small blackbird companion has transformed into a giant raven in his living nightmare. It is understood that the Night Mayor set him up when she suggested his travel mate, as she is also there to herd him back into the afterlife.

On they raced, Wit's heart racing as he held his breath. "Run-papa," he wanted to say but no sound came out and he felt he couldn't beat them or even duck when suddenly he tripped over the storm water drain of his life and fell heavily on his side crushing the bottle of mercuric in his pocket. As the unicorn and the crow descended on him, the fae-mind soaked through his clothes and he felt himself being sucked, hip first, into his own mercuric craving. Screaming soundlessly down the pipe of his lost hopes - though at least the assailants had vanished - he scrambled to his feet and tried to run down the imaginary road of his fae-mind but bumped straight into a long-legged blonde model in a mini skirt. She looked down at him through her large Armani sunglasses and shifted her Louis Vuitton handbag out of his way as if he might be a common pickpocket.

'Runpapa' is a Pokémon character. A Russian blue is a grey cat.

The sleek grey cat in her arms purred, "Well, if it isn't our friend Wit! Look Dorothy, he seems to have grown up a little."

"Sindé?!" asked Wit panting, recognizing the voice if not the form. "Am I going mad?"

"Not if you can ask that question," replied Dorothy in a sultry Russian accent completely unlike her former voice. "But if you're in a headache you might need to see a quack, sigh. I can refer you to one if you like." And she opened her mouth wide, extracted an envelope from between her postbox red lips and said, "Mail this for me will you dear?" She handed him the referral letter.

"Oh my, I think I'm losing my grip," said Wit feeling light headed. "Where on earth do I post it? Where on earth am I?!"

"Well you can't post it on Earth," said Sindé, "since you are inside your own head where you should have been on the night you lost it. But never mind that now. The question is, are you ready to sort it out?"

"You mean in Alyssum?" asked Wit taken aback by the thought of surrendering to the inevitable. "But I conquered Death, I got back to myself!... Yet, I couldn't even help myself... And now I've gone stark raving mad!!"

"Not at all," purred Sindé soothingly. "Come let's walk together down to the post office."

~Section 17

"What's happening to me?" he asked in a smaller voice.

"You've realized something that you'd never thought of before. You need others. And not just to make you feel better about yourself. You need them to be yourself, better. That requires submission though, not conquest, doesn't it?..."

Wit still looked worried.

"Um, would you like to carry me?" she continued. "I've been told hugging a kitty can be very relaxing when you feel you've lost a dogfight." And Dorothy leaned down and passed Wit the sleek cat. Sindé purred quietly as they walked on.

"But what happened to you two?" asked Wit looking up at the high cheekbones of the model. "Why aren't you a sea gull any more? And what on earth happened to waddling Dorothy; now she's swanning around?! Not that I mind."

"We are in your mind remember; only it was a bit narrow-minded for us so we chose to look a little less conspicuous; it gets tiresome being bullied and it's also tiring."

"Oh, I see," said Wit, the light going on at last.

"Yes you should. We thought you'd know better but never mind that now either. Here we are. There's Parley tied to the lamppost. Unleash her if you're ready to sort it out with Them."

"Thanks for setting me straight," said Wit

"Straight?" smiled Dorothy. "We were batting for the other side; Thera and the Mayor set you up from the beginning. They like to keep people moving on to Alyssum as soon as possible, it'd get awfully crowded with sleeping beauties in the Fields if everyone refused to accept what's happened to them."

"But I thought I had to wait there until my time here should have been up," questioned Wit.

"Everything is up for negotiation," joined in Parley. "I thought you would have learned that from the Wee Kid."

"Speaking of which, could we ask you for a favor in return for having saved your wits? Could you drop us off here?" said Sindé.

"Where?" asked Wit looking around.

"Since you entered your fae-mind while in the real world, we'd really appreciate it if you'd let us out here before the mercuric dries up. If we could just stand on your head, I think we could reach the edge of the drain you fell down."

"Of course," said Wit kneeling. "Climb on. I'm sure I have enough balance to hold you steady. But aren't you afraid of the crow and unicorn? And what will you live on? You'll need real money there."

"Your breathing is steady now so I'm sure the Night Mayor has passed by," she replied. "As for cash - I guess we can cash in on this fantastically expensive handbag. Gawd, humans may have evolved because they learned to carry their tools around in a fold of animal skin or a gourd but they still let others pocket their cash whenever a more gaudy bag is on offer."

'Night mayor,' is a homonym for nightmare, i.e. with unsteady breathing. ~ ~ ~ Hominid evolution was once thought to have started with large brains but there is evidence that we started walking upright and used tools long before the skull started to enlarge. Walking upright allowed tools to be carried during nomadic relocations thus saving the time and effort to remake them on arrival. That in turn led to improvements to tools rather than just replacements with the resulting creativity in part stimulating larger brains as well as better tools enabling better hunting success and therefore more protein to feed those brains. Arguably one of the most important tools early hominids invented was an adaptation of animal skins into pockets. A simple fold of an animal skin massively expanded the carrying ability of a nomadic hominid allowing her or him to own a much larger array of tools. Soft tools like animal skins, gourds and later baskets do not leave an archeological record, unlike arrowheads or grinding stones, but their importance must not be discounted. It is postulated by the author that the invention of the pocket or bag may have even left a genetic imprint. Hominids who readily adapted to using carrying devices may have significantly improved their survival rate over individuals that didn't bother to carry their tools around - maybe preferring to travel light. If the 'carriers' had a genetic advantage, their offspring may have eventually evolved into modern humans who still carry a genetic appreciation of highly valued carrying devices. The prices paid for designer handbags would at least then be based in some primitive logic. If the cost of the bag were solely a display of wealth, there would be no logic behind the stereotype of the woman who fills her handbag with everything she could conceivably need in her travels. By contrast, modern humans may be genetically predisposed to desiring stilettos and other expensive height improving footwear simply because increased height has been shown to be sexually attractive and therefore increases the quality of the wearer's mate and any subsequent offspring.

Dorothy then picked up Sindé and stepped onto Wit's shoulder steadying herself against the lamp post. Her Channel stilettos dug into his shoulder but he managed to stand up. Parley wrapped her leash around Wit's legs lashing him to the light so he was braced as she stepped up onto his head. Still a bit shy of the edge, Dorothy swung the cat who managed to get her claws into the world. From there Sindé and Dorothy were able to help each clamber into a real society that they hoped to change for the better. Wit discretely didn't look up until he heard Parley bark excitedly and, by that time, the route back had evaporated.

"Well Parley, where to now?" Wit asked.

"That's up to you," answered the fluffy white dog with a wag of its tail. "Thera and the Mayor are always hospitable if you're not quite ready to sort things out with Them?"

"I'll give it a try as long as they don't bite my head off."

"Well I wouldn't exactly call Them friendly but They grow on you. Shall we?..." So Wit picked up the leash and they walked through the blood red doors of the post office together.

'They grow on you,' literally, parasites grow on you.

~ ~ ~

Ch. 4 Cellar Notes {skip}

i The colony {back}  
http://www.termiteweb.com/the-colony-structure-of-termites/

ii Mud tubes {back}  
http://www.termiteweb.com/termite-faq-2/

iii Time article {back}  
http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1705604,00.html

iv  Aposematic coloration {back}  
http://books.google.com.au/books?hl=en&lr=&id=Ip57QSMCRk4C&oi=fnd&pg=PA39&dq=aposematic+bee&ots=yyHFB8WcOf&sig=CecmgJRggKXc7fQFxv0mTUoIlPo

v Worker reproduction in honey bees {back}  
http://www.springerlink.com/content/lldd2jctlbcqf48e/

vi  Reproduction by males and females in the little fire ant {back}  
http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v435/n7046/abs/nature03705.html

vii  Nothing will be impossible for them {back}  
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+11:6&version=NIV

viii Collective intelligence {back}  
http://www.stanford.edu/dept/news/pr/93/931115Arc3062.html

ix  100 billion {back}  
http://www.nature.com/news/scientists-trace-a-wiring-plan-for-entire-mouse-brain-1.10878

x Internet world users by language {back}  
http://www.internetworldstats.com/stats7.htm

xi  Demystifying the Arab Spring {back}  
http://www.ssrresourcecentre.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/Anderson-Demystifying-the-Arab-Spring.pdf

xii  Of making books there is no end {back}  
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes+12:12&version=NIV

xiii From Dictatorship to Democracy {back}  
http://www.aeinstein.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/FDTD.pdf

xiv Speed of light ~ copy URL below {back}  
https://www.sciencenews.org/article/speed-light-not-so-constant-after-all

xv Consequences of castration {back}  
http://jcem.endojournals.org/content/84/12/4324.full

xvi Relationships between birds and dinosaurs {back}  
http://www.sciencemag.org/content/319/5859/33.4.abstract

xvii A mother's lament {back}  
http://www.sciencemag.org/content/319/5859/33.4.abstract

xviii I have had an elegant sufficiency and anymore would have been a superfluous indulgence {back}

xix Origami crane {back}  
http://www.origami-instructions.com/origami-crane.html

xx Woodpeckers {back}  
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woodpecker

xxi Urbanization in birds {back}  
http://beheco.oxfordjournals.org/content/21/2/365.full.pdf+html

~ ~ ~

Ch. 4 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS {skip Questions}

ANSWERS / Section

1) What do the Beast Pole and the Waste Pole enable the Term-Mights to make?

Cooperation

~Sections 2 & 8

2) In the story of the three wise women, why did men dominate women?

Because they were focused on Boldness, i.e. power, and Sense, i.e. knowledge, but forgot Mercy, i.e. compassion

~Section 1

3) What kept the 'ghosts' chained under the hanging rock?

Their parents' love and hope they'd return

~Section 4

4) Why was there a false ceiling of grass part way up the negative steps of the Taught-us?

It was the story of Adam and Eve created to make the beginning of our time seem closer so people would feel less insignificant than if they compared themselves to all of human history

~Sections 6

5) What is the Night Mayor's job? Is it the same as a nightmare?

To point out your fears and get you to face them so you can move on; Yes it is similar to what a nightmare does for us as long as we understand it is just things we've remembered

~Section 4

6) Why do the eunuchs eat baked beans?

Because beans means farts, i.e. they are making more bubbles to add to the Big Bubble

~Section 8

7) The bubble of hot air that comes out of Wit is called what? And what is in the middle?

It is called a platitude and it is pompous in the middle

~Section 7

8) Who can control your mind in an unhealthy way?

We can have excessive self-control of our own minds by becoming servile to something we believe is greater than us

~Section 9

9) What characters in the Elysian Fields are similar to the Bubble and Birtie?

The Bog o' Belief and Sindé respectively

~Multiple sections

10) Why is the gory monster named Ally?

Because this type of novel is an allegory

~Section 15

11) How did the Night Mayor know that Wit had climbed up the mushroom back into the real world? What happened to Birtie when he flew out the window?

The flock of birds that were teasing him went and told her; He changed into a huge crow

~Sections 12 & 16

12) Why was it impossible for Wit to talk himself out of dying?

It is a paradox; if he succeeded in not dying then he wouldn't be there to try to stop it happening. Since he was there it could only mean he hadn't succeeded.

~Section 15

13) Why was the last mushroom coloured 'stop-light green?'

Because all the colours are in negative so green equals red, like a stop-light, signaling not to proceed

~Section 12

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

14) What is the job of the king in a termite colony and why is this required?

To mate periodically with the queen so that she can remain fertile

~Note i; Paragraph 5

15) What does Genesis 11 tell us about the God of the Bible's opinion on World peace?

If all people were able to co-operate then nothing would be impossible for them and therefore they would not need a god, i.e. World peace is a threat to religion

~Note xii; Paragraph 6

16) How many pregnancies are unintended in the U.S.?

About 50% / close to half (nearly half or more than half is unknown from this article)

~Note iii; Paragraph 4

17) If ants have no central control, how do they know to expand or contract their search area?

Probably by the rate at which they bump into one another

~Note viii; Paragraph 19

18) Are birds or amphibians most closely related to dinosaurs _?_

Birds

~Note xvi

19) What are the four most commonly used languages on the Internet?

#1 English, #2 Chinese, #3 Spanish, #4 Arabic

~Note x

20) Did the recent popular uprising in Tunisia and Egypt start in urban or rural areas?

Tunisia started in poor rural areas / Egypt started in urban areas

~Note xi; Paragraph 4

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

21) The boy who is chained to the dark side of the Taught-us tells Wit, "Faith is in a crock, our heads... they have to keep believing because they love us... Where there's hope there's life - for her..." Do you agree with the author that it is impossible for a loved one to let go of someone if they do not know if they have passed away or not? Support your answer.

~Section 4

22) When Wit 'gets back to life' he finds he is trapped in a nightmare of his own making. He escapes by being sucked back into the imaginary world of his fae-mind. Drugs, cutting, extreme sports or casual sex are just some of the many ways that people escape the things they don't like in their daily life. Discuss the pros and cons of two different approaches to dealing with day-to-day reality.

~Sections 15-16

SAMPLE WORKSHEET as text to copy and paste

### Parley After Life

D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes ~ by Robby Miller

Copyright © 2015 by Robert Miller: Worksheets may be reprinted for educational purposes

### Ch. 4 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS

a) In the story of the three wise women, why did men dominate women?

b) What kept the 'ghosts' chained under the hanging rock?

c) Why was there a false ceiling of grass part way up the negative steps of the Taught-us?

d) What is the Night Mayor's job? Is it the same as a nightmare?

e) The bubble of hot air that comes out of Wit is called what? And what is in the middle?

f) Who can control your mind in an unhealthy way?

g) What characters in the Elysian Fields are similar to the Bubble and Birtie?

h) How did the Night Mayor know that Wit had climbed up the mushroom back into the real world? What happened to Birtie when he flew out the window?

i) Why was it impossible for Wit to talk himself out of dying?

j) Why was the last mushroom coloured 'stop-light green?'

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

k) What is the job of the king in a termite colony and why is this required?

l) How many pregnancies are unintended in the U.S.?

m) If ants have no central control, how do they know to expand or contract their search area?

n) What are the four most commonly used languages on the Internet?

o) Did the recent popular uprising in Tunisia and Egypt start in urban or rural areas?

DISCUSSION QUESTION

p) When Wit 'gets back to life' he finds he is trapped in a nightmare of his own making. He escapes by being sucked back into the imaginary world of his fae-mind. Drugs, cutting, extreme sports or casual sex are just some of the many ways that people escape the things they don't like in their daily life. Discuss the pros and cons of two different approaches to dealing with day-to-day reality.

POINTERS

a) Section 1; b) Section 4; c) Section 6; d) Section 4; e) Section 7; f) Section 9;

g) Multiple sections; h) Sections 12 & 16; i) Section 15; j) Section 12

k) Note i; Paragraph 5; l) Note iii; Paragraph 4; m) Note viii; Paragraph 19;

n) Note x; o) Note xi; Paragraph 4

p) Sections 15-16

**Mr Sock's Recap:**

Chapter 1 ~ Death

"...We are going to the Alyssum Files and I'm Death. Keep up will you."

"Death?" smiled the boy, "I don't think so. He's that big skeleton with a scythe; black hood." And he forgot to keep walking, his heels digging into the ground that gave way before him so that he skated along being pulled by the leash...

~ ~ ~

Chapter 2 ~ War

"...There is no such thing as raw war," said Thera. "Wars are lost there and turn up here in Piece. Everyone wants a piece of the spoils so it's really just raw greed and greed is really just so others will envy you. 'Why?' I'm glad you asked: If others are looking at you, then you're the centre of the universe. But it always leads to madness in the end..."

~ ~ ~

Chapter 3 ~ Famine

"...No, there's no such thing as famine; only fair minds out of balance: the whale on one side making shrimps of everyone else. Look at all the food around Way-Lean: one man's food is another man's famine if he doesn't think about sharing. "But you're in a fae-mind, a dream you made in your blood by craving something. This one came from longing too hard to get home. It's like mercury in your veins; it's made you mad..."

~ ~ ~

Chapter 4 ~ Conquer

"...Come on, let's conquer Death! Hey, maybe there's no such thing as Death anyway; just getting lost?!!" And the little birdie started to hop up and down excitedly...

'Nothing is certain but death and taxes' is a sardonic worldview first formed by Daniel Defoe in The Political History of the Devil, 1726. If true, the three horsemen of the apocalypse, War, Famine and Conquer are not really real - leaving Wit with no option but to accept his death and learn to contribute to society.

~ ~ ~

### Chapter 5 ~ Taxes

~Section 1

Wit entered the now familiar Manila Folder. When Parley sat down and began to scratch, he also sat down to watch, somewhat more relaxed and 'together' than he had been previously. As before, fleas started jumping out of the white fluff until a small plague of them was assembled in front of him, hopping about and chatting excitedly. After a while they broke into groups then the largest group split and divided between the smaller ones. Amidst more chattering, the next largest group split and merged with the others. Then so on until there were only two groups left, the larger of them letting out a little cheer before spreading out and encircling the smaller group. Finally one flea from the centre of the losing small group was pushed forward and forced to speak on behalf of the rest. Wit discovered he had shrunk down to Their size.

The author's idea of a majority voting for the least important member or the minority to speak on their behalf is a reflection of ideas from Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels, 1726, and Douglas Adams' The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, 1980.

"Hello, did you find your name while you were out there?"

"No," said Wit, a little despondent that They had highlighted one of his many failings first up.

"Oh good," said the flea smiling a teeny wee smile that only a flea could see.i "We do find them troublesome at the best of times and even more so in early arrivals. The trick to fitting in is not to make a name for yourself. Now we understand from Parley that, having died, you would like to stop living. You understand your time is not up yet?"

"Yes, but there doesn't seem to be much point to sleeping through it in Elysium."

"Good point."

"And I'd just make things worse if I go back..."

"Indeed."

"Nobody loves ghosts do they?"

"Yet they are all haunted by memories of loved ones."

"Even so," mused Wit, "I think they are better off if I leave them in peace."

"Quite. Do you know why dogs howl at ghosts?"

"No? I thought that was just a myth."

"Maybe it is but we bite them just in case; it helps get the message across to the ghosts that they are not helping."

"Do they care?" asked Wit, curious to know if the bullies and tyrants also got a chance to get back.

"Yes of course the dogs care about being bitten. Blessed are those who are flea bathed regularly; so the Bubble says," said the flea with a twinkle in its invisibly small eye.

"Do the ghosts care?"

"I don't know; they're a myth aren't they?"

"Are they?" Wit asked.

"Catch 42: If they can walk through walls, then they can go anywhere. If they can live forever, they can go anywhen since even Our history repeats itself. Free in time and space, there would be no ghosts because they would warn themselves not to die. But if they did warn themselves, they would scare themselves to death. A Catch 22 is a vicious circle; a Catch 42 is a short circuit."

If 42 is the answer to the question of Life, the Universe and Everything, then a Catch 42 is the solution to a paradox, i.e. it just can't be because a paradox, by definition, has no solution

"Oh? But I got back to earth so what was I while I was there?"

"You were a bright spark, well grounded; a filament of your own imagination. Maybe you're a figment dreaming you're a man? The endless possibilities give us butterflies. It's more important to ask yourself, 'What will I be now, if not chaos?'

'A bright spark, well grounded; a filament of your own imagination. Maybe you're a figment dreaming you're a man,' is a triplet based on the idea that if electricity is well grounded it won't spark and the idioms, a figment of your imagination - though a filament glows - and a butterfly dreaming you're a man - though a figment is incomplete.' In other words, whatever Wit was, it was chaotic.

"There are only two things that are certain," said the flea scratching absent-mindedly at the mites on its back.ii "And you have already achieved one of them so you've passed - so to speak."

Death and Taxes are certain so, having passed away, Wit has achieved 50%, a pass mark.

"And the other?"

"That's a taxing question but it requires an answer; more or less?"

"More answers would be good..."

"We're asking the questions: More or less?"

"Oh, of what?"

"Time of course. That's why you're here isn't it? To get into the Alyssum Files sooner."

Wit's mind raced to find the right answer. He thought about the 'Wannabes,' the cats' limited lives being jealous of the 'Haves,' the lizards' limitless tails and realized they were as daft as More-Ron, the whale. Only the Term-Mights seemed to have a grip on reality since they didn't try to overpower each other or even themself as he had. He had at least learned that civil war is not civil.

"Less is more unless it's more than a lesson's worth," he hesitated.

"So you would like Us to make your time there less so your time is up here?"

"No, I mean: Please Sir, can I have some Less? I'd like to give away my time here so I can be the right sort to sort through my life."

"Well Wit, if you would like us to send you on a taxing quest, you may indeed find you can sort your way through this warren. But I have to warn you: this will buffet you; it's even more taxing than why you're here in the first place."

'Through this warren... will buffet you,' is a play on the name Warren Buffet, one of the most generous philanthropists. Charitable acts are a form of self taxation.

Wit just nodded and waited. The fleas, as one, looked him up and down. Finally their spokesperson, Wit couldn't tell the he from she, stepped forward and said, "If you're free, could you bring us a cup of tea?"

"Um, that's it?! No quest to con a dragon; no fairies to mind; no warp to unwind?"

"No thanks, we already have those and Frankenstein's monster to boot. You're young so we'll keep it simple. A cup of green tea will be fine.iii Your reality will not be everyone's cup of tea but it will do us nicely. Oh, no milk or sugar of course, that would be taking things too far; Progress must know his limits. That monster thingy was a bloody mess - too much of a good thing," it sighed wistfully licking its lips.

The monster's creator, Dr. Frankenstein, in Mary Shelley's classic novel, 1818, learns that progress should have limits.

~Section 2

Suddenly the party was broken up by a huge foot that flapped, zombie-like, down into the middle of the throng. Wit, already back to normal size, looked up and saw a man stagger forward and tumble down in an attempt to bend over. He seemed to be trying to scoop up the fleas but they had turned as one and leapt back onto Parley who spun around and disappeared in three barks. "Knock, knock," the partially see-through zombie's knuckles rapped against the ground missing the group entirely. Wit shuffled back out of the way of the man who wiped a tear clumsily out of his eye and just sat there glumly.

"Who are you?" Wit finally asked since he made no attempt to move.

"Oh? You can see me? Well that's good I suppose," answered the man, half to himself. "I guess if you can see me I must be becoming less of a ghost."

"You're a ghost?!" gasped Wit thrilled but scared to finally have met one in the flesh, so to speak.

"Yes I'm not dead yet but I'm so close that my mind is here already. It was a virus that felled me and I feel like a virus myself now - neither dead nor alive until it all goes up in flames. But if you can see my body here, hopefully it must really nearly be here too, though I'm still stumbling so badly I guess it isn't willing to give up the ghost there and hot-foot it here."

"You mean you're stuck between both places?" asked Wit

"Yes, and like all ghosts I'm cursed. I've been trying to get here for ages but they won't let me go from there. Apparently it's acceptable to lay down your life for others but not OK to lay down your lifeless life. Even when my eyes plead with them to turn off the machines they just pat my hand and say it will be all right soon. They're not the ones stuck in this body though. I'm just asking them to show mercy and release me..."

"Surely the Fleas could help you?"

"They won't even talk to me."

"Can't you get Parley to bring you here?"

"She just barks at me for coming into her territory without knocking but over there she sits patiently by my bed waiting day after day - man's best friend; huh. I suppose it's some comfort knowing she's around but my family is too scared of her to even pick up the leash and put it in my hand. If I could only reach out, I'd grab it and be over here quicker than you could knock off work. But what about you? Are you trying to get in or out?"

"Well, 'in' now; seems there's no going back. I've been told to make some green tea but I don't know where to look."

"Have you tried the Tea Section?" suggested the man.

"Is it here in Alyssum?"

"Yes, I've been around here. The beige walls won't let me out into the Fields; seems I'm already overdue so I can't go into the Waiting Fields like you youth from Asia. Ouch... Well, good luck... I just felt a prick inject the patient back there. Probably some more drugs to wipe my mind so that I don't long to be here too much; long patience is a virtue they tell me. I just wish I could tell them that bringing mercy along is virtuous too." His last words slurred slightly as the drug took effect and he rolled forward, closed his eyes and became a bit more hazy or 'ghost-like' though certainly not invisible.

'Youth from Asia,' sounds like euthanasia - a difficult moral issue but the author is suggesting that ultimately the decision should remain with the terminally ill patient rather than with politicians who legislate that health professionals act according to religious views held within the community even though these are not necessarily in agreement with the health professionals' understanding of the suffering of the patient and more importantly, possibly in contradiction to beliefs held by the patient and their effected relatives.

~Section 3

"So, the Tea Section?" thought Wit out loud and looked around though all he saw was nothing. He was surrounded by the beige walls of Order. Previously Parley had let him out into the Elysian Fields by wagging her tail at the wall. Wit pressed his hands on the smooth cardboard to either side. They bowed slightly but were unyielding. Having been ushered in by Death and survived War, Famine and Conquer to get here, he didn't press too hard in case he fell through and couldn't get back again.

'Alright,' he thought. "If I can't find some lost tea leaves in Elysium, I'll find some used ones here and boil them a bit longer. Let's see if I make any progress going forwards instead of sideways.' And he set off down the length of the Manila Folder.

At the end of the folder he popped his head out into the Files and saw, stretching to either side of him, an infinite number of other folders. Uniform, unending Order - sanity gone mad if you tried to think about it so he didn't. Instead, relying on his insignificance, Wit looked in every Manila folder at the same time. Suddenly a lot of things made sense and a lot of questions he had never thought to ask were answered. For example, were tealeaves cut into shreds from larger leaves or tiny but whole like tea-thyme? The answer was both, depending on the type of tea, and there was a frightening array of teas to choose from. Fortunately the fleas hadn't specified anything more than the colour so Wit went looking for anything greenish. He saw that all the tea that had ever been cut from a larger leaf was now spliced back together and each leaf was joined back onto the bush it had grown on then filed in its own folder. Wit coalesced beside a dozing green oolong bush that was resting in one piece and set about collecting a handful of leaves.

"Ouch!" she said as he tugged on a twig. "What off Earth do you think you're doing?!" And Wit stepped back in surprise, not having anticipated that the bush might have an opinion on whether she was boiled or not.

"Um, I was wondering if you could lend me a few leaves to make some green tea for the fleas?" he asked.

"Ah, Dear Child, you're new here aren't you?"

"Yes, and They said I could only stay if I did something taxing like make a cup of green tea. I can see that's not going to be as simple as I thought."

"Oh dear no. They do like to suck people in. There's one born every minute according to Them."

'Suck people in,' i.e. fleas suck.' 'There's one [sucker] born every minute.' Put together means fleas suck suckers.

"Could you help me?" asked Wit, having learnt, at last, to ask.

"Certainly Dear Boy. It will do my old roots good to worm their way out of here for a while. Now, did you say green tea?"

"Yes," replied Wit relieved.

"Then you're barking up the wrong bush. I'm an oolong as the label says at the top of the folder. Made the finest black dragonite tea in my day. What you need is a camellia. Hold onto my branch there and we can shimmer over to the 'Japanese' section. There's a svelte little bush there I know; we used to sit in a cupboard beside each other. I'm sure she'd be happy to help. What do they call you?"

'Dragonite' is a Pokémon character. Oo-long translates as black-dragon

"Thank you so much. I'm Wit. I hope it's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all Sweety, it's all about cooperation here. I'm sure you'd do the same if I asked you to cut off your fingers and boil them for me. Now hold on there." And before he knew it, Wit was transported to the 'Japanese Beverages' section where he was introduced to a shriveled dry young bush that was being chatted up by an English rose hip.

'A shriveled dry young bush,' by contrast the oolong is old but green because she has returned to her original state.

~Section 4

There was nothing unusual about this except that the rose hip, without legs, was sitting in a wheel chair and spoke with a plum in its mouth.

"How extraordinary Camilla, that is a most fascinating exposition but I cannot concur with your assumptions that existential angst is, on occasion, caused by nomenclature..." The rose hip paused to take breath but the camellia bush coughed twice politely, "Ahem, ahem," and rustled in the direction of the new arrivals.

"Morning Squire, Camilla, this is Wit. How's the new ride Squire?" the oolong enquired pointing to the Squire's wheels now he had turned to face them.

"Oh, They have set the corpulent Corporal on me again. Apparently I'm not supposed to shimmer the wheels with me when I travel. They are cutting my independence since too much gadding about gets things out of order. That's why I'm here regardless; I'll apologise later. How are you getting a-long Dragona?"

"Nice to meet you Wit," said Camilla.

"Fine thanks," replied Dragona. "They have asked Wit for a cup of tea! Can you believe that?! No consultation, that's the worst part about it. I'd be happy to help but they have stipulated green tea so we were wondering..."

"Yes, I'd be delighted to oblige," said Camilla with a bow.

"Great, thanks," said Wit smiling. "Can I just take a few leaves? Then I need to find some water to boil."

There was a needling silence, like snow falling on a pine forest; minds bent under the cold weight of disbelief.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Wit forgetting to consider the audience's perspective.

"Shush Child," said Dragona defusing the situation. "We understand you're green around the gills. Try to understand it yourself."

"Drawn and quartered. Capital show. Punish the boy's impertinence!" smirked the Squire. "So if I may infuse some analysis into the question, will Machiavellianiv Camilla duck being dunked or draw on a belief in mutualism even though it drains her? Personally I don't believe in anything and I think you shouldn't get all steamed up about it my Dear," he opined.

"And I think that is for me to decide. Thank you for your Opinion; it will be filed away if you please." And a flea dressed in livery hopped into the scene with a small broom and swept hurriedly around the Squire's wheels. As soon as it had collected up the dust there, it leapt over to the extended 'Opinions' volumes, burrowed down to the 'Beliefs' folder and deposited the contents into a clip-lock bag marked 'Disbelief.'

"Hey, let me out!" shouted the Opinion. "You can't separate Crutch and state of mind. I deserve support too. I will not be silenced!" But the other bags around it all 'shushed' it.

'You can't separate Crutch and state of mind,' sounds like 'church and State,' which the author suggests should always be separated.

The flea didn't realize they were just waiting for it to leave so they could recommence their eternal arguing. Mistaking the quiet to be out of respect for what it had to say, the flea lectured the little Opinion, "Be still, yes you are alive but you were still born here so you have to wait to be born again there. Be patient, folk are queuing up to adopt healthy little opinions like you. Don't worry, We will find you a good home." And it bounded away on Its business.

"Gawd, I thought he'd never leave!" grumbled the contents of a large garbage bag marked 'Miscellaneous Religions, Horror-scopes and Other Superstitions.' The garbage bag sauntered closer to the 'Disbeliefs' bag. "We could use a spirited chap like you. I'm about to be adopted by some minister in Outer Anglophilia. We could set up a cult together. We just need someone who can handle any seeds of doubt that the surrounding Opinions might try to sow. A feisty dose of Disbelief in Everything Else and we can run the show! What do you say?"

But the Opinion in the clip-lock bag just fluffed itself up and said, "I told you, I don't believe in anything."

"What?! Not even in yourself? Go on, you were made for this; this is your chance to be great."

"Of course I believe in myself. I know I'm right; I don't pay dues to anyone; becoming a cult wouldn't even tax me. I'm going to be great without your help, thank you very much. Maybe I'll start my own cult when I'm adopted, who knows." And it shuffled over beside 'Séances' and the other sealed bags to join in the argument that was heating up again about which unsubstantiated idea was right first. It didn't stop to notice that the bag marked 'End-Time Predictions' had a hole chewed out of the bottom of it.

~ ~ ~

~Section 5

"So," said Dragona, as soon as the flea had taken the Opinion out of the way of their conversation. "What do you think Camilla? Would you like to be dunked in boiling water again? I don't know if you believe the stories about if you die here you will be reincarnated back there?"

"Yes I've heard them but I'm more interested in just helping the boy for the sake of it. Wit, do you really want to come to the Alyssum Files even though your time there is not yet up? You're not using this as some way to be reincarnated, too, are you?"

"Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that," Dragona said. "Trust me Wit, reincarnation is a flight of fancy..." .

"No, no," Wit hurriedly reassured them. "I abseiled down the Bog o' Belief before but that route turned me into a maiden in distress and then into my own rabbit. I started to lose myself in my new self. I don't want to gnaw that route again, really."

One logical quandary with the concept of reincarnation is that animals do not have a sense of morality so there are no good or bad animals. By default they are all 'good' at being what they are - the product of their genes. Food chains necessarily have a small number of predators at the top and a large number of prey at the bottom but if all the prey items that are eaten become higher order animals there would be exponential growth in the top order predators. For example, the number of ants alone is 107 billion yet the number of humans is 'only' 7 billion. If all those 'good' ants and other invertebrates died and progressed up the reincarnation line until there were >107 billion humans, the world's resources would become extinct because of the nutritional needs of the predators at the top of the food chain. ~ ~ ~ The comments on organs in Chapter 2, Section 12 also pose a problem for the concept of reincarnation. If your heart is replaced with a donated heart is the old heart reincarnated separately or does it have to wait until the rest of you dies. If the origin of the body part is not important, can a soul occupy anyone's body parts? See comments on organs in Chapter 2, Section 12

"Hold on," interjected the Squire. "Even if you are willing do this for him Camilla, he still doesn't have all the ingredients for tea. It's impossible to get water here for a start. Whatever you do to it, it's never lost; it just changes state into steam or ice. It keeps getting recycled from clouds to rain to oceans."

"There was some bottled spring water around Way-Lean when I was there," suggested Wit. "Could I bring that into the Files?"

"Yes, of course; brilliant," exclaimed Dragona.

"That still doesn't solve the problem of fire," said the Squire pessimistically. "I'm sorry to douse your coals but when fire dies it always dies down or dies out so all the flames in the 'Do Not Play With Fire' section are so down and out they can't go out to play at all. You won't be able to boil any water with them."

'Down and out,' is an idiom for lacking resources or being destitute.

Wit looked a bit sullen, unable to think of any other way to make tea when suddenly he remembered the sparks that the Lizards had released from their tails. If he could catch one of those before it shot up to the sun, maybe he could bring it back into the Files also. He was just about to share his reignited enthusiasm when the Squire drowned it for good.

"And you would never find a kettle to boil water in or a pot to brew it in. They are all queued up, fighting to get into the 'White Goods' section and claiming the other group should be excluded because of their colour. Even They have not been able to sort out that dispute yet; They might have to refer it to the Mites."

Even fleas have mites - parasites upon parasites; suckers upon suckers.

"I'm sorry to burst your Bubble Squire," said Dragona, "but you seem to have forgotten you can boil water in a paper bag! Backyard apartheidv is only for things that can't see their similarities.vi They are not even like Eye Ronny because he at least has one good eye." Wit thought of how Pillow had fought with the lizards because she had only one eye on herself. "At least the cyclops was born that way.vii Now off you go Wit," she said, "and bring back water, fire and paper. Camilla will make you a nice cup of tea and we'll see if that will placate Them so you can have a nice lie down. The Nanna-naps here are to die for. Off you go and don't let anyone tell you, you can't do it." And turning to the Squire she made a zipping motion across her mouth just as he was starting to open his again.

The Squire, known better for his blustering and bravado than for his subtlety and discretion blundered ahead anyway, "Speaking of referring things to the Mites, did you know the Mites have been called in to deal with the Emperor's new clothes?" But Dragona and Camilla, experienced ignorers, just stood in front of the Squire and waved Wit on.

~Section 6

Wit looked from one to the other. They looked back and Dragona gave him an encouraging nod. 'OK,' he thought, 'I can do this.' And he shimmered all over the place. One part of him couldn't help but look in on the Emperor's file on the way past. One part had to go and ask Thera if his travels had really been a set up to get him into Alyssum and the rest of him shimmered the furthest he had ever gone since his first leap of 100,000 years. Going flat out, he aimed for Way-Lean but flatly missed by miles, skimmed the tops of the white horses like a flying fish and sank like a skimming stone gone flat. He even missed the edge of Bounty by miles and sank into a desert of very wet sand. "Fuhjimshbytbgdf," he spluttered, the taste of skim milk filling his mouth but sliding off his tongue leaving him feeling flat.

The fat in food sticks to the tongue, transferring its chemical flavours to the taste buds. Food with the fat removed does not taste as nice because the chemicals are not in contact with the tongue for as long even if they are healthier.

"Hugo's swear?" trumpeted a seahorse the size of a draught horse from behind him. Wit spun around and saw the sea horse was white like the wind-blown tops of the waves above. It had panther ears on its head and was very pregnantly fat.

"Way won food," he replied hoping this sounded like a password.

'Way won food,' is a homonym for 'Whey won...' and 'Weigh one...' the nonsense passwords from Chapter 2, Section 5 but sounds like the anorexic Way-Lean winning food.

"What?! I was just asking who goes swearing like that? It's quite uncouth you know."

"What the f..." but Wit checked himself, remembering that discretion was the better part of valour and, looking up at a seahorse that big, he figured he needed as many parts of valour as he could muster.

"Hi," he said with his most charming smile. "I'm Wit. Could you please tell me how to find Way-Lean?"

"Hello Thera, nice to see you again," he said and Wit spun back around to find he had brought Thera along. Standing beside Thera was himself, as if in a mirror, which would have been fine if he wasn't moving independently, as if in a movie.

"Ah," said Thera looking between the two Wits, "You didn't tell me you had shimmered into a split insignificance."

"I didn't know I had," replied the Wit that was standing beside Thera and the Wit that was standing beside the seahorse wanted to go over and punch himself for taking the words out of his mouth.

"That's what happens when there are too many places you'd like to be in at the same time as you realise your own pointlessness so allowing you to be anywhere at anytime; you end up bothwheres. Well you'd better kiss and make up." And Thera nudged his Wit towards the other and the seahorse poked his Wit towards himself with its tail. The two Wits approached each other unsure quite what to do or even if he wanted to be this close to himself. Then, accepting that it would be rude not to kiss this seeming stranger, he had that awkward moment when he didn't quite know which cheek to kiss himself on. Their heads haltered from side to side like two people trying to avoid each other in a narrow corridor and, finally, settling on the left cheek, Wit felt his head bumped gently by the seahorse's tail so that the lips on both his faces just touched at the corners. He had that moment of embarrassment where some invisible line between formality and intimacy had been crossed but he hoped the other person and everyone watching hadn't noticed. The moment didn't last long as he was instantly sucked into his own mouths, recombined and stood there blinking, looking out of his own head, yet feeling incomplete, like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Though fortunately not so incomplete that it felt his stomach had dropped out of his bottom.

~Section 7

When he looked around, Thera was already standing beside the seahorse, laughing like old friends. "Wit, this is Sauce. Do you remember me saying that I didn't betray you but I just let you follow your dreams? Even though I knew you couldn't get back, I believed it was best to let you find that out for yourself rather than deny it and go to sleep with Pillow's kiss. I thought you had what it takes to pilot your own way into the Alyssum Files." Wit nodded, the part of him that had been with Thera on the way here remembered and the part of him that had come straight here knew that he knew though couldn't remember the learning. "People will tell you a lot of stuff about the afterlife," continued Thera, "but if you don't believe any of it, it's better to find out for yourself." Wit nodded again.

'To sleep with Pillow's kiss...' is an allegory for the notion of not accepting that death is the end of life. Keep in mind that this novel is actually about the process of a bereaved person letting go rather than about the fictional character Wit trying to return. People going through grief are torn between letting go of their relationship by accepting that it is finished (even though the memories will never fade) and holding onto the hope that the person somehow exists in an afterlife and is 'waiting for them.' Accepting that death is the end of a relationship feels like a betrayal of trust to the lost loved one that they thought they would never leave behind. Our sense of allegiance to our loved ones makes us want to keep them alive somewhere, even if it is like they are behind a one-way mirror where we can no longer see or hear them and where they are taunted by being able to see us but cannot help or communicate with us. The allegory of sleeping in the Elysian Fields is an allusion to those who prefer to believe their loved ones are still there somewhere rather than accepting that the relationship is over except in their life-long memories.

"At least, you've come to the right source," said Sauce straight from the seahorse's mouth. "Thera was telling me They have sent you on a quest? They are always a con these quests so the best way to con a quest is with Conquest's horse. At your service." And it sort of bowed over its pregnant bulge.

"You mean, you're Conquer's horse? The four horse's of the apocalypse?! Thera is War's headless horse and the Mayor was Famine's?! And now you're Conquests?!"

"I concur, though there's no such thing as Conquer remember. That's just a cur's con. On the contrary, when people strive to become social beings, they appreciate it much more than if it's handed to them on a platter full of Term-Mights."

"But if you're Conquer's horse, why are you floating around under the Sea of Opportunity? Shouldn't you be transporting the Progress of empires?!"

"I'm on pregnancy leave."

"Um, I thought you're a man?"

"You didn't notice I'm a seahorse? We have the babies."viii

"But you have cat's ears! And doesn't Conquer doesn't mind?"

"No such thing as Conquer, remember. You are a slow unlearner."

"Unlearning what?"

"Yourself. You are unlearning all your expectations that there is Conquer and Famine and War. They are just in your head; put there by countless generations of ancestors who have all ended up in the Files despite wasting their lives fighting for power rather than sharing with the Have Noughts."

"I never learned that seahorses have ears."

"We are all cats in the head," said Sauce and Thera in unison smirking at each other.

Each of the horses has some element of a panther about it, Thera has the feet (Ch 1, Sc 4), the Night Mayor has the body and tail (Ch 4, Sc 7) and Sauce has the ears. If the cats are the 'angels,' this makes the three horses their archangels. The genus of the big cats is 'panthera.'

"So if there is no such thing as the four horsemen why are all the horses here?" asked Wit wittily imagining he had them on a technicality.

"Have you met four of us?" asked Sauce saucily.

"Well, no," pondered Wit. "I've met you, Thera and the Night Mayor. Where is Death's horse?"

"Yet you have met Death; unlike Conquer, War and Famine?"

"Parley? Yes of course, we're old friends now."

"And does Parley look like she needs a horse? Or something more fuel efficient, like a Prius? Or even a rocket ship to unleash Death on all the aliens?" asked Sauce.

"No, of course not. Death is everywhere, isn't she?"

"Last question, why do we call Death a 'she?'"

"I've no idea," replied Wit dumfounded.

"Come come," encouraged Thera. "Use your wits. I'll give you a clue: dog Ma gives birth to..."

'Dog Ma,' is derived from the joke, 'My karma ran over my dogma.'

"Um, OK, when anyone dies, everyone else is sad. So I guess Parley brings grief when she takes life?"

"Excellent!" said Sauce. "You were right, this one does have potential; such a waste."

"So," Thera continued, "if Necessity is the mother of Invention and the grandmother of Progress, Death is the mother of Grief and the grandmother of Imagination. For Grief is always dreaming up new ways to deal with the loss of loved ones. At their core, all the bubbles that people hide their heads in are a way to imagine that their loved ones are waiting for them in an afterlife rather than accepting that they are gone - as they themselves will be, too, one day. There is no great meeting, no parley, in the sky; only Parley: The Meeting with Yourself."

"And you are?..." asked Sauce.

"Insignificant..." realised Wit nearly shimmering out of existence as he said it but kept in place by the one point that was himself, now; not what he was or what he could have been, just himself, now. But one point was all it took to hold him in place among all the other points in Eternity. His brain hurt.

"So if only Death is real and yet she makes Imagination come to life, why do the other horsemen need horses?" asked Wit changing the topic to something he could see.

"Well, we have to be somewhere," answered Thera. "People keep talking about us as if we're real. You remember Ma Fate and the four little ducks don't you? They have to be somewhere since people keep thinking about them but they are not real so they are here."

"You mean I'm not real either? I know I'm dead, but does that mean I only exist in other people's memory and imagination? If they feel me in their hearts, it's because they felt me before, not because I'm there?"

"By Jove, I think he's got it!" trumpeted the seahorse. Wit's left ear heard the sound of one hand clapping but his right ear still had to ask what was going on.

'By Jove, I think he's got it,' is reminiscent of Professor Higgins cry in the movie My Fair Lady, 1964; a remake of George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion, 1938. 'The sound of one hand clapping,' See also Chapter 1, Section 5.

"Maybe you really are ready for your quest now?" said Thera. "So what was it They sent you to get?"

"A cup of green tea," replied Wit.

"Ooh, tricky. Water is never lost and fire never dies," commented Sauce. "But when success is easy there's little reward in it. So do you have an idea where to look?"

"I think I saw some bottled water near Way-Lean," said Wit and the lizards have fire, though I don't think I can carry that in my pocket. But one spot at a time to paint a punk elephant, right?"

'To paint a punk elephant,' is a reference to Wit's progress towards accepting his own death or, allegorically, his loved one's progress towards that end. See Chapter 2, Section 15.

"Right you are; then off we go. Piggy in the middle?" said Sauce and the two horses stood on either side of Wit, pressed on him and shimmered together over the top of a few sand dunes into the land of Bounty.

~Section 8

Contrary to expectations, Way-Lean looked a little less gaunt than before.

"Don't even think about it," she said as soon as she saw them.

"Think about what?" asked Wit.

"No, you will not trick me into saying it. Last time I gained a week after I saw you. I will not say 'food.' Oh, damn! See, you've done it again." And indeed, she did seem a fraction less skinny than a second ago.

But Wit's eyes were not focusing on her. Surrounding her hole was a double row of water bottles, a small fortress shielding her from the view of Bounty, the mountains of wasted food all around.

"Could I borrow, I mean have, one of your bottles of spring water please?" he asked.

"I do not share water. It's the only thing I can think about that doesn't have any calories. It fills my mind and washes it of all impurities. Help yourself to the baked beans if you want to float away." But even as she said the word 'baked beans' she fattened just a tiny bit more. She was obviously losing the fight to disappear as More-Ray had done.

"Way-Lean, could I offer some advice," said Sauce and Way-Lean turned her head to indicate she was listening. She hoped he would not talk too much about food as she was starting to realise it was more precious than she had at first believed.

"What's sauce for the Gander is sauce for the geese." And she blinked at Sauce demanding an explanation.

"Well even They have to die and face the Mites. And the Mites might die, too, for all we know; only whatever they have to face is too small to see."

"Are you saying I should accept where I am and not try to get home? You want me to go to the Files, too?!" she gasped. A sea cucumber wriggled away from her warily in case her anger turned to resignation and awoke her appetite; not being able to wriggle very fast it realised it was in a pickle. "Haven't you noticed They are all parasites?!"

Sea cumbers look like pickles and visa versa.

"I just think if you accepted Wit's help you would be happier than if you hold on to your dream of fading back to life," Sauce said.

"Way-Lean, we are all parasites," said Thera. "Nature is red in tooth and clawix but it has to be: life lives by lapping up other lives. Most deaths are caused by other creatures trying to survive. Hunger drives creatures to fight and the spoils go to the winner; it's famine, war and conquer in miniature; in balance."

"Precisely," said Way-Lean. "That's exactly why I don't want to think about food at all. I don't want to exploit other animals or even plants for my own gain."

Vegetarians who are making a statement against the exploitation of animals have commendable goals in so far as animal cruelty in pursuit of mass production is deplorable. However, denying that humans evolved from a long line of omnivores limits the appeal of their cause to the average person who is generally unwilling to deny their meat eating instincts. In the author's opinion, animal welfare improvements are therefore better achieved through ethical production techniques than by advocating against meat production per se.

Thera looked thoughtful, then said, "But even fading back to life is draining time from others, inadvertently, because you could be giving it away to make their lives better. None of us exist in a vacuum; everything we do affects someone else. That's why They want Wit to find his place in society, not just to find himself. He needs to accept that we are all parasites and yet we all pay taxes, too."

"I find it's better to look at myself as part of a species rather than as an individual," said Sauce. "Look at humans: individually they may be exploiting a cow when they eat it but as a species they are just a parasite on the cow species. Like lice, they have to eat but at least they don't turn their host into a ghost. Humans have even learned to breed more cows so the cows, as a species, have benefitted."

"That's right," said Thera. "And cows have become stronger and healthier over many generations of farming so being a parasite can even benefit others. So long as you accept that you need others to live, you can turn your need into something symbiotic; mutual parasitism like the mitochondria feeding in your cells give the cells energy in return."

"I don't have any cells; I'm dead, remember."

"Well I mean before, sorry. For that matter even the Merry Mitochondria that had homes in your cells are now dead. But what was true there is true here too. Yes, They are all parasites but so are we. And They pay Their dues, too: They need to put everything in its place and we need a place where we can fit in; we all benefit. Symbiosis resulting in synergy is perpetual energy. It's what allows the parallel universe of the Alyssum Files to exist."

"So Wit, you actually want to go to the Files?!" asked Way-Lean. "Everything in its place because it's the place everything ends up; won't that kill your dreams?"

"I've given them up," said Wit. "I am what I am; we are dead. No point fighting it or dragging it out until our time is up. We belong in Alyssum now. They have said I can come in if I'm taxed. I think that means I have to give what's left of my time to others; to help them. You're in my society, so maybe I could help you, too; if you'd like to come with us?"

"But I'm wasted," objected Way-Lean. "My feet couldn't even carry what's left of my weight."

"I can carry you. This is a quest after all. It would be like rescuing a damsel in distress," he smiled. "Please come. I think you'll be happier there accepting yourself for who you are rather than trying to be something that's natural only in your head, not in anyone else's."

"Fetch me a pickle to gnaw on, will you, and I'll think it over." So Wit reached over and picked up one that wasn't wriggling; he hoped it wasn't just playing dead. However, when he turned back to Way-Lean, she had disappeared into her hole.

Pickles look like sea cumbers and visa versa.

"What should I do?" he asked Thera and Sauce.

"You could just steal a water bottle and move on," said Thera.

"Or you could wait till she steals out again and keep asking," said Sauce

"Aren't quests fun?" said Thera. And so Wit sat down. Unsure what to do, he decided to do nothing.

When faced with a number of difficult options, choosing to do nothing, until you can work out which option is best, is sometimes the best choice rather than rushing to get the decision making over with and so making a poor choice.

After a while Way-Lean poked her head out and, seeing him still sitting there, said, "I thought you would have stolen a bottle and moved on." The pickle began to wriggle back out of the way.

"No, I was serious; would you like to join us?" he replied.

"Fine. This hole is getting a bit tight anyway with you feeding my mind all the time." And Wit smiled and picked her up. He carefully draped her round his neck and she clasped her tail between her teeth like something his grandmother stole from a fox. Even as she settled down to be carried, she seemed to feel heavier. Her arms and legs that had hung limply by her side started to regain some shape though her tail didn't shrink. Pocketing a bottle of water, he looked at Thera and asked, "Do you know how to get back to the source of the Lizard's fire?"

'Something his grandmother stole from a fox,' means a fox stole, i.e. a shoulder covering / scarf made from fox skin including the head and tail.

"But of course, the course is clear," it replied.

"I'd like to stay the course, too," said Sauce. So Wit put a hand on either wither and whither did they wander to gander at the source of life.

'Of course,' meaning 'obviously;' 'The course is clear,' two meanings: 'no obstacles in the way,' or 'the route is known;' 'Stay the course,' meaning 'complete the distance,' 'Wither,' meaning 'the top of a horse's shoulder blade;' 'Whither,' meaning 'that way;' 'To gander at, 'meaning 'to look at.' 'Wither did they wander,' is reminiscent of the nursery rhyme 'Goosy goosy gander, whither did I wander...'

~Section 9

On entering the heart of the volcano Wit couldn't see so much as a spark because he was staring straight at the left flank of the Night Mayor. It was as black as his pupil, the window to his shoal. He took a step back to assess whether she was friend or foe only to stare wide eyed as she reared up and lowered her horn to gore him in the eye.

'The window to his shoal,' is an adaptation of the idiom 'the eyes are the window to the soul.' A shoal is a shallow sandbar often associated with shipwrecks. In this respect Wit's life crashed because of his state of mind before he died. It could also be symbolic that his hopes of returning to life have crashed. See also, 'as void as the pupils inside his eyes,' Chapter 4 Section 4 (coincidentally, 44 is a homonym for 'death' in Chinese). Finally, eye colour is a retort to anyone who is racist: If you 'look into anyone's soul,' i.e. into their pupils, you will see we are all black inside. ~ ~ ~ The notion that the eyes can tell us about our state of mind has roots in the Bible verse 'the eye is the lamp of the body,' (Matt 6:22). Or for a more scientific insight, please refer to Larssen, Penderson & Stattin, 'Associations between iris characteristics and personality in adulthood, 2007.

"Ahem, I wouldn't do that if I was you, Mayor," said Sauce. "They have sent him to con a quest."

"Oh hello chaps," said the Mayor dropping back on all fours. "I didn't see you there, sorry."

"No problem;" said Thera, "tricky working in the dark. Could you shed some light on Wit's problem." And immediately the cavern melted back a little as the tip of the Mayor's horn glowed like a traffic baton. Now that the Mayor had moved aside, Wit could see the lizard's fire burning in the distance and the lizards filing in from the sides to throw their lost tails into the blaze.

"I thought you were coming to steal some life in the hope of getting back there," said the Mayor apologetically. For a minute Wit's heart raced at a possibility he hadn't considered but then he calmed himself remembering that the last time he was here was because Pillow had been stealing the tails' lives and he wasn't about to do the same thing.

"OK," Wit asked "how do we stoke the lizard's fire so that we can capture a spark? And what on earth am I going to carry it back to the Files in?"

"You live?" asked the Mayor and the other two horses chanted, "Evil ewe," nodding their heads solemnly as horses do. Then, having conferred, the Mayor turned back to Wit, "Evil is live backwards, right?" And this time Wit nodded. "So live is the opposite of evil?" Again Wit nodded, wondering where this was going. "But what stops lives?"

"Parley," answered Wit knowing as he said it that the simple answer was sure to be wrong.

"Right, Death can be anywhere, anytime; but what stops life?

"Um, carelessness," he thought out loud, thinking of his own kind, "cruelty" thinking of callous killings, "or crinkles?" he asked, thinking of how he used to stare in fascination at his grandmother's wrinkles before she passed away and how they were still there after she'd died, only still, never again crinkling into a smile for him.

'Still there,' meaning 'to remain' and 'still,' meaning 'unmoving,' are homonyms.

"Close," replied the Mayor. "All of those come from being close to people don't they? Or in your case, from not being close enough. Lives end when the Wee-evils bite through the interwoven threads of life, you go to parley with yourself, leaving holes in the social fabric."

"I think it's best if we show him," said Thera much to Wit's relief. "You two look forwards and backwards in time. Hold on Wit."

As Wit reached out his hand to Thera, Sauce and the Mayor shimmered beside them. Thera explained, "Death is everywhere so you just have to look through everywhen to be in the right place at the wrong time."

"I've found one," came Sauce's muffled voice through the musts of Time. The Mayor stopped shimmering and she and Thera reached over and touched Sauce who transported them to the same place in a different era, leaving Way-Lean suspended in the air where Wit's neck had been since she was not ready to see the Wee-evils yet.

'The musts of Time,' is an adaptation of the common description 'the mists of time.' However the author has used the word 'must' because some things, like death, must happen to everyone eventually. A musty smell is also associated with long periods of time in an enclosed space.

~Section 10

Once they stopped shimmering, the four of them walked closer to the fire, overtaking an ancient lizard who was hobbling along beside a much younger one. "Careful Grandpa," the younger one said and Wit realised he was carrying two tails towards the fire; his own and another with the dry skin flaking off it like his scaly grandfather. For all the grandson's care, Wit could see the aged one would barely make it before he could throw his tail into the fire and restore his life. The grandfather seemed to know it too and was busy reminding the boy of the many things he had taught him.

"To see the social fabric you will need to ride with cooperation," said Thera and Wit looked around confused until he realised it was looking at Conquer's seahorse. "And to see the Wee-evils you will need to touch the Night Mayor at the same time. Hold onto me also so you don't lose your head." So Wit clambered up onto Sauce's back and stretched out a hand to touch Thera and the Mayor on either side. As he did so, he noticed something different about the grandson and grandfather making their way slowly towards the fire; there was a glowing cord binding them together. Its radiance was reflected in their eyes whenever they glanced at each other and, as the grandfather talked quietly, warmth pulsed towards the boy.

When they reached the blaze, Wit noticed something else. There were three stubby caterpillars waiting invisibly for them. One was spinning ewe-wool. Having so many feet, it was able to operate two spindles at the same time. The threads were taken up by the second grub, which was weaving them together into patterned cloth on a loom. Wit was able to focus on just those two threads but in reality there were zillions of them interwoven in groups of seven strands,x crisscrossing in all directions; a grate meeting throughout time and space. He nearly lost his head again, realising his own immaterial part in the material of the Infiniverse being woven before him but Thera kept him focused and he noticed that the third grub was crawling over the social fabric, snipping at the threads with her scissors. Sometimes she would bite a particularly resilient thread with her teeth, at other places she would ravage an area with both teeth and scissors, rending it so much that the tear could never be patched. Looking closely, Wit saw Parley, in miniature, leaping through each small hole and the surrounding threads pulling themselves back in fear of her, making the gaps wider. One hundred billion threads away he saw the rump of a pink elephant that was trying to squeeze through the gap left by his own passing. And though the Infiniverse traced every life that was, even after they were cut short, the edges were frayed as every thread was eventually cut. Only a couple of infamous names were remembered through the ages - though not forever. Stranded in time those strands raveled their way into the lives of the living from infinitely distant histories. As the Wee-evil snipped and savaged, she occasionally cut a thread when there were no others woven around it - no one else's life was affected. Then Parley passed unnoticed and the grub paused at the tear and shed a tear.

The Wee-evils are reminiscent of the three fates in Greek mythology. When the third grub is seen ravaging an area it is an allegory for war. The myth has been adapted such that the first grub does not cut the threat of life - rather the life ends when the spinner runs out of that thread and the weaver then stops making connections between that life and others. What the third grub cuts are the bonds between people who are connected. This signifies that there are two tragedies in death \- firstly, the ending of a life; secondly, the ending of relationships. It is this second tragedy that may be the hardest for the bereaved to recover from in the grieving process. For others there is sadness that an estranged life has ended without much relationship having been formed. 'A grate meeting,' is a homonym for 'a great meeting.' Here the lines are crisscrossing like a grate. 'The rump of a pink elephant,' is a reference to 'painting a punk elephant one pink spot at a time,' i.e. Wit's progress towards accepting his own death or, allegorically, his family's progress towards that end. See Chapter 2, Section 15. 'Paused at the tear and shed a tear,' tear (to rip) and tear (to cry) are homonyms. I.e. when no one else cares if someone dies, the Fates still care.

As the lizards approached, the spinner stopped spinning one of the spools and looked at them, the last of that thread slipping between her claws. The grandfather paused for breath then staggered on giving his grandson a weak-reassuring smile. The weaver, however, didn't pause for a second, continuing to thread both lives into the loom. The grandson reached the fire and setting down his tail on the ground lifted up his grandfather's to help him throw it into the fire. The grandfather patted him on the head and said he felt his end was looming and he wanted to watch the boy throw his tail in first; to enjoy the ritual of life one last time. The boy cried out it wasn't true and quickly threw his own tail into the flames where it burst into sparks. As Wit had seen before, one spark flew into the boy's chest and the others shot up into the vault above them to mingle eventually with the sun. Next the boy helped his grandfather heave his tail into the blaze but even as it left their hands, the last of the grandfather's thread was woven into the fabric and he slumped onto the ground. At the same time, the grub with the scissors reached out and cut the glowing cord that bound them together. Sparks flew out of the fire as the old tail exploded but the one that was meant for the grandfather hit the boy in the chest instead. He cried out, calling his grandfather to come back and cried tears of grief into the dry, still and unsmiling scales on the ground. After a while, the boy looked up, focused on one spark that was soaring upwards and called out through the tear in his heart, "I'll see you in the Sun one day grandpa!!" and then he dragged himself away from the fire back towards the cracks in the walls. The severed thread trailed behind him in the dust and ash still glimmering warmly from the all the things his grandfather had shown him throughout his life.

While this was happening, Wit noticed the fear of Parley widening the gap that had been made in the social fabric but the boy's last words seemed to stitch it back together a little. He realised there were many patches across the fabric, some of them elaborate but none of them quite fitting with the beauty of the original interwoven pattern of relationships. While he mused, a white dog turd of ash fell off a log and enveloped the grandfather's body in dust. When it cleared, Wit realised his escorts had shimmered him back under Way-lean who was complaining she had gained a year waiting, though it had only been half a second. She certainly was heavier and, despite her tail, was looking healthier and more human by half.

'The boy's last words seemed to stich it back together... Many patches across the fabric,' Death is the mother of Grief and Grief the mother of Imagination: The boy says he will see his grandfather again one day because it makes him feel better to imagine that the relationship is somehow continuing and will one day be restored. This is a 'patch' to the tear in his reality and is an insight into to the elaborate patches that all religions weave to give people hope that the relationship with their lost loved ones are not actually cut off but just temporarily suspended. Though deeply comforting, the author is suggesting that the original beauty of the fabric of life includes accepting the reality of lost relationships and that religions' elaborate patches cannot compare with the beauty of nature. Having said that, it is perfectly natural to avoid pain and telling each other stories to make us feel better is one of Nature's greatest gifts to humans. The difference then may only be in whether we retain the ability to tell fact from fiction.

~Section 11

"So you see Wit," said the Mayor, "Wee-evils are in our lives both weaving and cutting the social fabric. You asked how you could stir the fire. The answer is to build a bond. One day it will be cut and knowing about the tear left behind is the best training in not losing your head - though in your case it's a little too late to dance on that pin. One day all your bonds will be cut, even your parents will be free from their lifelong double tax and at that point you will remember your name. But for now you just need someone who is willing to help you as you helped her."

'To dance on that pin,' is an allusion to the medieval debate about how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. ~ ~ ~ 'Lifelong double tax,' means - when a child dies, the parents are taxed by their grief for the rest of their lives while still owing society a contribution to make the world a better place. ~ ~ ~ Wit will remember his name when everyone else has forgot him, i.e. when his name is no longer alive / needed, it will die too and be reunited with him.

There was an awkward silence where everyone except Wit thought they knew what the Mayor meant.

"So," said Way-Lean, "You mean someone has to be willing to help Wit which will build a bond between them and so stir the fire?"

"Almost," replied the Mayor patiently. "Except it has to be someone he helped who helps him back. It's no use just doing something for someone if you are not willing to let her or him repay you in some way. Then you would have a lot of bonds hanging off you but they wouldn't be tied to anyone else; a bit like a floppy porcupine."

"Well Wit helped me," said Way-Lean and the three horses sighed in unison. "I could give you a hand," she said stretching her pianist's fingers towards him.

"Thanks Way-Lean but looking at the lizards filing in behind us I think I need to ask one of them if they would lend me a tail. That seems to be the only thing that bursts into sparks."

"But Wit, you wouldn't have done anything for that lizard so there wouldn't be an attachment from your end," said Thera. "Think about how you and Way-lean could cooperate."

"Ooo, I know!" she burst out, "I can give you my tail..."

But Wit looked scared of the debt he would owe for such a generous offer and said, "No, I couldn't, that would be too much..."

"No, really, I'd be happy to be rid of it," she said. "Please?..."

"Well I still think it's too much but it's up to you," and seeing her nodding and smiling, added, "Thank you."

Way-Lean shook herself vigorously,xi releasing her tail which she picked up and presented to Wit. He took it reluctantly but gratefully and they walked forwards towards the fire to throw it in.

"Next problem," said Wit. "How am I going to carry the spark over to the paper tree without setting it on fire, let alone back to the files?"

"I can give you a hand there," said Sauce wiggling his fins excitedly. "If you need a pot, I'm the man for the job." Wit looked askance but he continued, "Just toss in the tail and I'll catch the spark in my pot belly. It's full of water so the spark will be safe till we get there."

"Um, thanks but water and fire don't mix," said Wit.

"You keep forgetting where you are, even after all this time. Trust me."

Wit smiled at Sauce to reassure himself and lifted the tail - ready to throw it into the fire.

Usually we smile at others to reassure them (if we believe it, they should, too) but sometimes we smile to convince ourselves (if we believe they should believe it, then we should believe it ourselves). The willing suspension of disbelief is sometimes predicated on the desire not to feel like a hypocrite - especially if we are asking others to join our belief system.

"So all those unraveled threads end up filed away in Alyssum?" he asked, then continued on before anyone could answer, "So eventually I will get to meet my loved ones in there?!"

"Ah Wit, your wits are still wanting for wishes but no, whatever is unraveled cannot be raveled again.

'Your wits are still wanting,' is the same usage as the idiom, 'waste not, want not,' i.e. to be in want is to be needing something, so to be wanting actually means he needs more wits, more intelligence - and 'for wishes,' explains that it is his desire to be reunited with his loved ones that has dulled his wits. 'Whatever is unraveled cannot be raveled again,' is reminiscent of the Bible verse, 'If salt loses its saltiness, it cannot be made salty again,' Matt 5:13. The juxtaposition of a biblical reference after the comment that the desire to meet our loved ones in Eternity dulls our wits reflects the author's opinion about why people throughout the ages have patched over the holes left by death with stories of reunion in the afterlife.

There are an infinite number of relationships in the Infiniverse and once cut they can never overlap again. I'm sorry," soothed The Night Mare.

"But if there is an infinite amount of time for me to meet people then everything is possible so eventually we must bump into each other again..."

"Infinite possibility does not result in infinite probability because anything that is infinitely possible is equally infinity impossible. Seven ate Nine until Nine ate Seven, you know."

From the children's joke, 'seven ate/eight nine,' though the similarity between the number 8 and the symbol for infinity is not accidental. Here the point is made that infinity runs in both directions so the Infinite Monkey Theorem may not hold true any more than Chaos Theory states that a flap of a butterfly's wing must produce a hurricane eventually.

Wit didn't know but rather than admit it he casually threw the tail into the blaze as if he understood and accepted the outcome. The blast of sparks was blinding. One fizzed towards Wit like lightening but Sauce's tail was curled into a spring and he flung himself into its path like a bodyguard taking the bullet. The spark plopped into the hole in his tummy and spun around inside him, unable to escape. It made him glow yellow, like a paper lantern.

"Right, next stop: Pillow and the paper tree," said Thera and the small band held hands and shimmered together. Wit looked behind, wondering if he had left anything behind.

~ ~ ~

~Section 12

The bit of Wit that had left the 'Tea Files' while thinking about the Emperor's new clothes, went sideways instead of forwards. He landed downwind of 'Herbal Medicines and Other Infusions' and nearly poked his eye out on Mr Chin's knitting needle.

The character Mr Chin is based on the Chinese Emperor Qin; Qin is a homonym with chin. Qin Shi Huang lived from 260 - 210 BCE and is most famous for unifying China militarily, economically and linguistically. Despite being desperate to find an elixir of life, he prepared for his death by having an 8,000 strong Terracotta Army built at Xian to guard him in the afterlife.

Sitting on a saddle with no horse underneath it was a broken little man. He was furiously knitting grey socks to add to the piles of them that were heaped around him. He smiled at the newcomer and, though Wit wasn't quite all there, they struck up a conversation to the clicking of needles. Having exchanged names and occupations and commented on the weather, Wit asked why Mr Chin was knitting so many socks.

"For the soldiers of course. Someone has to look after them," he replied but Wit struggled to put this into context for there were no soldiers around them.

"Oh they're down in the 'Tourists' section having a holiday," he explained. "They'll be back from over there soon and will have worn all their socks out again. It's an endless job... Look, I've worn my fingers to the bone so They gave me fingers of clay instead." And he lapsed into a flurry of clicks before looking up again and enquiring about Wit's health and the price of tea in China these days.

'Fingers of clay,' is reminiscent of the feet of clay described in the Bible verse Dan 2:33. These symbolised the mortality of the Babylonian Empire / Old Persia. ~ ~ ~ Enquiring about the price of tea in China was once a common conversation-filler similar to discussing the weather.

After a bit of needling, Mr Chin divulged his story. He had once been a great emperor who had forced a million people, including wives and children, to slave for a generation making an army to fight for him in the afterlife. However, since being here, the soldiers had constantly been on holiday and he, as their creator, was now responsible for looking after them. Wit discovered he had been there for over two thousand years but still didn't know his name as it hadn't been forgotten in all that time. As Emperor, he had been proud and burned many books that disagreed with him so, in revenge, the Books had written his name in many many others to make him unforgettable. He was called 'Chin,' he said, because he had stuck his neck out by trusting what others told him about life after death. "Advisors! Pah, little better than 'add visors' most of them. So here I am, constantly making new clothes because I trusted people who didn't dare tell me the truth. That's the problem when you kill anyone who disagrees with you: People tell you what you want to hear. Well the last laugh's on me isn't it? The worst part is not all the knitting I have to do but the fact that those advisors all found their names after a couple of generations but mine has been written in so many books I think I'll never know who I was." Wit looked on sympathetically as he kept knitting, socks falling off his needles with little squeaks of joy.

'Advisors,' meaning 'to help someone see the best way forward' and 'add visors,' meaning 'to partially obscure the line of sight' are homonyms with opposite meanings.

Though not fully appreciating just how vast the Emperor's folly had been and how many socks he still had to knit to warm that many toes, Wit came up with an idea.

"Mr Chin, could I borrow a few bundles of socks from you? I think I could help you dress your soldiers."

"And how would you do that dear boy?" asked the old man. "Have you ever knitted anything?"

"No, but I know where there are a lot of lost socks. If I could match them with yours, then hopefully They would let them into the Files, see? And you would have twice as many as before; as long as the socks all agreed to be worn and are not too worn out that is."

"Yes, there is always a catch. You can say that again; 'always a catch,'" he said muttering to himself. "Well, let's give it a try. It's taken a while but at least I've learned to filter advice rather than just swallow or discard it in bulk. Where are all these socks you saw?" And Wit explained about the paper tree where he had last seen the sock children at play.

~ ~ ~

~Section 13

When Wit arrived with Mr Chin, he found the other part of himself already in conversation with Pillow. Standing around him were Thera and the Mayor plus a huge glowing white seahorse, who would not have been blown over in a draught, standing beside a slender girl, who could have been.

'Blown over in a draught,' the largest horses are draught horses, meaning to pull a load.

She was dressed in flowing silk the colour of skim milk. He barely had time to wonder how he got there ahead of himself when he saw Thera tap the other him on the shoulder. The other him then turned, smiled, excused himself from Pillow's discussion, walked over and kissed him square on the mouth. He let out a gasp of shock but found he was now staring out of the other him's eyes and that he felt a little more together than a second ago. The parts of him that had been to the sea and back nodded to Mr Chin and said they were pleased to meet him and he, in turn, looked at Way-lean amazed that he hadn't recognised her now she had blossomed. He couldn't help asking, "Um, do the cows really benefit?"

"As a species," replied Thera. "But Progress can go too far - like those poor fattened chickens and the steers don't get much out of it."

"Hello Thera," said Mr Chin looking it up and down. "Still hiding your head in shame for having run out on my War all those years ago? Just kidding, how are you holding together?" The Mayor and Sauce snorted derisively at him.

"Still looking for a fight I see Mr Chin," replied Thera with a twinkle in his button eyes. "Sorry, the pieces are all safe and sound, thanks."

"Um, you mean you know where your head is?!" exclaimed Wit also amazed that Thera seemed to know everyone. "How do you know Mr Chin?"

"Oh emperors get around," said Thera. "I knew this one when he was a boy who brought seven kingdoms under his control. I managed to rear up and throw War a few times in those campaigns. Battles are never quite as crazy as the generals intend - are they Mr Chin?"

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it? I got my way and unified the country around the black hole of my ego. Is it still going strong? I guess so but who knows; the boys never tell me what they've been doing there when they get home."

Wit's eyes were getting wider wondering how the soldiers got back there, maybe because they were not alive before, but he could only formulate one question at a time, "You mean you didn't do what War wanted when you were there?!" he asked.

"No," chuckled Thera, "You can't bridle a horse with no head. War was always furious that I'd buck and rear just when he was about to land a devastating blow."

"This nostalgia is all very amusing," simpered Pillow sarcastically, "but could we talk about the here and now? The answer is still, 'no.'"

"You know you can't stop us," said Sauce

"This may not be the Files but I know there are protocols even here and that you do not have as much imagination to skirt them as I have skill to adhere to them, when it suits me."

Sometimes bureaucracy can be used to devastating effect to undermine the law and visa versa.

"In that case we will let the sheaves decide for themselves," said Sauce who then called out in a loud voice, "Would anyone like to come to Alyssum with Wit?" Immediately a rustle of pages came from the tree and many pieces of paper floated down to the ground. Pillow spun and hissed, and the pages shrank back towards the tree trunk quivering. Pillow's yellow eyes narrowed into the slits of a dungeon cell causing Wit to also take a step backwards as he remembered the last time he was imprisoned by her claws.

A number of socks peeked warily out from around the tree trunk, too. Wit remembered why he had come and whispered to Thera his plan to free the socks by pairing them with Mr Chin's. Thera smiled, flicked its sock to indicate that Wit should hold on and shimmered back to the file marked 'Emperors.'

"Cowards," taunted Pillow into the air behind them.

"You're a feisty little kitty aren't you?" chuckled Mr Chin. "How would you like to be my lap cat in Alyssum?" But Pillow just spat at him and hissed, "You know I can't go in there until all my lives are spent you despicable little grasshopper. Get away with your pony mates and that scrawny girl before I shred you all!"

Calling someone as old as Mr Chin a 'grasshopper' is reminiscent of the Greek myth of Tithonus who gain immortality by not eternal youth, withering up with age until his goddess wife, Eos, turned him into a cricket.

Way-Lean looked worried but far from being cowed the Mayor and Sauce just sniggered and waited for Thera to shimmer back. Mr Chin's face, however, had gone black. He evidently hadn't quite forgotten that he was once great; possibly why the Squire had thought the Mites might be called in.

"YOU IMPERTINENT YOUNG EPIGLOTTIS!" he thundered. "Put a Sock In It!"

~ ~ ~

~Section 14

Meanwhile Wit was gathering up armfuls of the Emperor's socks even as he was asking Thera how they could carry enough back to pair with all the lost socks.

"Take the sock off my head Wit," it said but Wit was reluctant, not wanting to expose Thera to the shame to being a headless horse.

"Come along now; we must get back," said Mr Therasock. So Wit reached up and pulled the sock upward and gaped, open mouthed, at seeing Thera's head right where it should be.

He stopped mid-step while Thera whinnied happily, nuzzled him on the blind side and said, "Allow me to introduce Algernon, my head: Wit, Algernon; Algernon, Wit. Come, fill up Mr Therasock while you ask your never-ending questions."

To be 'blind sided' means to not see something coming. 'Algernon' was apparently a blind spot (Chapter 1, Section 14 ) though in retrospect only to Wit, not Thera. See also the final paragraph in Chapter 5.

"What the?!" asked Wit eloquently.

"Close enough," grinned the russet horse's lips and, while Wit continued to pile socks into the sack, it explained, "I lost my head with a blow from behind, as I said, but They suggested I should go back to work anyway, turn my loss into a strength, so long as I didn't mind keeping my head in Alyssum. I stayed sane even though War was crazy, always looking for an opportunity to throw my rider at the wrong moment. You could say They gave me the point: My tale became to tail War to keep the pieces from getting out of control. That's why they call me the Piece. I keep the other piece of me here where it can't get hurt and only join myself together in the Files. There will be no apocalypse of War, Famine and Conquer because you can't fool all of the pieces of society into losing their heads. There will always be some fair-minded folk who cooperate together. Are you ready?" Wit nodded and dragged the huge stretched sock bulging with smaller socks back over to it. He held on and was shimmered straight back to face Pillow who was whining threateningly at the others, unsure who to strike first.

Although religions and movies, like 2012, predicting an apocalypse are abundant, there is good reason to hope that one will never happen. Comments about End Time Predictions are also made in the following Section 15. Being on 'tropical island time' is a stereotype implying they are always late. ~ ~ ~ 'You can't fool all of the pieces of society...' is an adaptation of Abraham Lincoln's saying '...you can't fool all of the people all of the time,' 1886.

~ ~ ~

~Section 15

Pillow looked at him and, sensing the tide had turned, growled, "This time it is the end for you Wit!" but before Wit had time to worry, a flea jumped between them and swept up the dust that had floated around Pillow's feet. "Sorry," it said, "the 'End Time Predictions' are stuck in traffic. We have about two thousand and twelve of them but they keep getting out of the bag. But it's OK - they are all on tropical island time though they might get here one day. The Mites will sweep them aside if they ever do arrive." And away it popped with the dust, as suddenly as it came.

'2012,' is a movie, released in 2009, about the end of the world.

"Pillow," said Thera from the empty space above its shoulders, having left its head grazing safely in the section marked 'Stray Thoughts and Other Things You Dreamed Up in the Shower But Got Washed Down the Plughole,' "you can intimidate most of the people most of the time but you can't imitate all of the different people all of the time because they are out of control." And with that it upended the sack of grey socks into a squealing heap from where they immediately started hopping around in playful groups. It did not take a moment before a rainbow of lost socks had giggled out from behind the tree and were running around laughing with their new friends in a splendid, chaotic game of mix and match. Before long, socks were finding partners and as they snuggled up together little popping sounds pierced the air as fleas emerged beside them, jumped up to measure they were the right height, if not the right colour, and then vanished them off into 'Mr Chin's Soldiers' section back in Alyssum. Mr Chin ran around giggling too, though it was not clear if he was infected by the socks' mood or thrilled that he had got the day off from knitting. After a while the fleas surrounded and reminded him he had to cook supper back at the barracks.

'You can intimidate most of the people most of the time' is an adaptation of Abraham Lincoln's saying, 'You can fool some of the people some of the time...,' 1886.

Pillow's head spun backwards and forwards trying to keep track of the mayhem and then glowered at the Mayor's horn, which had managed to skewer the corner of a passing page of a diary that had never been completed. Seeing she had lost the battle, Pillow sat down and licked her rump as if she hadn't even noticed, though it may have been a flea bite for she flicked her head and tongue around afterwards sending a small dot flying aside to where it could jump onto Parley later.

"Shall we go Wit; Way-Lean?" asked Thera.

"Yes, I think we have everything we need," said Wit.

"N-no, I don't think I can do it," stammered Way-Lean. "Not the Files; my time isn't up is it?"

"Do whatever you like Dear, it's your death," said the Mayor trying hard to look as brown as she could. "You don't have to face it until you're ready. Maybe you'd like a little snooze while you wait? Don't panic, dreams can help to arrest the missing pieces." Way-Lean nodded so, passing the diary page to Wit, the Mayor guided her over to Pillow who breathed on her before stalking away to the far side of the tree. Drowzee Way-Lean lay down to sleep and the Night Mayor nuzzled her gently and then stood guard over her until she, too, was ready to face her fears.

'Trying hard to look as brown as she could,' implies that the black and white nature of the choice to believe or not believe that death is the end does not take into account that many people are just not ready to let go of their loved ones. By noting that the Night Mayor can sometimes look brown the author is suggesting that we should neither force nor frighten people into or out of a belief in the afterlife. The bereaved must come to accept these things only if and when they are ready. ~ ~ ~ 'Drowzee' is a Pokémon character.

Wit felt the bottle of water in his pocket, gripped the paper and checked that Sauce was still glowing with the spark. "I'm ready," he said. The two horses nodded to each other and the three of them shimmered into Camilla's file; Thera's head reappearing on top of its shoulders as they arrived.

~Section 16

The Squire was slumbering noisily in his chair. The green oolong bush was reading the camellia's dry leaves and whispering about the good and evil that might come. As soon as they saw Wit they both rustled their branches and rustled up the Squire.

"Symtriosis..." he mumbled out of his dream. "Oh, it's you boy. Back in the fullness of time; nothing precipitous, hey? Never mind, I've travelled in snails that were slower. And you brought our perpetually energetic mates, He and It, with you, too. Where's She?"

"She's the cat's mother," chided the green black dragon tea.

" _She's_ a nag," he thought. Then aloud, "So what's this conjuring trick you are going to show us Dragona? Seems a prodigious waste of energy carrying around a spark of life in a seahorse. This better be good."

'The green black dragon tea,' refers to Dragona who is a green bush of oolong (literally 'black dragon') tea.

He, She and It refer to the three horses Sauce, the Night Mayor and Thera respectively. 'Symtriosis' is an adaptation of symbiosis, i.e. three mutually beneficial organisms that working in unison are better off than individually. The author is suggesting that gender wars in society are a false divide. Each part of society needs the other and is not complete without them. The term 'It' is used respectfully as a literary device only in this context and is not intended as derogatory term for those identifying as intersex. Women, men and those who do not identify as either sex are equally important to the society as a whole. ~ ~ ~ 'She's the cat's mother,' is a term used to reprove someone who refers to others as 'she' instead of using their proper name or title especially if they are present. 'She's a nag,' has a double meaning - if commenting on the Night Mayor, it is a term for an old weak horse; if commenting on Dragona, it is implying that she constantly harasses him when she reproves him. A shard is a piece of a broken terracotta pot or in this case possibly a piece of one of the terracotta soldiers.

"Well, it would be better if you helped," chided Camilla. "Make yourself useful and pop down to borrow a shard from Mr Chin will you?" And the Squire shimmered away on his errand.

As usual, Dragona had just ignored him. Fussing around Wit, she quickly fashioned the paper into a water balloonxii and filled it from his bottle.

"Excuse me," he asked her, "Why doesn't the Squire have any legs? I thought everyone in the Files would be healthy and whole?"

"Oh he's healthy enough," she replied as she waited for the water to soak through the paper, "haven't you heard his lip?! Like you, he was in a hurry to come in; saw no point in cooling his heels in Elysium while he waited for the rest of himself to catch up."

"But he's not complete?" said Wit still unable to reconcile this with his ideas on wholeness.

"Fortunately They don't discriminate against incompleteness. Look at you... Did you finish growing up? So you're not complete either yet here you are."

"Oh," thought Wit realising he had been scythed at the wrong size.

"And imagine what a grind it would be if They monkeyed around not letting in all the people who had kindly donated their organs."

'Grind,' 'monkeyed' and 'organ,' are taken from the common phrase 'an organ grinder's monkey.' See comments on organs in Chapter 2, Section 12.

"But doesn't he mind not being complete?!"

"Oh he can remember his legs alright, they are not called phantom limbs for nothing - it's not remembering them every minute of every day that's the trick. But the Squire is not one to be knocked down just for a missing leg or two \- he just hangs in there, standing tall whenever he's facing a black knight. I guess you saw at the Infiniverse how hard it is not to be attached to someone even if they are no longer there? It's the same with losing a limb, it's there in your head - you just have to learn, gradually, not to reach out with it, not to stand on it for support, otherwise it will come back and bite you."

Phantom limbs, like other 'ghosts' rattling around in your head may best be tackled by turning a repetitive memory into a distraction. See comments on 'painting a punk elephant one pink spot at a time,' Chapter 2, Section 15. 'Facing a black knight,' is a reference to the Black Knight in the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 1975, in which the character continues on the attack even after being completely dismembered. It is also a reference to the difficulties of dealing with 'ghosts' in your head from grief or PTSD during the middle of the night while lying in bed awake with nothing else to distract you from the loss, either of limb or loved one, that you have suffered.

"Come to think of it," pondered Wit incompletely, "why is Mr Chin so old? I thought everyone here would be the same perfect healthy age. Maybe 25, once our brains have finished growing?"xiii

"Eww, now that would be boring wouldn't it?! A universe with such little variety sounds like hell to me; a rainbow in shades of grey is just a fog. Mr Chin looks old because he has been here for a very long time. He is wiser now but he still has quite a lot to learn about getting stains out of the soldiers' clothes; goodness knows what they get up to when they go back there in those tour groups. But they come back with stories to tell or lessons to share. It all adds a bit of colour to the place."

'Those tour groups,' is a joking allusion that the large groups of tourists, often Asian, seen travelling together on holiday may actually be the Terracotta Soldiers returned from the afterlife where they were buried with Emperor Qin.

~Section 17

By this time the Squire had returned with a broken piece of pottery that They hadn't yet sorted. Thera took it off his lap and placed it on the floor in front of Sauce.

"Mr Chin said to say sorry he couldn't come to watch," said the Squire, "He's up to his neck in washing and ironing."

Sauce carefully picked the spark up out of his watery belly and placed it on the shard where it coughed twice and shivered.

"You've broken it, haven't you?" the Squire commented. But the spark rubbed its hands together and shook the water out of its ears. Then it started to glow with increased vigour until there was a steady stream of starlight pouring upwards. Dragona picked up the water balloon in one of her branches and held it over the blazelet.

Wits eye's popped. "Won't the paper catch fire?" he asked.

"Not if it stays wet," replied Dragona and she adjusted the height just a little so that the water that had soaked through the paper wouldn't dry up. It steamed, but more soaked through to take its place, while at the same time the heat was soaking up and bringing the small cup to the boil. Soon enough, there were little glubs of bubbles floating to the top but still the three varieties of tea stood still, respectfully waiting until it was bubbling rapidly. Then, even as they watched, the little pot boiled and Camilla stepped forward and plunged a branch of her dry leaves through the steam to let them infuse the water with mild green tea. And, as the spring water flushed green, Spring green flushed Camilla. She turned from a withered dry bush into a flowering fresh one.

"How extraordinary," muttered the Squire.

'Even as they watched, the little pot boiled,' this phrase is a reminder that the afterlife described herein by the author is only a fantasy because in reality 'a watched pot never boils.'

"Right, there you are then. Well done everyone," said a flea that had jumped up to Wit while he was transfixed on the tea ceremony in his honour. "You've ticked all the boxes so Evon has awarded you a tick just in case We need to tax you further. And it pinned a small tick to his sock; that being as high as it could reach. It clung on, looking like a gold star reward and smiled at him reassuringly as if to say, 'don't worry, I won't bite - yet.'

A 'tick' (to mark as correct) and a 'tick' (a parasitic arachnid) are homonyms.

"Um, besides making green tea, what boxes did I tick?" asked Wit bemused.

"Helping Way-Lean out of her hole then letting her return the favour; helping Mr Chin get socks for the soldiers while at the same time helping so many lost socks to find a partner; and most importantly: letting everyone else help you make tea without making a big deal of the fact that doing so helped Camilla too," it said jumping up to tick each one off the list that had appeared beside it. "Oh, and you also made up with yourself. Your File is over in the 'Lost Boys' section between 'Pilots That Never Land' and 'Foreign Fickle Fathers' but feel free to wander around and get to know some of our more colourful characters who hang out at the 'Lie Bury;' we've collected a few of them over the last six million years."xiv And then it was gone.

Wit looked around at the small group that was smiling proudly at him. Thera trotted over and nuzzled him, "Good work Wit. I'm sorry I have to get back to find Mr Sock in Elysium, Pillow's probably sleeping on him. But maybe you'd like to look after my head, Algernon, for a while until you find your feet?"

"Sure," said Wit grateful to be with an old friend, even if it was the other piece of it. He reached up and patted the strong neck but as he did so the body shimmered out from under it and he was left holding the russet head in his arms.

"Please, call me Nobody," Thera's head snickered merrily, then it shimmered as well taking both of them off on the adventure of his life.

In Finito

'Find your feet,' is ironic because Thera's head is about to become bodiless again. "Call me Nobody,' is literally what Thera's head is while its body is in the Elysian Fields. ~ ~ ~ 'In Finito,' is a play on infinite which is what a person can be once the have accepted their insignificance. 'Finito' is also Italian for 'the end,' and someone who has accepted their own end is in a position to accept they are insignificant and yet set free by that to be anything within the possibilities of their socio-economic environment.

~ ~ ~

Ch. 5 Cellar Notes {skip}

i Not For Children, Roland Young (1945) Garden City Publishing Co. Inc.

Available at all leading book retailers {back}

"And here's the happy bounding flea?

You cannot tell the he from she.

The sexes look alike, you see

But she can tell and so can he. . . ."

ii  A Mite with a Mite Problem {back}

http://webecoist.momtastic.com/2011/01/10/maggot-fangs-water-bear-claws-microscopic-insect-images/

iii Green tea vs. black with milk {back}

http://ukpmc.ac.uk/abstract/MED/8617188

iv Machiavellian Intelligence, Byrne & Whiten, A. (1988) OUP

Available at all leading book retailers {back}

v Backyard Apartheid, David Baker, Sydney Morning Herald, 24 October 1996

{back}

vi The meaning of race in the DNA era {back}

http://works.bepress.com/christian_sundquist/2/

vii  Controlling racial prejudice {back}

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2005/02/050204212209.htm

viii Seahorses {back}

http://www.seahorsesoc.org/

ix In Memoriam, Alfred Lord Tennyson. Canto 56 (1894) {back}

Available at all leading book retailers

x  Six degrees of separation {back}

http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2008/aug/03/internet.email

xi  Wet-dog shake {back}

http://www.technologyreview.com/view/421273/physicists-discover-universal-wet-dog-shake-rule/

xii  Origami water bomb instructions {back}

http://www.origami-instructions.com/origami-water-balloon.html

xiii  When does human brain development end? {back}

http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/ana.410340113/abstract

xiv Pair of lice lost or paradise regained? {back}

http://www.biomedcentral.com/1741-7007/5/7

xv So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Douglas Adams (1984) Pan Books, Harmony Books {back}

Available at all leading book retailers

~ ~ ~

Ch. 5 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS {skip Questions}

ANSWERS / Section

1) What is the ghost that Wit finally meets?

Someone who should have died and moved to Alyssum but who is being kept alive

~Section 2

2) How do the fleas elect their spokesperson and does he speak for her/his own interests?

They choose the least popular flea to speak for all of them so that it is not just saying what it thinks is best but what they all think is best

~Sections 1

3) Why is there no water or fire in Alyssum?

Water is not lost - it just changes state; fire dies down or dies out so cannot go out to play

~Sections 5

4) Are there four horsemen of the Apocalypse?

No, only Death is real - Conquer, War and Famine are not

~Section 7

5) How is a paradox described in Ch. 5? What is the solution to a paradox?

A paradox is called a Catch 42. It can have no solution because, by definition, it is unsolvable

~Section 1

6) Necessity is the grandmother of __ and Death is the grandmother of __?

Progress and Imagination respectively

~Section 7

7) When did Thera first meet Mr Chin?

When he was a boy who brought seven kingdoms together

~Section 13

8) What Greek myth is similar to the three Wee-evils but what are they spinning that is different?

The Fates spinning people's lives except here they are spinning the bonds of relationship

~Section 10

9) Which Chinese emperor made terracotta soldiers and when were they buried?

Emperor Qin / in 210-209BCE

~Section 12; Research

10) Why doesn't Way-Lean want to go to Alyssum?

She is not ready to admit her time is up

~Section 15

11) Why does Algernon stay in Alyssum?

So that Thera doesn't lose his head, i.e. go crazy, when dealing with wars.

~Section 14

12) What is another word for mutual parasitism and what are we in such a relationship with?

Symbiotic / mitochondria

~Section 8

13) How do Thera, the Night mayor and Sauce represent symtriosis?'

Thera is gender neutral or unaligned, The Night Mayor is female and Sauce is male so all three gender types in society are mutually beneficial and interdependent

~Section 16

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

14) Is a person's race a social construct or a genetic description?

Both, though genetic science is becoming more dominant

~Note vi; Paragraph 2

15) What stage of life is a hypopi mite?

It is a juvenile

~Note ii; Paragraph 6

16) What makes us fear other races?

When we categorise the person into a superficial group

~Note vii; Paragraph 7

17) What is the average number of links between people with Microsoft accounts and what percentage of people have seven or less links _?_

The average is 6.6 and 78% have under seven links

~Note x; Paragraph 4

18) What does the Seahorse Society of NSW do?

It is a social and support organisation for cross-dressers and transgender people

~Note viii

19) What are some non-sexual ways humans could have contracted pubic lice from gorillas?

Shared living or sleeping areas &/or hunting and eating gorillas

~Note xiv; Conclusion: Paragraph 1

20) When does human brain development end?

The middle 20s

~Note xiii

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

21) In popular mythology, ghosts are not constrained by physical boundaries but are still subject to the passage of time. The author has created a paradox by stating that ghosts can also be 'anywhen.' Compare and contrast this paradox with another time-travel novel of your choice.

~Section 1

22) Wit says, "I can come in if I'm taxed. I think that means I have to give what's left of my time to others; to help them." Describe one way in which paying tax to the government equates to giving to others. Describe a non-government approach to helping others and the way these two 'taxes' benefit society. Compare how either of these encourages the receiver to 'repay society in some way.'

~Sections 8 and 11

SAMPLE WORKSHEET as text to copy and paste

### Parley After Life

D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes ~ by Robby Miller

Copyright © 2015 by Robert Miller: Worksheets may be reprinted for educational purposes

### Ch. 5 COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS

a) What is the ghost that Wit finally meets?

b) How do the fleas elect their spokesperson and does he speak for her/his own interests?

c) How is a paradox described in Ch. 5? What is the solution to a paradox?

d) Necessity is the grandmother of __ and Death is the grandmother of __?

e) When did Thera first meet Mr Chin?

f) What Greek myth is similar to the three Wee-evils but what are they spinning that is different?

g) Why doesn't Way-Lean want to go to Alyssum?

h) Why does Algernon stay in Alyssum?

i) What is another word for mutual parasitism and what are we in such a relationship with?

j) How do Thera, the Night mayor and Sauce represent symtriosis?'

WEB SEARCH QUESTIONS

k) What stage of life is a hypopi mite?

l) What makes us fear other races?

m) What is the average number of links between people with Microsoft accounts and what percentage of people have seven or less links _?_

n) What are some non-sexual ways humans could have contracted pubic lice from gorillas?

o) When does human brain development end?

DISCUSSION QUESTION

p) Wit says, "I can come in if I'm taxed. I think that means I have to give what's left of my time to others; to help them." Describe one way in which paying tax to the government equates to giving to others. Describe a non-government approach to helping others and the way these two 'taxes' benefit society. Compare how either of these encourages the receiver to 'repay society in some way.'

POINTERS

a) Section 2; b) Section 1; c) Section 1; d) Section 7; e) Section 13; f) Section 10;

g) Section 15; h) Sections 14; i) Section 8; j) Section 16

k) Note ii; Paragraph 6; l) Note vii; Paragraph 7; m) Note x; Paragraph 4;

n) Note xiv; Conclusion: Paragraph 1; o) Note xiii

p) Sections 8 and 11
Key to the Novel

'Paint a punk elephant: one pink spot at a time,' is a play on the mind game, 'Try not to think of a pink elephant.' Once imagined, it is impossible to remove the image by trying to concentrate on not thinking about it. It is also a play on Creighton Abrams' sage words, "When eating an elephant take one bite at a time." I.e. Insurmountable problems can be overcome if tackled step by step. ~ ~ ~ Sindé's advice is the key to the novel. It is premised on the belief that grief is a form of posttraumatic stress disorder PTSD because it involves involuntary repetition of memories and imagined interactions regarding a loved one who can no longer reciprocate. These memories are like ghosts, they are not alive but sap energy from us and can even drive us to distraction. The best way to stop thinking of a 'pink elephant' is to think of something else. For example, if you want to get an annoying song out of your head, don't try not to think about it - rather, think of a different song. Replace the focus of the neurons that were dedicated to the first song with a different focus rather than trying to leave them without a focus. You may find that the second song gets stuck in your head but hopefully you will have chosen to replace it with a song that is not so annoying. ~ ~ ~ The same principle can be applied to any number of mental images or combinations of images and conversations that can get stuck in our minds. Grief or PTSD can likewise be dealt with by learning to distract yourself. Trying to ignore the feelings and images or even to deny they are real may not help to stop them repeating nor alleviate the anguish or fears they reignite. The more effective method that the author is suggesting is to deal with them by recognising when they start then using that to trigger a process of active self-distraction. Pre-prepare other images or mental tasks that will refocus the brain's energy and draw you away from the source of anguish.

Please note, the author strongly recommends that professional psychological help be sought for PTSD and overwhelming grief. Grief counseling services based on cognitive behavioral therapy are an essential tool to help move through this period in your life. Likewise PTSD should not be seen as a mental health 'weakness' but rather as signal that the 'machinery' of the mind just needs retuning by a professional 'thought mechanic.' A Google search of qualified cognitive behavioral psychologists in your local area is a good place to start. The author recommends making an appointment today if possible.
Teachers' Version of

### Parley After Life

D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes

### Sans Notes

### Robby Miller

~ ~ ~

### Dedication:

To my four remaining children: Adrian, Hannah, Tim, James and Sam, who turned my world upside down and taught me everything else I needed to know about life, inside and out, even when they are not here.

### Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to Vivien Clark-Ferraino and Gabe d'Eustachio who corrected this tome - corralling errant commas, coaxing colons into line and guiding the grammar to conform.

### Foreword:

In my humble opinion, Forewords are a waste of space. However, if on reading this, you feel litigious, please read the Post-word.

Parley After Life - D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes - was written as a memorial to my lost teenage son. He died tragically, risk-taking with a train, and afterwards I was terrified I would start to lose track of some of the defining moments in our abruptly ended relationship.

It was also written to work through my grief. I sought bereavement counseling and learned that the loss of a loved one is not something we ever recover from - rather we learn to walk with it every day; we learn to survive our altered lives in a world where those around us may not feel the same depth of pain at the simplest of triggers. For me, I cannot make toast without recalling the day I held his hand around a butter knife and showed him how to spread apricot jam. There are many other thoughts, too, that come unbidden. Grieving is not stopping the memories but learning to sidestep drowning in the emotions that surround each trigger like a bog across our path. By referencing a myriad of minor events from my son's life in the novel, it enabled me to sort through those memories and put them into compartments where they would be preserved even though the world around me had collapsed into an abyss. It helped me to make sense of a world that had suddenly become insane and so saved me from falling into insanity myself - even though that was appealing during the early stages when I wished and longed to somehow bring him back to me. The allegorical desire for his return underscores the journey in the story.

Memorials help us focus on what we love about a lost loved one. It helps us know that our love for them will be with us until we ourselves pass away. Encapsulating a little of their importance to us in writing reminds us that we do not need the fantasy of the afterlife to feel better about the loss - rather we are allowed to feel terrible about it while still getting on with the life we now have to lead without them.

I have tried to refer to the many different forms of death as an honour to all those who have gone through the abyss of loss. However I apologise to anyone who feels that her or his personal tragedy has been overlooked. I know I could never fathom everyone's pain so ask that you take with you the knowledge that your ongoing bond to your lost loved one is something that only you can really fully understand.

The page, <http://www.facebook.com/Parley.After.Life>, is dedicated to our lost loved ones. Please add your memorial (but no names) instead writing about their life & how they touched you forever.

Teachers' Version includes an extra 4,000 words of explanatory cross-referenced notes on the homonyms, idioms, double meanings and paraphrases as well as additional literary bibliographic references. Author's comments on the human condition that has led to widespread belief in religions and the afterlife are also expounded upon but, more importantly, there are psychological self-help insights into how best to work through the grieving process.

The free Students' Version of Parley After Life - D.I.Y. Guide to Death and other Taxes can be downloaded from Smashwords.

~ ~ ~

Parental guidance recommended. Contains adult themes.

~ ~ ~

### Contents:

Chapter 1 - Death

Chapter 2 - War

Chapter 3 - Famine

Chapter 4 - Conquer

Chapter 5 - Taxes

Key to the Novel

~ ~ ~

Chapter 1 ~ Death

He looked up and saw a small white fluffy dog standing over him. That is to say she was standing beside him yet looking down on him through glistening eyes of black crystal. "Oh, then I'm not dead," he thought from where he lay looking upwards.

"That's what they all say," whimpered the fluffy white dog wagging its tail as if about to be taken for a walk.

"But you can talk! So something is weird. Did I hit my head?"

"No, your head hit itself!" wagged the doglet sarcastically. "Come-on, hold my leash or you'll start to waft."

"What?" said the teenager. "Who are you and why should I take you for a walk? And where's my head?! Oh my god! It's over there!! I AM dead!! WHO are You?!"

"I'm Parley," wuffled the dog's nose. "Now be a good boy and hold my leash... There that's better isn't it? Now let's get you out of here before that old lady wanders down here and screams and people start running around 'ooing' and 'ahhing' and gasping little bits of you in and sighing little bits of you out all over the place. "Come on, follow me, that's right. Yes, you lot better come too," she said though to who wasn't exactly clear.

"Where are we going? Who did you say you were?"

"We are going to the Alyssum Files and I'm Death. Keep up will you."

"Death?" smiled the boy, "I don't think so. He's that big skeleton with a scythe; black hood." And he forgot to keep walking, his heels digging into the ground that gave way before him so that he skated along being pulled by the leash. He didn't notice the quadrillion of dead bacteria and parasites scooting along behind him.

"Yes yes, I've read the Hogfather too," clicked the dog's claws on the pavement. And she gave a little wiggle, which flicked the leash around the boy's wrist so he wouldn't let go by accident. "And you've no doubt read what everyone else read about what Death looks like. In fact I wrote it myself, so I should know what they read."

"Huh?! You can't write. You're a dog." And the boy sat down though it made no difference as he skimmed over the ground that melted before him and froze behind.

"And yet here you are in the Here-after hearing me so I must be before you talking," blinked the doglet. "And who's to say I don't know what's right? I told everyone Death was a skeleton so they wouldn't notice me coming and get left behind. Generally I find they'd rather follow me than wait for what they think is coming to get them. People waft around so much after they die. It's not like they have a choice but you wouldn't guess how many times I've been asked, "Did I leave the light on?" "Is that the time?" Nobody asks, "Will you walk a little faster? There's a purpose close behind us and it's treading on my tail." So it's better to just give them the old doe eyes and get them on the leash and over here. And here we are," piddled the dog squatting beside a post box.

"Here we are where?" asked the boy looking around and missing the fact that the post box was changing colour into a bland creamy flat shape just like a huge manila folder that folded around sweeping them into its middle and twisting back on itself like origami into a shiny red post box with a damp patch at its base.

"This is the bit most people think is where everything goes white but it's more a beige really. You're in the Alyssum Files where hopefully everything will make a lot more sense and you can spend eternity sorting it all out."

"But what about my head? Won't I need that?!"

"Look at your feet," said the dog without even so much as an accent.

"Oh my goodness! You just talked with your mouth!" said the boy. But he looked down anyway and saw he was looking up at his head from bulging eyes that were rooted to the hand he was standing on. The other hand was on the end of a leg that had sprouted out of the head.

"Of course I can talk with my mouth," said Parley. "I just don't like to show off when old ladies are watching. Now keep your feet moving; use the left one for thinking and the right to check if it's right. Or is it, left over right? Righty-oh, make it up as you go. There's nothing right about being left by Death."

But the boy tried to clasp his hands to his ears to block out the sound before he went barking mad though trying nearly toppled him over.

Only he didn't feel ears on his head, he found a foot, in place of one ear. It felt him because his fingers had disappeared and only by wiggling his toes did he work out that his bottom had been planted on the end of one arm. Then, straining to focus on the unintelligible, he gasped; his nose was where his bottom should be though it still smelled the same.

"Ahhhhh!" squeaked his belly button from out of his knee.

Parley looked up and went, "Oh dear, he wasn't supposed to be here was he? I hate it when they get all mixed up and then They always complain about it, too."

"You mean God's going to see me now? Like this?" he squeaked.

"Evon? Oh no, They are here. She's there."

The boy raised his eyebrows in question. It tickled his chin but he was interrupted...

"PARLEY!" boomed a gathering of voices from the dog's rump. And Parley sat down with a flump and started to scratch. A flea jumped off and looked her in the eye. That is to say it jumped up and down beside her and looked down on her when it could.

"You have bought another untimely death in here! This is the place of order! No wonder he's all in a cur-fluffle. He's not ready yet."

"Help..." muffled the boy's kneecap through some bluish fluff.

"Oh come here boy," said the flea and the boy found himself shrinking rapidly to the size of a flea and being surrounded by the other fleas who had all jumped off the dog to meet him. For a moment he thought they were going to bite him but a few were still looking up hungrily at the fluffy white dog that towered above them staring vacantly at the cream coloured walls.

"Look, Parley has brought you to Alyssum too early. She's lost her head of course though you are partly to blame for losing your own. Be that as it may, you'll have to stay here now. You can rest in the Piece's Fields until your time is up."

"But I'm all over the place!" said the boy's pieces.

"Oh yes, hold on. I'll just suck you in and put it all right. Whatever you do, don't scratch." And the boy found himself back to his normal though jumbled size.

Suddenly a flea bit his ankle but before he could look down the essence was sucked out of him and the flea had swollen to the size of the boy. The boy had become wafer thin, crinkled a bit and then crumbled into a pile of flakes. The flea choked and rolled its eye and another flea jumped back onto Parley and bit her ear. The dog spun around whisking its tail through the dust of the boy scattering it to the wind. The swollen flea jumped up into the dust and from nowhere two other fleas jumped at full force from left and right, slamming into its sides so the boy's silvery blood sprayed out all over the dust, gluing it back together into the right shape for a small boy with his head in just the right place, too.

"Oh thank you!" gasped the boy, feeling himself all over as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Now can I go back if I'm not supposed to be here?"

"Um, no; sorry," said the flea. "Once you're in Alyssum there's no sense in going back. It just makes everyone jumpy! Hahaha, did you see what I did there?" But the dog just stepped on him, much to everyone's relief. The others jumped back into the fluffy white fur.

"Did They fix you up properly inside, too? No gas? Right, follow me then - all of you," said Parley including all the bacteria and parasites that had died with him. "I'll take you over to the G-Host's place. It always plays host to the lost boys, bats or cats that turn up before they're ready. You don't want to hang around here; too many ghosts. And she wagged her tail at the wall, parting it, so they could walk out into a grassy field.

"Ghosts?" he asked as he stepped through the beige wall, "Why would there be ghosts in the afterlife?!"

"Oh, there are a lot of people who want to be here because their life is unbearable. But even though their heart is here already no one will let them die."

"You're kidding!" gasped the boy. "You wouldn't catch me dead hanging around here!" and he looked around hoping to see a way out.

Mountains skirted a vast plane dominated by a huge tree near an endless white ocean. In the distance was a rolling of unceasing thunder; just rumbling on, getting steadily louder like the hooves of enormous beasts galloping towards him. He could just see a speck of black on the horizon with a thin strip of dust blowing away from it.

"Let's sit here and wait for it," said Parley giving herself a good scratch ("Oi, watch it!" boomed a couple of voices) and she turned in a circle before sitting down.

"What are we waiting for?" asked the boy keeping his eyes towards the rumbling sound.

"Well nothing really," said the dog, "it's already here. But it likes the suspense so it will be a while pretending to get here to give us time to think about it. Of course I'd call it 'he' except he lost that bit, too."

"Um, can I ask you a question Mrs. Death?" asked the boy sitting down, too.

"Parley." said Parley, "As in 'the Great Meeting place in the fluffy white clouds.' People always look for sheep in the clouds but that's just a smoke screen. It's really just little old me - man's 'best' friend. You can ask me a second question too if you like..."

"Um," said the boy, "Why a skeleton? You're much less scary to meet."

"Precisely," said Parley, "Death is the Great Meeting so everyone would be in a hurry to get here for an old pow-wow. I had to write something that would scare them off so they don't all get here before their time. Besides, the idea of bones turned me on."

"Oh, um, and why did we come through a Post box?"

"Why else do you think they are called "Post" for?" replied Parley. "Besides, you wouldn't believe how many pieces of paper die in them. See that huge paper tree over there? All of it is lost pieces of paper trying to stick themselves back together into a tree again. Some call it the Tree of Knowledge; either for good, all those ideas that get jotted down but never executed (if you'll excuse the pun) or evil, bills that got torn up before they were paid. Not cheques though. People rarely lose those; they just forget to write them. Forgetting and losing are parallel universes you know."

The sound of galloping hooves had gotten steadily closer but as the boy was lost in thought it gave up trying to impress him and leapt out from behind the tree instead. The element of surprise was quite effective as the tree was miles away. There, panting dramatically before the boy, was a huge russet coloured gelding. Or at least it had the basic shape of a horse with the feet of a panther, the tail was a hand cut off at the wrist pointing away from its behind and the head and neck were covered in a huge sock with black button eyes. Out of it came a voice that was lost in the mists of Time and yet friendly, like a slightly squeaky breeze.

"Hello. What's your name?" it asked.

"I don't know?" said the boy. "What's my name, Parley? Why don't I know my name?"

"I don't know it yet," said the dog. "That was given to you by your parents and if you're not supposed to be here then your name hasn't died yet so I wasn't sent to get it. If it's on everyone's lips it would be tasteless of me to go around licking their faces trying to take it with me. Seriously, you have to pity the powerful and famous. Some people go to extraordinary lengths not to be forgotten so their name will never die. They don't think ahead or plan that they might want their name with them when they get here."

"Well," said the sock-puppet gelding, "you wouldn't be the first to come here without your name. And if you died before your parents then they definitely won't be forgetting it. Losing a child is like having a large chunk of a parent's life ripped out and splattered over everything they see so that everything ends up reminding them of you. They never lose their children's names; writing them on the walls of their hearts until they themselves die. But don't worry; we'll get you a spare one. It's often handy to have a second or third name, as those are much easier for everyone else to forget. So how did you get here?"

"Seems I lost my head," said the boy feeling a little more at ease with his new friends.

"Oh, aren't you a wit," said the sock. "At least you didn't lose that or you'd be witless. So I shall call you Wit and even though everything feels upside down and backwards we shall have something in common." And with that it lifted the sock a little way up its neck revealing nothing underneath.

"Yes, I lost my head too," said the headless horse. "And my original tail. Allow me to introduce myself since your friend seems to have forgotten my name; or at least her manners. I'm Thera, your gee-gee and host. I think I was the first one here. It's been a while now, maybe about half of eternity though they won't tell me when the end of Eternity is due to drop in."

"Aren't we in Eternity?" asked Wit.

"Oh no. What would be the point in that? Anyway, I'm sure She'll go straight to the Alyssum Files. Eternity may be small but She always has the last word."

"Oh, I thought She was already here," said Parley. "So many people have lost the point."

"Yes but the point is, She is the only one without any dimensions so She must be Eternity. And She's stuck on the end of every sentence to remind us, too. So call me crazy but this is not the end, since it's not Alyssum, which means She can't be here or I'd have found a point to my own end and that's a long tale I can tell you. And I've never had a hand in finding the point either. Butt-who-knows, if the point is behind you after you die then maybe She's lost too; maybe Eternity is here..."

The boy didn't see the point of this so he started pulling at the grass.

"Do you like my fields?" asked Thera. "I put them here after I arrived. It was weird not having anything to stand on and I thought it would be tasty, for a horse, except I forgot I had no head to eat it with so it just kept growing and now it's all over the place. I call it the Elysian Fields. It used to be a popular spot back in the days when there were a lot of horses galloping around battles. The soldiers rarely popped through though. They always went straight to the Files but their horses often used to come here because, as they hadn't chosen to go into battle, it wasn't their time to be here and so we'd hang out until it was."

"Is that what this is then?" asked Wit, "A place to wait until it's time to die? Isn't there any way out?! I want to go home!"

"Sigh," sighed Parley, "And that's why Death carries a scythe to see if you're the right size; or so the story goes. And yet everyone sighs more when they are the wrong size. Look, I'm sorry Wit but I can't take you home. Time There and Here are not compatible; they've been fighting about which one of them is the Real Time since forever. You'd scare the cud out of everyone if you just turned up again. I know you feel like everything is upside down and backwards; you're not supposed to be here but you don't exist there any more either except in your loved ones' memories and imagination. Those are parallel universes too except they both exist under one dome. I suggest you wander round here, get to know the place. Take up a hobby. There are lots of big fish to talk to; people are always losing those. Thera will hang out with you till you get your bearings but I've got to get back. There are always more people to take for a walk, sorry."

"Yes, we can't hold up the noble Death," said Thera, "though it's usually the ignoble deaths she buries here. Go on then; we'll be fine. Come on Wit, let me show you the Tree of Strife." Parley suddenly jumped up and barked loudly three or four times as dogs do when someone rings the doorbell. Only with each bark she disappeared a little until, on the last bark, she popped out of sight. A doorbell chimed. Wit looked around wondering where the door was but Thera nuzzled him with its sock and told him not to worry as there were lots of sounds here that were 'misplaced' - doorbells that rang though no one was there, the sounds of a tree falling in the forest though no one saw it; the other half of a clap made with one hand. All those stray sounds had to end up somewhere.

Thera pulled Wit gently up with its mostly sheathed claws. "Hold onto my tail mate." And Wit finally got the point. Though before he could finish the thought, Thera had bounded over to the Tree; a massive affair up close, something like a weeping willow yet the branches were as wide as skyscrapers and had more trees growing up out of them with smaller trees again growing off those, many of which were so long they bent over in graceful curves that hung down to the ground. Wit went over to one, as thick as his arm, and gave it a shove. It swayed gently in the breeze reminding him of the willow wands he had swung on as a child.

"Now careful there," whispered Thera. "You don't want to get a paper cut." Wit looked more closely and realised the whole branch was made of sheets of paper stuck together. All the pieces of A4 or US Legal; post-it notes or cardboard boxes that had ever been thrown away before their time, had come back together and were trying to reminisce about their life before, barely remembered, when they were once cosy and curled up in the fibres of their mother tree. Wit read a few birthday cards with meaningful sentiments like, 'Dear Son, Love Dad' on them and his eyes went squirrely looking at the spiraling fine print of endless love letters written to estranged partners who'd never read them.

"This is rather sad," said Wit, half to himself; the other half was evidently heard by a large ball of fur that was 'sleeping' under the tree. It pricked up an ear and glinted a yellow feline eye towards him.

"Oh hello Pillow," said Thera. "Let me introduce Wit to you; he's just joined us. Pillow is the goddess of Lost Sleep. Don't let her yawn on you or you'll be snoring for a hundred years; or until a passing virgin kisses you. Don't hold your breath for that though, there are a lot less virgins getting lost these days than people make out. And even less of them die while they are still virgins. And all of them have been told not to kiss strangers so your chances of waking up are one in three hundred and forty five, or so They say.

Wit looked at Pillow, a huge mostly-white cat with just a few tan splodges, as if people had dribbled on her, like happy kitties in their sleep. She barely moved and he presumed this was a sign that she was mostly harmless. His eyes began to water and he wondered if this was caused by an aura of sleepiness permeating out from the cat or just an allergy. Strangely though when his eyes ran they washed a little clearer and Wit noticed some bodies lying in the grass, sleeping nearby. One of them was a beautiful young woman about Wit's age, her blonde hair had caught across her throat when she'd rolled onto her back in a deep sleep; her mouth, just a little open, breathed in and out with the faintest whistle of air coming from her rising and falling chest. Her lips twitched. A princess dreaming she was a queen.

Wit stepped forward involuntarily for he knew inside this was his fairy-tale and here was the damsel he would wake with a kiss to live happily ever after with him. Mesmerised, he stepped around from behind Thera but its tail reached out and gently restrained his arm, "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he heard. "Best to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Dogs? Oh, a female dog; you mean don't wake her because she's a..."

"No, the son of a..."

"Huh? You mean she's not a she?! But she's hot!"

"Yes and she's out cold because she wanted to be. Many people prefer to just sleep through this whole waiting place and not wake up until they are ready to die. I mean really die."

"You mean he died too soon like me?"

"She died in a way quite unlike you but yes, too soon. Her family were pious and couldn't accept her as she was. Yet ironically they partly caused her to be like this, leaving statues around the house of a muscular but barely dressed young man draped in Death's arms. It would be enough to inspire anyone but sadly their persecution also inspired her death; last of four unlucky tries. You can't blame her for not wanting to remember all that."

"I guess not," he mumbled. "Wow, this place is scary."

Wit dried his watery eyes and the girl blended back into the background of grass. Shaking his head, he took a step backwards and nearly bumped into Pillow.

The cat yawned and stretched as only cats can by any stretch of the imagination. She seemed to reach out to the horizon and when she retracted her paws there was a small lizard's tail wrapped around one claw. Pillow delicately extracted it with her mouth then disdainfully flicked it to one side.

"What I can't stand about this place," said Pillow in a small mew that didn't fit her rotund abdomen, "is the fact that lizards only ever lose their tails." The tail flopped around, curling back on itself from side to side until it settled down under Pillow's kiss of sleep. "Why can't they lose their heads now and again? It would be much more fun for us here. They could have trained you, Wit. You should have spent more time studying them as a child. Lizards are found on garden walls even in the palaces of kings so they must know a thing or two about not losing their heads in high places."

"Um, nice to meet you Ma'am," replied Wit. He had decided she was not to be completely trusted as if the rolls of white fur were only padding over some nightmarish talons.

"Where is time?" asked the cat suddenly.

"Oh don't ply him with riddles straight away," said Thera. But Pillow persisted.

"Where is time, boy?"

"Um, I have no idea."

"Come on use your wits, if you have any. Where is time located?"

"Um, are we in time? Whose time are you talking about anyway? I heard there's more than one and they fight..."

"Your time in particular and no, you are not in it. Where is time located in relation to you?"

"Seriously I have no idea, is it in a big hourglass?"

"No, not what does it live in, where is it? I'll give you a clue: Since you are here early, you are not on time."

"Um, is it inside me?

"Sigh... where is time if you are unlucky? As you obviously were."

"Sorry, I give up"

"Correct, it is 'up,'" purred Pillow. "It seems I shan't have to put you to sleep after all. So do you know what you want to do with yourself while you wait till your time is up?"

"Just showing him around first," piped up Thera. "How's life on the other side anyway?"

"Oh, you know humans... good for a feed but they know diddley-squat about meditation. Could you scratch me behind the ear, boy?"

Wit looked up alarmed. He glanced at Thera but there was nothing in the sock face to indicate warning so he approached gingerly from the side and reached up to scratch the cat's huge fuzzy head.

"Ah, never do for yourself what you can get someone to do for you. First rule of becoming a cat goddess," purred Pillow.

~ ~ ~

But Wit wasn't listening. He was suddenly transfixed by an image of his father pouring cat pellets into a bowl for a white and gently ginger-striped tabby that was sleeping on the knitted teddy bear his grandmother had made, albeit a bit flatter now. His father turned around with a soft sad smile and reached over to scratch the cat that was curled up on his old bed, not even bothered to get up for the food. Wit gasped. Looking out through the cat's eyes into his father's face was too confronting and he inadvertently pulled his hand away from behind Pillow's ear. The vision winked out and, realising he had broken the connection to his world, he buried his fingers in the soft fur again. But Pillow was already sleeping and no further images came to Wit.

~ ~ ~

Thera leaned over and whispered, "Nine lives; some in this world, some in the other depending on how curious they've been. Come, let's go down to the ocean for the fresh air." And it trotted away - its panther paws barely touching the grass and its tail pointing straight at him so that he felt compelled to follow.

Within five minutes they were on the shore of a vast ocean. The tips of the waves were blue and crashed with a snoring noise onto a beachful of buttons but all the water between them was pasty white like skim milk.

"It's skim milk," said Thera.

"What?! Where did that all come from?"

"Oh, mostly it's poured down the sink by errant husbands who just pretend to drink it to lose weight. Oh look, there's the four little ducks."

And there in the water popped up one duckling, then another then two more in turn and then suddenly they popped away again. Wit could see the same pattern happening again and again all up and down the milky coast.

"Where do they go? Why do they come one-by-one and then disappear all together?"

"That's how the story goes. Don't you know it? 'Four little ducks went out one day...'"

"Oh, 'mother duck went quack, quack, quack but only three little ducks came back.' But that's just a nursery rhyme?"

"Yes, but the ducklings get lost and they have to go somewhere until the mother duck goes out to find them. So here they are and there they go."

Wit's eyes narrowed slightly. "So they can get back?" And as he said it a pair of eyes that were having a near death experience peered out of thin air, looked him up and down and winked knowingly.

"Wit, I'm sorry but a nursery rhyme doesn't have the same substance as your body so they can come and go. I think you're getting the idea of what this place is. I'd like you to meet a friend of mine."

"But if they can come and go, maybe there is a way for me to go back too!"

"No Wit. I guess you've heard of reincarnation? That's the only way people could think you've got back but I'm warning you, even then, you won't get back in your old body and it won't be at the same time."

"Hm," said Wit, but you could see he was still thinking about it and planning to try anything he could.

"Look, down there on the beach is a flock of seagulls. See Sindé Seagull, the grey one, let's go talk to her about her travels." And they walked off down the sliding buttons, Wit dragging his feet and looking around for any way to escape.

Sindé Seagull, as it turned out, was from foreign shores and had come a great distance to get here. It wasn't clear if she had got lost in her travels and just flown straight in or if she had swallowed one fish bone too many and got in the usual way. She was however, like Wit, convinced there must be a way out and had spent years flying around the Elysian Fields interviewing everyone who came in. Admittedly she started each interview asking if they had brought any food with them. However, burying food with the dead has gone out of fashion in most places so she rarely got to share their lunch. And anyway, most people who ended up in Elysium came by an unexpected, untimely demise, which rarely involved them holding food at the time and it was even less likely that they thought to pick it up again when Parley went to fetch them.

"So what do you think of our Sea of Opportunities?" She asked Wit after their initial introductions.

"The what? I didn't know its name," said Wit.

"It's called that because of the bottles that wash up from time to time," said Thera. "Whenever people dream up some plan but don't put it into action it ends up written down, bottled up and thrown into the Sea of Lost Opportunity. Sindé has made a habit of collecting as many as she can."

"Yes, but I have the Dickens of a time opening the bottles. And there aren't many I can carry around anyway. I can hardly tuck them under my wing while I'm flying. I've lost a few that way already and it kind of does my head in wondering what happens to the things you lose in the place where everything goes if you lose it."

"What do you want them for anyway?" asked Wit.

"Well one thing I've learned is that I'm not the only smart one around and, if I can learn from other people's ideas or even improve on them, I might have some vague chance of getting out of this place and back to a sea with small bite size fish in it; strangely no-one ever seems to lose those off their fishing lines."

"I see," said Wit. "Maybe I could help you. You can fly out to sea and bring the bottles here and I can easily crack them open. And I have pockets to hold the notes in too. But you have to promise me you'll help me get out too, if we can find some way."

"Sounds like a deal," said Sindé. "How about you Thera, would you like to find a way out too, or are you still committed to looking after the place since you were the first one here?"

"You know what I've said before, Sindé. What am I going to do out there without a head anyway? And I've grown quite attached to these feet but they'd lock me up in a Freak Show if I wandered about in them so I'm better off just doing what I do best. That's the only point I've found in being here though I do wish my time would be up and I could move on to Alyssum."

"Don't you think it strange that you're the only one apart from the cats with their nine lives who has not moved on?" asked Sindé. "Apart from me that is, who is not supposed to be here anyway since I didn't die, just travelled too far overseas."

"Maybe you're a magic horse?" said Wit.

"Well I do think I might have had some magical powers, the way all this grass keeps growing. I vaguely remember there were three of us who used to carry around some gods to do some pretty ghastly stuff like War and Famine. I can't say I'd be in a hurry to go back to that job anyway; I hate so-called 'friendly fire.' War lopped off my head by accident."

"A blow from behind?! Oh dear. So you're a god-horse who can't die so you just have to go on and on in Elysium?" said Sindé. "Maybe you really should think about joining us and going back to patch things up with War."

"I honestly don't think I could face going back but, as long as you don't mind me popping over to see Parley every time she brings someone new in, maybe I will hang around you guys. At least you have a purpose right behind you; apart from just waiting till you can move on into the Files. Don't tell anyone but I've always had my doubts that Alyssum is quite all it's cracked up to be. I mean knowing the answer to everything would be great, 'A place for everything and everything in its place,' They say. But personally there is more scope for imagination when you don't know what's around the corner if you ask me. Maybe that's why I haven't moved on, They don't want me stirring up the place with ideas... hehe"

"Ok, so let's start," said Wit

"Look there's a bottle just behind the breakers," said Sindé with her practiced rubbish-spotting eyes. And she flew off to grab it in her webbed feet and drop it on the buttons beside Wit.

Not that it was as simple as that to get started. Wit soon found he wasn't able to get the lid off. Presumably the person who had sealed this idea up in their mind had used a fair bit of bitterness to wrench it shut and keep it air tight. It wasn't until Sindé brought in another bottle. This one had a sea urchin stuck to the side trying to read the message through the glass. He shooed it off and was able to crack the two bottles together, being very careful not to cut his finger.

'Quiet Christian man seeks same' and a phone number read the first message. The second was a recipe for a catnip pizza delivery service.

"Well I can see why cat-pizza deliveries didn't catch on, but I'm sure the quiet Christian man could have found another quiet Christian man if he'd looked," said Sindé.

"I don't think that's what it means," said Thera. "I've read a few lost Bibles that turned up here and they are not big on that sort of thing. Anyway it only matters that he never did what he once thought was a good idea. But we'd better keep looking. Neither of those ideas are going to get us out of here unless you want to be delivered back as a pizza!"

"Well hang on," squarked Sindé. "I've often wondered if we could use Religion to give us a boost in the right direction. I mean people are losing their religion all the time, right? And others are adopting new ones all the time, too. So I've always suspected that Religion had a way to sneak back out of here."

"No, no, no. We are not going anywhere near the Bog o' Belief. That is way too dangerous. But you are right, Religion stays the same up here and I can tell you why but then that will be the end of it, OK?"

Wit and Sindé sat down on the buttons, it sounded like an interesting story, though, as Wit picked up handfuls of buttons and skimmed them absentmindedly across the skim milk he told himself he hadn't agreed not to try anything.

"People, as you know, often lose their religion," started Thera, "and sometimes whole religions get lost from a society; maybe because some invaders force them to adopt a new religion or just because people kill all the priests when they fail to bring the rains or the Summer forgets to turn up one year. But for some reason the Bog o' Belief never gets any bigger does it? Not like the Sea of Opportunity, that skim milk has been rising slowly year after year and may one day swamp us completely. Maybe if we all drown, we'll go straight to Alyssum?"

"The Bog, Thera. Stick to the story," said Sindé.

"Yes, well the Bog has been here nearly as long as I have and it has never gotten bigger. Maybe it's gotten deeper but I have a suspicion that it has worked out how to reincarnate itself. The reason there are always new religions turning up over the centuries is because it just keeps coming back; always a little bit different but still with the same appeal that attracts people to it. In fact, if I'm right, and Religion is actually a god who can't die, then the genius of it is that the different religions are always fighting against each other and among themselves. That way no one questions why there is always religion because they are so busy defending their religion from other people's religion that they don't notice Religion is behind them all. And with the competition being so high, if someone does lose their religion, they are more likely to just adopt another one rather than admit they don't have any."

"But then where did Adam and Eve come from?" asked Wit?

"What?" asked Sindé. "No no, you've missed the point. It doesn't matter where religions came from but only that Religion's stories, like Creation, prove that everyone keeps wanting humans to be 'special' because their god made them according to a plan rather than just having evolved from some rapidly dividing yeast via a fish and a monkey."

"Actually, there used to be a lost Eden around here somewhere," said Thera. "Only I think the plants in it moved on to Alyssum one by one as they were genetically modified out of existence."

"Whatever, let's go talk to the Bog!" said Sindé and flew up into the air and off down the coast."

"No! I said that was too dangerous!" shouted Thera after him but its voice was carried away on the wind, or ignored, and Thera and Wit were left looking at each other; Wit with a little bit of hope in his eyes.

"Well we are going to have to go and rescue her if it's that dangerous," he said.

"Humph, you know you're right don't you?" said Thera but it didn't argue, just pointed its tail at him and said, "Hold onto me. But when we get there you are not to look in the Bog under any circumstances. I mean it. People have gone crazy and fallen in before now."

Did they get out of here?" asked Wit, but his question got left behind on the beach as Thera bounded down the coast and landed beside Sindé.

"Thought you'd never get here," she quipped. "Now where is it? Over behind those mountains isn't it?"

"We are not going to the Bog," said Thera but Sindé was already off and flapping. So, with another bound, Thera carried Wit to the far side of the Mount Way.

There shimmering at the foot of the hills was an area the grass kept well away from. Wit looked closer and saw light and music rippling around in slow eddies. Nothing seemed to hold still though and as soon as he had an idea what he was looking at it would slowly meld into something else and he'd have to start thinking all over again. He crept a little closer to get a better look when suddenly he felt a beak grabbing him by the collar.

"Hold on there buster, Thera is right, you don't want to go looking in there unless you want to lose your wits. And right now that's all you've got left so you'd better hold onto them."

As Wit sat down, still looking in that direction, Sindé grabbed a rock and flew over the Bog, dropping it into the swirl. It fell without even a plop but didn't just disappear. Wit could see it was sinking rapidly lower and lower but it was not just getting smaller as it went. The strange ripples seemed to magnify it, at times making it look bigger or, at other times, smaller so he had to convince himself that gravity really was doing its normal thing down there and that what you saw was not what you got.

"WHO DARES DISTURB BELIEF?" Rumbled the ground around them.

"Ah, Sorry Mr Religion, Sir. We were wondering if you could answer a few questions?" piped up Sindé.

"YOU DARE TO QUESTION FAITH?"

"Well only if you're not busy"

"I'M ALWAYS BUSY! But What Can I Do For You Little Seagull? Have You Accepted The Way?"

"Actually, I lost it. I'm pretty sure its up on that mountain there somewhere."

"THAT Mountain Is An ABOMINATION! If People Would Only Accept My Way They Would NEVER Be Lost Little Seagull. I Invite You To Come Here And Look Into My, I Mean, YOUR Heart And See The Truth."

"Oh, but we are looking for a way out now. Do you happen to know how to get out of here?"

"I Can Take You Anywhere But You Have To Give Yourself to Me. Jump In With Your Eyes Closed And I Will Be Your Guide."

By this time Wit was edging slowly away from the edge and trying to look anywhere but into that mesmerising force. Once he'd made it to the other side of Thera he felt a bit safer but his mind was still racing with possibilities. What if there was some way to go down there but to still have a way back? But did it only work if you fully trusted its way? But if you did that, would you still be you when you came out the other end? Of course he couldn't know the answers without trying but he wasn't going to lose his head over this one. He would try to do it safely at first and then, only if all else failed, would he throw himself in without a safety line.

'Boiong.' A random sound went off but Wit just thought it was the germination of his own idea.

"Sindé, Thera, can we go somewhere and talk?" he asked.

They both looked at him and, recognising the glint of an idea in his eye, they retreated out of earshot of the Bog.

"What about if we went down into the Bog - it obviously leads to somewhere over there - but instead of just jumping in blindly or falling in, in a trance, how about we have a safety line so we can be lowered in slowly? I don't believe the Bog can touch us, just mess with our heads, so as long as we are attached at one end we can get down slowly enough that we can choose when and how we get out. Or, if things go terribly wrong, we can get back up here again. What do you reckon?"

"Brilliant," said Thera.

"Nice," said Sindé. "Any ideas on what we could use."

But Wit was already looking at Thera with guilty sideways glances. "Thera, would you mind if we used your sock? If we unraveled the thread it might stretch out quite a long way."

"Yes, I mind. You're asking me to go around headless which is tasteless especially as taste is both in the head and in the mind. And though I have lost my head I have not lost my mind. But anyway, you will learn, the strength of a rope is in the many strands gripping each other. If you unravel them and hang off one strand only, it will snap and you'll find yourself stranded. But you've given me a better idea. This is a sock right? And what is one thing we have plenty of up here, apart from buttons? Socks! Oh my, hold on both of you." And it spun round so fast it nearly poked Wit in the eye with its tail.

Thera was bounding off the second they grabbed the point and in a blur of passing grass they found themselves flung to the ground many miles away where a huge circle of grass edged an enormous black hole threaded by a stairway that climbed both up into an invisible dot in the sky and down into an immeasurable dot in the depth of the hole.

The stairway that went both up and down to infinity spiraled gently, the curve bulging out in the middle with the elegant twist of a seashell. It was seemingly suspended from the stars above and brushing the very roots of existence at its base. But, though it was slender, its contact with the infinite reaches gave it an air of permanence that made the grass around it look flimsy. It appeared to be a thread from the gods sewn through a hole in an invisible shell and holding the fabric of the world together. It is, after all, the stiches that define a garment's character and measure the tailor's skill much more than the material.

"Welcome Wit. How are you Sindé, Thera?" A voice of light organ music spoke from the air around them, as mysterious as the waves in a shell. "What you seek is hiding behind the paper tree. Wit, come up and see me sometime. You will not find your Algernon where you think he is. But you are not yet ready to look for him because when you do find him it will only be because he's not there. And Wit; hold tight!"

"Hello Taught-us. This is our friend Wit," said Thera. "He has an idea about how he might get out of here and we were wondering if you might know where the socks were hiding? Um, and thank you for telling us, but I just thought I should ask anyway, out of politeness. And because it still freaks me out when you do that, even after all these years."

"Yes I know," breezed the music of waves in their ears. "I wouldn't bother if you didn't react; just a bit of fun. It gets a bit tiresome knowing so much that you can guess everything others are about to say. At least with this game I can watch your surprise. I guess I live vicariously since knowledge is no surprise to itself. Is that creepy?"

"No Your Honour," intoned Thera, its sock-head bowed a little limper.

"Don't be so polite Thera; we go way back. I know you don't mean it and I know you are really thinking about your own Algernon. I'm sorry, but as I tell you every time: You will not find him in your sock."

All this time Sindé was fluffed up with her head scrunched down into her shoulders. She ruffled imperceptibly but the steps seemed to twist just a fraction as she did so and the timbre of the voice dropped an eighth of an octave.

"Sindé, how many times do I have to tell you? 'You have no Algernon to find.' Your eye is clear; you have not lost your step like so many others (the spiral staircase twisted a little tighter still) for you mount up on wings like seagulls. What are you waiting for? Get out of here..."

"HOW!!!" screamed the bird as only a seagull can. And the air rattled with the sharp echoes of frayed hopes.

Wit shivered a little. He reached out to put his hand on Thera's shoulder. Sindé flapped disconsolately onto Wit's shoulder and crapped absent-mindedly. Thera turned and spirited them away with a slightly pathetic whinny, its hand-tail drooped.

Back at the paper tree, the three friends huddled together for a minute.

"What is an Algernon? And why do I want to find it," asked Wit; still a little freaked out by the Taught-us.

"She always does that," ruffled Sindé, "gives you a poke in the eye. I guess that's how you repay her for telling you what you need to know. She loves to see you squirm since she never squirms about anything herself. Damn, I want an Algernon!"

"Tell me about it!" said Thera. At least you've got eyes. You could get one. I wonder if I'll ever look my Algernon in the eye again having no eyes to look through, see."

"Tell me about it, please?" said Wit

"Oh, sorry," said Sindé. "We always get a bit grumpy when she sees right through us like that. It wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't see-through herself.

"Algernon is the blind spot in your eye. That invisible point of blackness you can't see but she seems to think when we finally see it we will get out of here."

Wit went a bit cross-eyed trying to see into his own eyes.

"Why can't you or Thera see yours?" he asked.

"Birds cancel theirs out, that's why we can see so clearly. And Thera, as you can see has nothing to see with. Actually, I've always wondered how you can see out of that sock of yours?"

"Oh, I've an idea where mine is hiding but it's easy enough to find your way around when you made the place," said Thera. "Everything is where you put it; mostly."

"Um, I'm sorry you can't see yours then. But could you tell me how I can see mine?" said Wit.

"You can't really; it's a blind spot," said Thera "I think it's some sort of allegory. Maybe when you get older you will understand."

"When I get older, I will get out of here anyway," said Wit sulkily.

"Come on then, let's go find the socks, they'll be hopping around here somewhere but watch your step, they can get a bit toey if you spin them a yarn." And Thera started stalking around the paper tree.

"Darn, they're not here," it said.

"Oh yes we are!" giggled a thousand children from up in the branches. Down they jumped like fall leaves, ending up in a big pile that twisted and wriggled around itself as they all squirmed to tie themselves in knots around each other so that in the end they were tied top to toe in a huge long snaking chain that rose up above them, swaying rhythmically like a conjuror's rope of many colours.

"Good morning Mr Therasock." The children's voices chanted, all at roughly the same time.

"Good morning children. Please sit down," said the sock on Thera's head. "Mr Thera would like to ask you to help him. Now I'm sure you will all agree, so remember your Peace and Queue." Thera's sock had a slightly deeper timbre than the headless horse's airy breezing.

"Thank you children," said Thera. "As Mr Sock said, I would like to ask you to help my friend here, Mr Twit." A few socks twittered to each other. "It will be a bit of an adventure so you must all be on your very best behaviour. Now, do you all promise to do what you're told?"

"We promise," said over a thousand sombre voices, with only a few hundred giggles in the background.

"Very good. Now if you could all roll up neatly and hold my paw we will be off to Mount Way."

"Oooooh," said the children a little awestruck at being invited into a grown-ups adventure.

"Line up! Line up!" squawked Sindé as they all twisted around holding their friend's toe and their other friend's top. Sindé perched on Thera's shoulder again and off it bounded leaving Wit watching in amazement as the endless coil of socks unwound behind it, snaking up through the air to follow. Only at the last minute did Wit even realise he'd been left behind and he just had time to grab the end of the sock rope and be whisked off to join the others on the far side of Mount Way.

When Wit arrived, Thera had already organised one end of the sock rope into a loop, which was slung over its shoulder like a harness. Sindé came flying up and bustled around the other end of the rope and soon those socks were organised into a loop, too. Wit wiggled into the hole and fitted it under his arms, Thera gave a leap forward until the rope was stretched taut and, at a signal from Sindé, Thera started walking slowly backwards while Wit lowered himself over the side of the bog.

He soon found there was nothing to plant his feet on; the whole hole had soaked into a swirling, insubstantial dream. "Just keep going," he told himself and he concentrated on the feeling of going down, even though the sky above seemed to be getting closer or further away depending on which way the Bog was pulsing. As the edge of the hole got gradually more distant, he thought he saw a bird looking down at him. Then shortly after, he saw Sindé walking down the rope towards him. This was quite comforting and he relaxed a little. But not for long as he immediately heard Religion challenging this newcomer.

"Little SEAGULL, Why Don't You Trust Me? WHY Do You Hold To the Rope When I AM HERE To Hold You?! Close Your Eyes And Give Yourself To ME Completely. I Can Give You New Life. Fly In Me And You Will Never Be Tired Again. LET GO Of Your Chains To This Hollow World And I Will Set You Free.

"Squarwk," squawked Sindé. "He does go on a bit doesn't he? Just ignore him; this seems to be going well doesn't it?"

"Yes, except that I want to be sick. This pulsing and flow of pictures and lights is making me feel ill. Did you bring an airbag with you?" he joked. "I hope we can find the right place to get out."

"Oh we'll be fine. Do you think we could speed it up a bit? That Thera is a fine chap but it's a bit of an old nanny goat when it comes to protecting us kids. How about you wriggle out of there, hold my feet and I'll fly us down a bit further. I'm sure I can get the hang of flying in this soup." And she let go and started swooping around in slow circles testing her wings. "Then we can look around for the best way out rather than just dangling around like a puppet. No one wants to live on the end of a piece of string."

"Well I don't know," said Wit. "Do you think you are strong enough to hold me?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it. The air seems thicker and easier to fly in down here. Let's get you out of there and give it a go..."

And Sindé looked down her beak with such conviction that Wit thought she must really know what she was saying was true. He started to shift the sock rope up his chest a bit and raised his arms to slip out of the loop when a little lisping voice piped up from under his chin.

"Mr Twit, Sir, Mr Therasock said we were not to let you go under any circumstances."

"Oh, thank you. But I think I'll be fine. Sindé is here with me; she can fly me back up if there is any problem."

"Mr Twit, Sir, Mr Therasock said we were not to let you go under any circumstances."

"I see. Well you just stick together little socks. Trust me, I know how to look after myself."

"Mr Twit, Sir, Mr Therasock said you already lost your head once. We are not to let you go under any circumstances." And suddenly all the little socks shrunk a little and the loop around Wit's chest became quite tight and uncomfortable.

"Le'go of me you block heads!" shouted Wit. "I don't want you bossing me around. I'll jolly well trust whoever I want and be blowed with you!" And he started to wriggle around trying to get his arm through the hole.

With a twang and a twing, the little socks under Wit's chin sent vibrations up the rope and Wit hoped it was not a message to Thera to pull him back out of the hole. But he didn't appear to be changing direction; he was still gradually going further and further down into the Bog.

"Oh here comes trouble!" grumbled Sindé and Wit looked up and saw Sindé walking down the rope towards him. This was quite disconcerting and he looked from the Sindé walking down the rope to the Sindé flying beside him and realised one of them was not the real seagull. He heard Religion challenging this newcomer.

""Little SEAGULL, Why Don't You Trust Me? WHY Do You Hold To the Rope When I AM HERE To Hold You?!"

"Oh, you're a lark aren't you? Look at you flying around there like a cuckoo trying to get poor Wit out of his nest so you can roost in his mind."

Suddenly the Sindé who was flying around dived at the Sindé on the rope and went right through him. The dive was designed to startle; there was a flap of wings and a twisting around on the rope and a second when Wit closed his eyes so he didn't barf and when he looked up they were both on the rope flapping at each other and he couldn't tell which was which.

"SINDÉ! Go back up the rope and tell Thera to pull me up!" And both birds started walking up the rope glowering at each other.

"To hell with this!" said one of the Sindés and it jumped off the rope and flew back down to him. "Just hold in there, mate. Thera won't stop lowering the rope; he trusts me to keep my wits, and yours."

"NO, go away from me you crazy blackbird!" shouted Wit. "The real Sindé wouldn't let go of the rope."

"Yes that's right," chuckled the other Sindé. And she walked back down the rope and brushed a wing over Wit's face sending him into a trance. "Now Buzz Off You Feathered Freak Before I Turn You Into a Boa! He's Mine Now, Just As Soon As I Get This Stupid Rope Off Him." And she started pecking at the knot of the loop. The little socks however just tightened their grip and the real Sindé started flying in and out, trying to dislodge the imposter but to no avail as she just went through him every time.

"Oh Quieten Down You Goose," said the wraith whose beak seemed real as it picked at the knot even though his body offered no resistance to the swooping Sindé. And then, just as Sindé was flapping in Religion's face, he plucked a feather out from under her wing and glared down his beak at the little sock knots. "So You Want To Play Rough Do You?" he said. And bending down he used the feather to tickle the little socks under their chins.

"Tee-hee-hee," giggled the socks and, though they tried desperately to hold on, they were no match for this new heavy artillery and Sindé could see their hold was gradually slipping.

"Busted eiderdowns!" screamed the bird and she started to flap back up through the soupy air.

~ ~ ~

While Wit was in the trance, he had a vision of a street near his old home. He was hanging out in a back road with two of his mates. They were having a rest from playing on their skateboards when suddenly his Dad drove past and seeing him there screeched to a halt, reversed a bit and got out of his car. He came over and started rousing on him for having been so stupid as to have died! He said that he was glad he'd found him but boy was he in trouble and he should get back home to do detention. It started to dawn on Wit that it was a little strange that his father would be telling him it's good he was not dead, even though he knew he was, and he wasn't sure if he should try to work out why this seemed strange or just be happy that he wasn't dead any more. Suddenly something crashed into Wit's chest and he woke up with a start; a fleeting vision of his father wrestling with a dream of him evaporated on the burning sensation in his chest. He also had a new sensation - Falling!

~ ~ ~

While Wit had been out, Sindé had flow up and out of the hole. Seeing the Bog was about to win, she took desperate measures and grabbed as big a stone as she could carry and flew back over the hole. She took careful aim at the beak holding the feather and dropped it. The rock went hurtling down, appearing to get bigger as it went further away until it crashed into Wit's chest, crushing the faux Sindé and waking Wit up with a start. Unfortunately it also squashed the toe of one of the socks, which yelped in pain and accidently let go. Down went Wit with a somewhat startled look on his face. Down went the rock growing bigger all the time and down went Sindé flying after them as fast as she could.

"Oh crap!" she said and she crapped as she flew so she could fly faster without all that extra weight. Down went the crap, too.

About two thousand years beforehand, Wit came tumbling out of the sky along with a large rock and some seagull guano. They crashed onto the ground together beside a tree, the rock coming down with a thud onto an unsuspecting lizard's tail. The guano came down a second later covering all of them liberally. As expected, Earth Time had not taken kindly to being crapped on by End Time, or 'Bed Time' as he jeered, and he had spun the world while Wit fell, bringing him out in ancient Israel sometime around the lunar spring festival.

Wit, reincarnated as a pretty virgin called Witti, sat up and screamed. She was covered in sausages, as that is what the guano had reincarnated into. The rock had been reincarnated as a rock, albeit a big one, and it just sat there smirking at her long traditional dress and the veil she was wearing because looks could be conceiving. The tailless lizard scowled at her.

Witti's high pitched scream had caught the attention of a traveller who had been walking quickly away from the town behind, looking shifty and gripping a small moneybag tightly in his sweaty palms. Obviously a disreputable character, he was wearing socks and sandals. Though constantly looking back over his shoulder and hoping to get away unnoticed, when he heard the scream, he looked at his bag and then at the pretty Witti and back at his bag. Suddenly an evil glint came into an eye that was barely deflected by her archaic head covering. He swelled up slightly at the thought of his own power and, wishing to prove it to himself, swaggered over to the girl and ripped open his shirt so that his hairy belly flopped out. Witti scuttled backwards, afraid of becoming yet another ancient Israeli teenage pregnancy statistic. She ripped off her scarf so she could run freely not caring if his lust was inflamed as that was his problem, not hers. Thinking fast, she grabbed a handful of sand to throw and made use of the scarf to twirl a rock around her head. Both ready to throw when suddenly, a hessian rope flopped out of the sky and looped itself round the aggressor's neck. It jerked him up into the tree. Witti turned her head demurely until he stopped jerking and was off; as is only proper for a virgin in distress to do.

When she looked up, she saw a glass slipper wiggle out of the sky, walk down the rope and tinkle, "Catch me if you can..." and turning to climb back up the rope above the tree, it pretended to slip a bit as it went. Witti's shoe-shopping instincts overcame her fear in an instant and before she knew it, she was scampering up the tree in a most unladylike manner trying to grab the slipper. The tailless skink scampered up behind her. She grabbed the rope and started to climb above the tree but the higher up she went the more the slipper looked like a seagull, the more the rope looked like a multicoloured chain of socks and the more Witti felt like 'What the...?!!'

Once Wit was high enough and looking like his old self, except that he had retained the flowing long hair, Sindé gave a whistle and the sock rope unraveled itself from the rouge's neck and he crashed belly first onto the rock that was covered in sausages. Later some passing Priests found the body and seeing the rope marks on his neck concluded that he had hanged himself and then fallen down onto the rock. Nobody noticed the rope was gone and only one dirty brown sock was left - and it wasn't the left one either. Opening his moneybag they kept a bit for themselves, 'as you do,' - if you're them - and then used the rest to buy the field as a burial place for strangeness; 'as you do' - if you don't want to notice what you can't understand.

Back in the throb of the Bog, Wit was thanking Sindé and the socks for saving him as he continued to climb hand over hand up the rope but not for a minute letting go. Looking around with his head on a bit of a tilt he found he was able to see through windows into different times and places but there was nothing that he recognised and even after he learned to swing the rope around to get a better look at more places, nothing made him feel he was home. Looking across the whole world through all the eras of mankind was just too big to expect him to sort through to find one family in all of human history. Which, being 6,667 times older than him on a planet with a land area 340 million times bigger than he was, it would be 2 trillion points in time and space that he had to search though with just two eyes. It was a bit like looking through aerated froth and trying to pin-point just one bubble. To make matters worse some bubbles were shrouded in night and he couldn't see anything in them; others were in daytime but winked into night before he could focus on them. It wasn't too hard though as 71% of them were obviously just ocean so that narrowed his own lifetime down to one in 662 billion bubbles.

Finding his home and family would have been tricky enough if he hadn't also been keeping an eye out for more attacks from Mr Religion. So it was pretty lucky really that he recognised a ginger cat chasing rats in and out of the swirling rainbow pattern glistening around the side of one bubble. Keeping his eye on the ball, Wit swam side-stroke through the soup of other creatures' lives, still holding on to his sock-rope link to reality. As he got closer, the bubble swelled up to an enormous size in comparison to his present point in Time. He had been alive for 484 million seconds and he had to find just the right one of those to splice his life back into the point he had left it. But he was determined to tinker with time and yet needed to retain his links here in case it all went wrong so he pulled up the end of the rope and untied the last sock in the chain, a dirty brown thing that crumpled like a leaf. With some gagging and choking he managed to swallow the sock, smell and all, even though it was a bit crusty. It would be a link to follow back to Thera if he needed to. Then, when he was ready, he trained his eye on the right point of his life and jumped.

Not surprisingly all of the above took quite a bit of concentration and as a result he felt the thunk on the back of his head before he realised he'd been hearing Sindé shouting, "Look Out!" All around him arrows were shooting past. They had heads that looked like savage guinea pigs screaming a shrill war cry, "Wheeee," as they attacked. Most of them missed and fell into his life in some far away garden but the arrow that hit him sent him spinning off course and he landed in the right garden at the wrong time.

"Billy! There you are you naughty bunny rabbit," said a small boy who he knew groaningly was himself except that he was five years younger and, unlike him, was growing older every day; at least for five more years. Wit tried to open his mouth to shout, 'It's me! I'm you,' but the taste of sock gagged him and he burrowed his face into the ground and started chewing grass to get rid of the socky feeling. His nose wrinkled up and down constantly trying to shake out the odour and before he knew it, the boy had pounced on him and was locking him up in the old rabbit hutch under the olive tree. He didn't really have time to think about how it was he could fit inside the hutch; he just felt like eating and pooing and wriggling his nose to get rid of the dratted smell of sock.

Day in and day out, he was pulled in and out of the hutch until his life became a nameless grey blur. When he was lucky, he was allowed to sit under the fishbone ferns for a few hours and try to listen out for his name. Unfortunately his ears were so big all the sounds echoed around and he couldn't understand what the children playing nearby were saying. He tried to dig his way to freedom a few times but the boy, whose name he couldn't remember, kept dropping bricks in the holes and slowly he could feel his mind rusting over. Indeed it may have turned out that he would have lived the rest of his shortened rabbit's life there in the garden except that he was sometimes allowed to roam around in a harness and leash. One evening, he was left out when huge balls of fire started exploding in the sky. He vaguely remembered they were fireworks but the noise freaked him out and he panicked, bit through his leash and squirmed under the garden gate. Before he knew it he was racing down the road in a blind fright. Suddenly he screeched to a halt, he was seeing the light! Well two of them really and they were getting closer! But if there are two lights into the afterlife then which one was the right one? Did one lead to the pearly gates and the other to the pearly cooking pot? Maybe it was potluck whether you chose the right white light? Maybe there was too much to think about while you sat there watching the lights get closer. He wriggled his nose and the smell of old sock wafted out, steaming in the lights before him. He decided to call them headlights because they were coming towards his head but he thought the socky steam that was curling around in front of his nose would be strong enough to stop the lights and give him time to interview them before choosing which white light was right. Certainly the steam seemed to be getting thicker and fluffier and, when it began talking, it sounded quite reassuring. "Come on Wit, hold my leash," it said. He grabbed the rope that was offered to him and realised it was made of lots of little socks tied together and that he was being led along gently by a fluffy white dog who stopped in front of a post box.

"Lucky you ate that sock," said Parley or I wouldn't have smelt it was you. Normally I chase the rabbits straight over to the Alyssum Files otherwise they keep stopping to eat and chat up other bunnies on the way. They just don't get it that they are dead and no amount of food or sex is going to make them happy any more. But then, what would I know? I'm only a dog. Right?! Maybe in bunny paradise they get given a warrenful of brides. But if they are all ghosts how do they hug each other? Whatever, here you are laddy; Thera and Sindé are over there with the Taught-us having a war counsel but I'd cough up that sock before you join them if I were you; it's rank. Though I guess it smells a million times better to you than to me."

~ ~ ~

Chapter 2 ~ War

At first, Wit was a bit confused. He had become so used to the vast open grasslands of Elysium that he wondered where he was. All he could see was a sea of heads sliding down the waning side of a huge swell and up the gibbous side of the next wave. But looking round, it was more of an amphitheatre made by a natural depression of the ground and filled with people, animals, insects and whole forests of shrubs and trees of every shape and description all facing into the centre where a thin line rose from the ground and reached up to the stars like a laser. As Wits' eyes rose up this line he noticed a curious difference to the Earth, which he remembered was capped in cobalt by day. Here it was always day but there was no sky; the stars were always out, twinkling black holes, pinpricks of lost hopes on a Russian blue background. Wit refused to wish on the sinkholes for he knew where he was and, more importantly, that he would get back. He looked round more and realised that the line was actually the Taught-us, still with its gentle spiral bulge in the middle, but the land looked so different because there were so many 'people' there. In fact, he wondered, maybe the ground is dipped down like this because of the weight of everyone. No wonder the Fields are depressed with the weight of everything that has ever died an untimely death sitting on it.

"Not everything Wit," hummed Taught-us' hollow organ music in the shell of his head. "Even the Fields are not big enough to hold everything that has died. These are only the things that have not yet moved to the Alyssum Files.

"Please take a seat and try to catch up." And Wit suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that he was listening to a live show and its replay both at the same time for the Taught-us was reviewing everything that he had missed in one ear while allowing him to listen to what was going on now, in the other ear.

Wit moved up to the sea of heads and coughed politely hoping they would make room for him to sit down. A small brown sock jumped out of his mouth as he did so and hopped off to join the group of sock children who were sitting whispering and casting sideways glances at him not far away. As the dirty brown sock passed through the crowd, a lioness and a lamb, who had been playfully biting one another both looked at the other and stepped back as if the other had passed wind and Wit was able to squeeze in and sit down. He let his long hair fall down over his eyes, the better to listen to both his ears.

He soon gathered that this was indeed a war counsel. Taught-us was railing against the lizards in particular and Wit noticed there were very few cold blooded animals of any sort in the gathering; certainly none of the big fish had brought their own pools to sit in though there were other pools with dolphins in them baring their teeth angrily whenever Taught-us mentioned that the sea was cursed with scaled ones. And, as she railed, she built up barriers in the minds of everyone there. Soon they were all nodding and muttering that the lizards had to be dealt with. Apparently their crime was to have invaded the Elysian Fields. Orchestrating their own untimely deaths and arriving as the reptile un-dead, they were filling the land with disreputable gangs who were roaming around attacking anyone who was keeping lizard tails. It wasn't clear to Wit, however, if they were being told to hate the un-dead lizards because they were different or because they were setting the lost tails free. It appeared there was quite a trade in lizard's tails as domestic help. And since they had no known mouths, were paid starvation wages. Wit thought this sounded like slavery but the lioness on his right assured him that the tails were quite happy sweeping floors or fanning their masters. All they ever did when you let them go was thrash around anyway so they might as well be useful while they were doing it. She herself had a couple that she retained as masseurs though she drew the line at those who used them for mere tickling sensations. The lamb on his left blushed and bleated that a cougar he knew had done that, or so she'd said. The lioness growled and tickled him under the chin with a huge claw but it was all in good sport and Wit wriggled away to leave them to play their game of dare together, popping their paws into each other's mouths while pretending to snap down with their, in one case, fearsome teeth. Everyone else was gradually disappearing too, drifting away in muttering bands planning how they would ambush the next gang of lizards that they came across. However, it seemed the lizards were quite elusive and so there was a lot more muttering about what they would do than what they could do.

"Wit, please join your friends," hummed his ears. And, looking out from behind his fringe, he saw Sindé and Thera standing near the centre. The land was a lot less depressed now that everyone had spread out and he ran over the flattened grass to join his mates. Just to the left he noticed Pillow sleeping with one eye fixed on his every move.

"It seems you have a talent for getting out of tight places," he heard from everywhere and yet nowhere. "You will play a vital part in our offensive against the lizards. We need someone like you in our covert operations. Someone who can infiltrate behind their lines and report on enemy movements."

"But - I don't believe the lizards are any real danger to us just because they are different," protested Wit.

"And you, who have been here five minutes, know about this do you?!"

"Well..."

"And do you also know then that you are partly responsible for letting this scourge into the Elysian Fields? You and Sindé with your escapades let an un-dead lizard climb up here and learn our ways! It has conscripted an army of thousands who have entered our free and open grasslands and who are now polluting our democratic way of life!"

"Oh, do you vote here?" asked Wit

"That is not the point, boy. You have let in a spy and so you must repay your debt by becoming a spy in return. You will seek out the lizards in their holes in the Mountains and send your reports back with Sindé, barely dead herself," the Taught-us said with crushing effect. "Then Pillow will enforce order and ensure the un-dead are sent back where they belong!" Pillow had sauntered over by this point and rubbed against his leg before curling up again a little way off. "Thera, make sure these two do not get out of line. This is your land we are defending. I am only here to keep the Piece as They want. Our Piece and the un-dead's should not mingle. Surely you can all see the wisdom in that?" and the voice purred on soothing Wit's worried ears long after the words had finished.

After Wit, Sindé and Thera were out of eyeshot of Pillow, which took quite a bit of walking to avoid that piercing half-closed stare, they started to talk a bit more freely.

"How are the un-dead getting here anyway?" asked Wit.

"It seems that lizards throughout the ages are enlisting in this rebel army by not dropping their tails when caught by a cat or a butcher bird. So, because they should have escaped, it is an untimely death and they get in," said Thera.

"But then they are dead? So why are we calling them un-dead?"

"A lizard with its tail must still be alive mustn't it?" said Sindé. "Normally they keep some life in the tail in case they need to drop it - to keep it thrashing around. It's like a little battery. So if they die without dropping their tail then there is still some life in the battery and they come here still a little bit alive. But that's enough to infuriate the cats who want to have a monopoly on after-lives. Lizards don't just have nine lives; they can keep coming back to life for as long as they can grow another tail. It's the age old battle between the Haves and the Wannabes."

"So you mean lizards can never die?! Wow," said Wit

"They can if you kill them after their tail has dropped. It is considered a great prize among cats to catch a lizard who has already lost its tail. No battery and out they go. Evil things they are though, playing with them first to show who has the most lives now. The other reason they play is to scare the lizards with tails into dropping it. That way they can bring the tail here to do work and the next cat who catches the lizard may snuff it out if it hasn't had time to grow a new tail."

"It just occurred to me," mused Thera, "that if lizards are known for their wisdom in high places and cats are known for their curiosity, we may be witnesses to a divine battle between Care and Dare. I wonder what part we will play? Will we dare to defy or care for our lives as I don't think any of us are a match for the Enforcer."

"The Enforcer?!" asked Wit worriedly.

"Pillow," squawked Sindé worriedly, remembering her own run-ins with cats: Turf wars over garbage cans beside far away beaches and one of the reasons she had kept moving on. She hunched down a bit on Thera's shoulder and glanced behind her.

Without realising it, Thera's long strides had taken them high up into Mount Way. Once they could see the other peaks around them Wit stopped to catch his breath only to remember he didn't have any. Still it was a beautiful view and he asked, "What's the name of the other mountains over there?" pointing as he spoke.

"To your left is Mount Whey and that wide one is Mount Weigh. On the far side is Mount Away and the smoky one to the West is Mount Wei," explained Thera. "But I think we should see Witch Whey before we stray too far. From what I hear it won't be easy to track the lizards up here. Hold on." And with a leap it had carried them across the valley and they landed at the entrance to a cave where glow worms clung to the ceiling, bathing everything inside with a sickly green light. Sticky threads of mucus and silk hung down like spider webs to catch the dim-witted moths that fluttered in to see the light show. The lost moths didn't mouth any complains; they got to go to Alyssum if they got caught.

Wit peered into the gloom and saw a small child sitting on a large round cheese hassock. She was quite pretty if you didn't look at the flies buzzing around her piled up curls, or into her eyes which were staring into a bowl filled with a pasty white potion. It throbbed a sickly yellow and the little gobs of fat moved slightly, lining up to point at the strangers.

"Come in," she smiled. Only one tooth was missing.

Thera ducked under the glow worm threads and approached confidently. The others held back a little waiting to see if he came out just as confidently.

"Ma Fate," said Thera. "Good to see you again. I told you the children would not forget to keep frightening you away and your rhyme wouldn't die or end up in the Lie Bury."

"Yes, once again you have undertaken to bury my fears Thera. How may I be of assistance to you?"

"We seek an audience with the lizards. My friend Wit here has been commanded to seek them out but I have the feeling he would prefer to sit down and talk with them first. Wouldn't you Wit?" To which Wit merely nodded.

"I see, and so shall you," said the witch and she reached down and pulled up a large spider that was sitting beside her quietly knitting.

"Not the whey Ma'am!" it groaned but she merely giggled innocently and threw the poor thing up into the sticky mucus of the glow-worms.

"Ugh," it said. "I hate this bit." And, too heavy to be held up by the threads, it slowly sank down until it was dangling just above the bowl. Yellowish throbs pulsed underneath it and the globs melted and congealed into little arms that reached up and tried to grab the spider's hairy legs. He twitched and spun, trying to keep away from them until in the end, his legs were in a tangle pointing in an ungainly kind of way to the back of the cave.

"I saw it was backwards," she said. "You will find your lizards under the rocks on Mount Wei." And she cupped her hand under the spider and used a tiny spoon to scoop off the mucus that was stuck to its back. This she mixed in with the whey and then she carefully settled the spider on top of her head where it greedily snatched at the flies that were circling the tin of cat food nestled in her pile of curls. After a minute she plopped the spider back down on its own little cheese pouffe from where it gave her a dirty look as it picked up its knitting and tried to find the stiches it had dropped.

"Now make sure you find those stitches," said Thera sternly. "A stitch in Time saves nine but here a stitch out of Time risks ninety lashes. You know that."

"Yes Thera, Sir," piped the spider and, in a flash, six of its legs were furiously knitting while the other two legs were braced against the floor to stop it toppling off its legless backless stool.

"Thank you Ma Fate."

"Always a pleasure Thera."

And with that they backed out of the cave, Wit forgetting to duck.

"Off we go again," said Thera. "This is turning into a bit of a travel diary isn't it?"

"Why were you so strict on that poor spider?" asked Wit combing his fingers through sticky hair.

"I told you before," piped up Sindé, "it does your head in to think about what happens to things that get lost in the place where things go when they get lost."

"Not only that," said Thera, "in the nursery rhyme it is the spider who is always scaring the girl away. It doesn't hurt to give his alter ego here a fright in return; it keeps him on his toes. Besides, she makes a mean drop of soup. You should respect a woman like that."

"Woman? I thought she was a little Miss," said Wit.

"Flies in the face of reason, doesn't it? Take away the cat food and you would have seen what's what. Which witch reminds me, Mount Wei..." And they held on as it jumped - shimmering them through the travel in the blink of a die.

Mount Wei, as Thera had said, was to the West and had a slightly oriental peace about it. The rocks seemed smoother, the breeze a little steadier; the lizard doing Wing Chun on Wit's toe a little more fast and furious.

"Hugo's where?" it shrilled at them as Wit hopped backwards.

"Whey won cheese," responded Thera, engaging him with the password and the lizard sentry snapped to attention and let them pass.

Sindé was last in line and, looking over her shoulder she couldn't help thinking, 'What's a sentry or two less?' and she snapped at him with her razor sharp beak. In a flash, the lizard had slapped her across the beak so hard she had a crick in her neck for a week and her eye was watering from a lightening fast stab of its tail that she hadn't even seen happen.

Every rock they went past made scuttling noises but they didn't see another soul until they looked behind them and saw the path blocked by dozens of fierce lizard soldiers; some with pikes, some with arrows, some sitting on rats with cannons mounted on their backs.

'Wow,' thought Wit. 'If Necessity is the mother of Invention, then War is the illegitimate child's father.'

"I suggest you hold on in case I need to make a leap of faith," whinnied Thera. "These chaps are not quite dead so the same rules don't apply; that is, they don't really care who was here first."

"Hugo's where?" shouted a huge water dragon from in front of them. And Thera seamlessly responded, "Weigh one fool."

"Correct. You must be a spy," snapped the general and, aiming high, he shot Thera in the head! "Nobody knows the second password."

"Hurray!!" shouted the bloodthirsty warriors behind them.

"Ow," said the sock but Thera failed to collapse.

"Are you quite finished?" said Thera.

"Darn," said the general and shot off his own tail to test if his pistol was really working. A couple of skinks hurried over to stitch it back on. There were scars to show this was not the first time he thought his gun was faulty.

"When you're ready, we'd like to see your poet. That is if she's not busy planning the next attack," said Thera.

"Oh. You're not even going to play dead?" said the general. "Well, if you don't keep all your life in your head, you must be OK; follow me then." And it led them down the path away from some disappointed looking lizards.

Two slabs held up a dolmen of marble and under them appeared to be something of a nursery. Little tails were flapping around the place, some playing tag, others eating crayons and the rest swaying backwards and forwards sleeping. A black and white salamander was holding some chopped liver and feeding one of the little tails. Her own tail was restraining two others from fighting. The general chuckled, tickling the fighting tails under their tips and then retreated to stand guard at the entrance.

"Mother of the son of a lizard, high status to your women," opened Thera with the traditional greeting.

"Beast of War, may your hunt be complete," the salamander responded politely and Thera relaxed just a little having been acknowledged as someone like-minded.

A plate of mealworms was set before them and Sindé started to peck them down greedily. Thera politely popped a few in the hole shot through its sock and Wit, who hadn't felt hungry since he arrived, suddenly felt less so. Thera's button eyes glared at him however so he smiled, picked up half a dozen and pretending to eat them, dropped them surreptitiously one by one down his sleeve where they wriggled under his elbow. He tried not to shudder, reminding himself that was still less horrible than having them wriggling down his throat.

"Mmm," mumbled Sindé, "Those are the fattest mealworms I've had in ages. Did you bring them with you?"

"Yes," answered the Queen of the lizards, a little bemused at this 'entertaining' bird.

"Oh, you've gotta love foreign food," said the seagull. "You wouldn't believe how dead everything tastes around here."

"Marmar, you have come far to nurse the little ones," interrupted Thera, pushing Sindé behind it. "Have you a way out when you have found all you are looking for?"

"We have always had a way in and out, Thera," she said. "But I think this is not the reason you are here?"

"May I speak Ma'am?" said Wit, respectfully looking between her and the general at the door. "I was told to come and seek you because the Taught-us said you were different and I am supposed to tell her army where to attack you. But all I want to do is get out of here back to my family. And I can see from the way you care for your children that you are just like my family or anybody else's. I don't want to go back to the Taught-us."

"Squarwk, hark at him," said Sindé. "The boy's been watching the History Repeats Channel. Well done. I wasn't going to sink to those depths anyway. If you hadn't drawn up such springs of wisdom by yourself, I would have accidentally gotten blown off course on my back to report to Pillow. Sigh, maybe getting 'lost' would have been my ticket out of here."

"Oh would you? Good on you," said Wit. "You could have just told me the truth." And he put his hand in his pocket letting the mealworms slide out of his sleeve. He tucked them down into the bottom, planning to lose them later; hopefully back on the other side instead of here.

"But you haven't answered if you have found all you are looking for," said Thera. "Unlike Wit, I do have to go back and tell the Taught-us something."

"And I perceive your real question is: Will we be staying once we have rescued all the children? No Thera, as you know, we have always come in through the cracks in walls to retrieve the lives that are lost when we have to drop our tails. But recently the cats have increased their efforts to torment us and have been enslaving our tails in great numbers. We have only raised an army here this time to defend our lives and bring the children home."

"But you know that any army in enemy territory is seen as aggressive," said Thera.

"Are you suggesting we talk with the repository of Lost Wisdom and expect her to listen to reason? Ha, Thera, you know the time for talk is passed and that the Taught-us is benefitting from the trade in slaves. Wisdom is not just the knowledge of Good."

"What?!" squawked Sindé. "Are you saying the cats over there are catching tails over there so their ninth life here can sell the lives here?"

"No, not the lives, the labour," she replied sadly. "All these children around us were rescued from hard work like rowing galleys, stirring mortar, weaving carpets... Comfort sleeps on coercion."

"Oh, that's dreadful," said Wit but Sindé and Thera just nodded as if they had seen this all before.

"Our question for you is: What are you going to do about it Thera?" And she fixed it with an unblinking stare. There was an uncomfortable silence broken only when Thera said,

"I am going to suggest you leave. It seems War has followed me here and even the Elysian Fields are not a safe place to rest. I regret that I have allowed good and bad desires to reside in the same resting place. They are coming together as they were before you came here. I will go and stop the Taught-us but I suggest you take the children to safety as soon as you can. Sindé, get Wit out of here." And standing up, it walked back out of the grotto and leaped out of sight over the rocks.

No sooner had it gone than a huge white cat's paw was scrabbling under the marble dolmen. It knocked Wit and Sindé to one side and Marmar to the other. She was still holding her infant when the claws unsheathed and she was pinned against the wall of the cave. One claw rent her from stomach to chin. Wit was horrified and raced to protect the children but before he could reach them the paw had scooped them up and was dragging them out of the cave. They wriggled desperately and Wit raced out after them only to be confronted by the hissing face of Pillow. The huge cat seemed to have swelled even more in size, though she might have just have had her fur fluffed up. She had leaped over the rocks the minute Thera left and was battling the lizards single handed. She had the general pinned under one back paw and was swiping at the army with the front. The other paw was cupped around the tails, huge talons curving upwards preventing their escape or rescue. Most disarming of all though was that one eye was covered by a sea urchin. The black spiny eye-patch poked outwards threatening to impale Wit as he rushed after the tails.

"I knew I should keep an eye on you," hissed Pillow and she stopped swiping at the lizards for a second, reached across to Wit's face and whipped his long hair out of the way. Her claw was so sharp his hair was shaved back to the scalp giving him a military crew cut and revealing, behind his unwashed ear, Pillow's other eye; the one they thought was closed as she watched them walking away from her after she had rubbed up against him. Wit frozen by the claw at his neck, allowed her to gently pluck the cat's eye out. She shook her head to dislodge the seeing eye-patch and popped her eye back in its socket.

The brief pause had given the lizard army time to regroup and two of the tank-rats had got into position behind Pillow's left flank. The lizards on their backs fired simultaneously and with a thud two puncture wounds opened up on her haunches. Pillow picked up the urchin and threw it into the army impaling a number of soldiers and skittling the others. Then she turned and leaped back over the rocks crushing the general under her paw as she carried her massive weight and the wriggling tails out of reach.

~ ~ ~

Once Thera had bounded back to the Taught-us, it found the circle of grass had widened and the steps that had been stretching up and down into the infinite reaches were now straining to loop back and join end to end. Opposites attract but in this case, not just into a massive circle of life with evil on the inside and good on the outside or vice versa depending which way out you were born. No, because of the natural twist in the Taught-us, the two ends would have crossed over and good would have melded into evil and evil into good; an eternal figure of eight, similar to a strip of paper, folded once and stuck end to end; origami without a kink. Draw a line on one side and it will never end because one side becomes the other and then back again; this is the false figure for eternity. Endless repetition of one side then the other because they are twisted to be the same. Try to cut down the line to divide good from evil and you will just make the circle bigger and doubly twisted. Sometimes it was better if opposites didn't attract for Thera knew that if the Taught-us succeeded in joining her two ends, she would become a god. Life and Strife, Dare and Care would ever be bound together in the Elysian Fields. These were things the Alyssum Files should keep ordered, not mix and meld in the afterlife as they had often tried to do in the pre-life. Worst of all, with so many twists, Taught-us' loop would mean people may never even realise they were just going around in circles; a maze with no corners but also no escape.

Thera also knew it was fairly simple to stop the Taught-us taking over. It ordered the grass to grow right up to the edge of the steps so there was no hole for the ends to meet in. Once the ends were separated from each other they would stretch back to eternity, steps leading to the knowledge of good on one side of the grass and to the knowledge of evil on the other. Learning to live when you've died was already enough of a hole without having to pass through it again and again and again. And so, with the grass choking off the Taught-us' mad plans, Thera turned and heard the lizards crying.

~ ~ ~

As soon as Wit saw Pillow escape carrying the children back into slavery, he raced back into the cave to find out what had become of Sindé. He found her flapping uselessly at the back of the grotto, a small bird scared to face a cat as big as a demon. Wit smoothed her feathers and talked quietly until she calmed down and then brought her gently out into the light so she could see the monster had gone. The first thing he noticed was the sea urchin slowly creeping down the path. He turned to see where it was going and spied a lizard disappearing into a deep cave; the black hole beckoning to the urchin to follow.

"Come on," said Wit, trying to rally Sindé. "Let's see where that hole goes. Maybe it's the crack back to our world that the lizards said they can crawl through.

"Oh, worth a try I suppose," replied Sindé looking around and thinking that being down a hole was better than waiting for something else to leap over the rocks. So, pushing gingerly in front of the creeping urchin's spines, they made their way into the gloom.

They had barely gone two steps when the cave divided into two and, deciding to always choose the left path so they could find their way back on the right one, they went two more steps and had to choose again; two more and it divided again, two more and again they chose. By this time they were crawling because each tunnel was half the size of the last. Another two splits and Wit knew he would not get much further but, crawling through the last hole, he came out into a cavern. Rocks and ash were scattered over the ground around him. In the centre a moltres fire blazed, the smoke rushing up in a hiss of sparks towards a pinpoint of light at the top of the cavern. From the outside it looked like Mount Wei was volcanic, a flaming tiger roaring in its depths, but to Wit, deep in its bowels, it looked like an Aztec sacrifice. Lizards were filing in from cracks and holes all around them carrying lost tails above their heads. They moved with the industry and determination required to improve their lives but didn't smile at their labour. Some wore tails, most didn't, but all of them were retrieving the life from tails they had lost in war. Carrying the tail over to the blaze, a lizard would throw it in and stand solemnly to attention. The tail would thrash for a second and then burst open into a shower of sparks. One would always fly straight into the chest of the tail bearer, burst with life and allow that lizard to bask in the sun of a minute star. The other sparks would fly off up into the smoke, some tumbling back down in a drizzle of ash, others flying out of the volcano and finally making their way back to a distant sun where their energy had first come from. Lizards on every planet bask in the rays of distant suns and butcherbirds eye their relaxation jealously, not realising the amount of work that had gone into storing the sun's energy for bird and beast alike.

Sindé's eyes, always the sharpest, spotted the pinpricks of light on the opposite wall of the cavern. She beckoned to Wit to follow, not wanting to disturb the ritual with her squawks. However, before he moved away from the hole, he built a small cairn of rocks beside it as he didn't want to get lost in endless tunnels if they had to retreat. Edging their way round the cavern they approached the pinpricks that barely got any larger as they got nearer. They did get a little irregular and crack-like and when Wit pressed his eyes against one he realised he was looking out through a crack in a wall on his world. He could just spy the wall opposite but see nothing of the room below, as he was too high. He moved to another crack that was a little brighter and saw that he was looking out of an outside wall into a sunny vegetable garden. The garden wall opposite had a lizard basking on it but it disappeared into another crack as a fluffy tortoiseshell cat prowled past.

"I can see the ocean through a sea wall! Oh, and a juicy crab," said Sindé. "Damn, this is frustrating. So near and yet so barred!"

The next crack Wit looked through opened into some sort of temple. Boys about his age and younger were sitting cross-legged around a senior priest or monk on a hard floor chanting in unison. Incense drifted up towards him.

"Excuse me Ear, could you move that head out of my way," said a small voice next to his ear. He looked down and saw a small skink, still glowing from having just retrieved her tail-life. He moved aside and she scuttled through the hole and into the temple. Looking through the crack again Wit discovered that Time had turned the world before the lizard entered so that it seemed to have been in the hole a shorter time than it had really taken to get to Elysium and back. He was now looking into the night before and the boys were stretched on the floor sleeping, incense malingering around the corners of the ceiling. The monk was sleeping too but not deeply as he kept rolling around adjusting his robes. Suddenly the man got up, rubbed his shaved head, looked around and walked down the row of sleeping boys. He reached down and pulled on the ear of one child who cried a little and looked scared but followed submissively behind the man. It seemed some of the other boys had only been pretending to sleep as a number of other scared eyes followed their movements. Wit gasped. The man was taking him back to his sleeping corner.

"What are you gawking at?" said Sindé and she pushed him aside so she could have a look, too. "Oh MY god! STOP IT," she screamed and Wit pushed her aside, in turn. He saw the monk had pushed the boy face down on the floor and was kneeling over him, covering him with his saffron robe. He felt ill as he realised what was happening and staggered away from the wall unable to watch a soul begin to die.

Sindé looked and again started screaming, "Stop! Stop!! STOP!!" But it made no difference. The monk ignored the ghostlike whistling from the crack high up on the wall and continued to, as he called it, teach the boy to 'accept any adversity and learn the potential for much good.' Besides, it would make him chant louder and stronger the next day as the other boys had learned to after their souls had started to die from pain, degradation and betrayal.

"Please let's get out of here Sindé," begged Wit. "We can't do any good here. There is no way we can get through these lizard holes." He was just about to turn away, when Sindé squawked, "Bugger! Yeah – Sod off!" And she pulled him back to look. "Ha ha; see, now that's better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick!" Wit reluctantly looked again at the dark hole but he could only see the monk flapping around trying to catch something small and fast in the corner and the boy crawling back to his sleeping position where he stoically curled up into a foetal position; not making a sound or even wiping at the blood.

"What happened?" Wit asked looking at Sindé who had a wry smile on her beak.

"That lizard dropped onto the monk's neck and when he startled and tried to swat it, it whipped its tail into the corner of his mouth! I bet there was some salmonella on there. Boy, he's going to have the trots tomorrow." And she continued to chuckle into her neck feathers as they made their way around the cavern and back to the cairn Wit had built.

When Wit and Sindé made it out into the open they found Thera was already back and stomping up and down impatiently.

"Did you see which way Pillow went?" it asked immediately, having already learned the children's news from the scratches in the marble.

"Back towards Mount Way I think," said Wit bursting to tell Thera what they saw and ask if it could stop what was happening through the Eastern Cracks.

"Oh no! The Bog! She wouldn't! Grab on!" And the moment they both touched it, Thera had bounded over to the Bog o' Belief.

When they leapt to the ground, they saw a crowd of people, animals and trees standing around, looking at Pillow who was next to the Bog. As soon as she saw Thera she stopped saying whatever it was she had been saying to the crowd, turned and heaved all the tails she had caught and many that the onlookers had caught into the Bog. A heart attacked her as she did it, arteries flailing. A lone protester trying to block her evil plan. Wit learned later that it had failed in a coup d'état back there so had been replaced by one generously donated by kind-hearted kin. It was now remorsefully waiting for its body to catch up. Pillow roughly thrust it aside. A phalanx of watching appendixes were too gutless to join the fray.

"There," Pillow purred as she minced back into the crowd that parted respectfully before her. "Now there will be nothing for the lizards to come back here for. We take no prisoners, so they can just go back to where they came from." But Wit wasn't listening. He was transfixed, his hair stood on end as he looked down into the Bog, watching the tails fall through the warps and foam of Belief. They were transforming, growing into monsters, some with massive tails the length of busses and the bodies of whales, their head as slender and long as another tail on the other end. Others put all their energy into growing huge back legs, forgetting to leave anything for their scrawny front legs. Then realising their mistake, they put all the rest of their growing into huge jaws and teeth. Still others grew wings and some split into teams of smaller monsters that raced around together gnashing their teeth at all the other monsters. Time there couldn't spin fast enough to avoid them and they scattered to the ground between 230 and 65 million years ago.

Wit turned back to see the crowd was walking away. Many of them had kneeled before Pillow who was breathing them to sleep one by one. Others muttered uncomfortably looking back over their shoulders as if they genuinely hadn't expected such heartlessness and a schoolteacher tried to shelter her class from being bowled over by the Taught-us' indifferent ideology. Suddenly the anger of everything he had seen rushed through him and he raced after Pillow and started pounding on her legs for having wasted such precious lives of innocent lizards. Pillow hissed viciously and batted Wit to the ground, stepped on him and unsheathed her claws.

"Pillow you know you can't kill him; he's already dead," said Thera. And Pillow turned and spat, then stepped away leaving Wit surrounded by a cage of razor sharp claws that stabbed into the ground around him and soared over his head, impossible to climb. With a dirty look at Thera, Pillow ran off, scattering the remnants of the onlookers and leaving Wit imprisoned.

"Oh gawd, he's in the guano now. Can you do anything?!" said Sindé.

Thera shook its sock and walked around the bars. It was roughly 8 feet by 6 ½ feet; long enough for Wit to lie down, not long enough to keep him sane. To add to his stress, five little socks came hoping over and started marching around the perimeter shouting, "Left, Left, Left, Right, Left!" A familiar dirty brown one crinkled at the head of the troop, occasionally poking out its tongue at him.

"Oh pipe down you lot," said Thera and made them stomp around in stockinged feet. "I think Pillow is hoping you will fall asleep in there, Wit. I suggest very strongly you don't touch the bars; cats' claws are full of bacteria. That's why they itch at even the slightest scratch. Try to stay awake for a while, even if your eyes start watering from the cat perfume."

"Oh, I have an idea to keep him awake. How about we give him some soothing music?" said Sindé. "I'll fly over to the Count-Tree and Waste-Urn to get him some recycled headphones; hold on there Wit." And off she flew.

"Well, I guess I can tell you a bad-time story to keep you awake," said Thera. And it plopped down on its haunches like a donkey refusing to walk.

"Why did Pillow kill all the tails? What was the point?!" asked Wit, sitting down also; a little way back from the bars.

"Spite. Envy. Just obeying orders. All of the above," replied Thera. "The Taught-us wanted to stop the lizards coming back to rescue their tails so she told Pillow to get rid of them. Pillow convinced everyone to give up their slaves to stop the gangs of lizards but there is really a more Machiavellian plan behind it all."

"What?" Wit asked, unable to think of anything crueler than killing your enemy out of spite; or worse, out of envy because they had more than nine lives.

"Power of course," said Thera "Trade. Now no one has slaves do they? So the cats can go straight back into business bringing fresh tails here. The more you trade, the more you earn; the more you earn the more powerful you are."

"But what do they earn? I haven't seen much money lying around here."

"No, there are lots of poker chips from the casino though. Those places are smart enough not to let people lose their money or it would end up here. Instead they give them chips to lose and keep the money locked up in a vault. But cats don't want money and they don't eat chips. They trade the tails for catnip."

"Catnip?!"

"Yes, for some reason, flowers are always losing their lives when people die. Most people come here clutching them or turn up with them all over their bodies. The cats here trade them for tail slaves and then smuggle the flowers back as drugs."

"What? How do they get them back?"

"They swallow them of course. Nothing needs to eat here as you may have noticed so what they eat has nowhere to go. To be honest I'm surprised all this grass grew so well with nothing to fertilize it."

"Thera, you're making more questions than answers..."

"Ah yes, well, the cats eat it here and chuck it up there. Simple."

"I don't get it."

"Oh I was hoping you wouldn't notice but I don't really understand it either. Somehow the cats eat flowers here though they don't need to. Then they can vomit them up there in their living bodies. Did you see them munching on grass before? That's to make themselves chuck up."

"So the flowers that died for the dead get imported by them and traded for tails. Then the dead lives of the cats export them by chewing them up here and spitting them out there? That's so weird. But I still don't get what that's got to do with catnip."

"By dying and coming back they get more flower power, they become intense, intoxicating, in short, a drug. And kittens, always keen to get more power, will do anything to get their hands on it."

"Huh?"

"Power; the cats are always in a rush to kill off a few lives so they can get one foot here and one there, then they have power. Catnip is a drug. Drugs increase risk-taking, sometimes even leading to death and, voila, the kittens can become cats - holding their heads high as they stand on the back fence looking down on a neighbour who hasn't managed to kill off a few of their lives yet. As I said, it's all about having others envy you, in spite of everything."

"Wow," said Wit. "And I thought it was just a war."

"There is no such thing as raw war," said Thera. "Wars get lost there and turn up here in the Piece. Everyone wants a piece of the spoils so it's really just raw greed and greed is really just so others will envy you. 'Why?' I'm glad you asked: If others are looking at you, then you're the centre of the galaxy. But it's very hard to look outwards from a black hole - much harder to consider what effect your rapacious gravity is having on others. It always leads to madness in the end. Look at what happened to the Taught-us."

"What happened to the Taught-us?" asked Wit "Is that why you left us on Mount Wei?"

"Yes, I wish I had been there to save Marmar and the children but I couldn't be everywhere and I had to stop the Taught-us becoming a twisted god." And it told Wit all about how the steps of wisdom learned through good experiences had curved down to join with the steps of wisdom learned through bad experiences and how, if not choked off by the grass, they would have formed an eternal loop of good into bad and bad into good. "Yin and yang might balance but they should never be confused for a cycle otherwise there is no reason for Progress," it explained and Wit thought he understood. However from what he had seen through the lizards' cracks he wasn't sure there was really any good anywhere that he could trust.

"Like marble, there are seams of black and grey in everyone," said Thera. "Oh sorry, I've done that answering-the-question-before-you-ask-it thing. I hate it when the Taught-us does that to me. But what I mean is, even if some people do some good things and some bad things they should applaud the good and un-reward the bad."

"But I wanted to kill the monk back there!" cried Wit.

"Yes, I saw that vein in you, too," said Thera. "But the worst thing is not even what he did but that he denies it even to himself. He tells himself it doesn't matter or that it's done for good and so mixes his evil actions with pure motives turning his good sense into a rotten heart. It's like the false loop of eternity, if you cut it down the middle it just gets bigger. People are always trying to cut away their bad parts but they grow back anyway and with double the twists. Cut it again and you will think you have made two loops but they are so wrapped around each other it is impossible to separate so people end up lying to themselves; telling themselves they are free of bad things despite living lives that have a twisted loop of bad actions right through their middle. Or like people who talk so much about being good that they pick all the black veins out of their marble until they crack. Better to be honest about your bad points and not lie to yourself or you lose your marbles. Hearts like that are lost for good; but strangely they never turn up here. I've often wondered what's walking on the underside of this grass but I can't say I've been curious enough to look. Fools go where cats fear to tread." And it looked down at its panther feet and back at Wit.

"Wit! Wake up!" it shouted for Wit had started to go to sleep to the sound of Thera's breezing.

"Oh! Sorry, I was listening," he said. "'Fools grow where cats' fears are dead,' see. I wonder where Sindé is?" he asked, hoping to wake himself up with a change of topic.

"Lost most probably; she usually is. But don't worry, she has a marvelous sense of direction and always finds her way back. That's why she's still here poor thing." And they both looked up into the sky wondering if they could see her.

"Oi, what are you two gawking at the stars for?" squawked a voice at their feet. And they looked down and saw Sindé dragging a pair of large fluffy dice over the grass. "These things were too flipping heavy to fly with. No wonder they don't put them in aeroplane windows!" she muttered. "Here you go, reach out carefully between those bars. I'm not coming any closer. Those claws give me the willies."

And so Wit warily pulled the dice through the bars wondering where the soft duff-duff sound was coming from.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" he asked holding them up by their string so they hung anatomically correctly, one slightly higher than the other.

"Put them over your ears of course. Unless you want to fall asleep in that Guano Git's cage."

"How will that help?" asked Wit but he did as he was told having learned that nothing was as he expected it to be.

As soon as the fluffy dice touched his ears he heard his most hated electronic trance dance music, if you could call it music, blaring out of him. He couldn't hear Sindé answer his question, though he could see her beak chattering away. When he took them off, the sound ceased immediately; not as if it had been turned off but more like it couldn't get out of his head anymore.

"How do these work?" he asked. And Sindé had to explain it all over again.

"Before they got lost, those fluffy dice had one job only, to absorb all the lost music from people who cranked up their car stereos and then cranked down their windows. That's why they are so heavy; they've absorbed so much of it. Anyway, there is always room for them to squeeze in a bit more music and if you put them to your ears they will suck out all the songs that you buried in there because you didn't want to hear them again."

"I didn't bury music in my head," said Wit.

"Don't be daft," retorted Sindé, "everybody does. When you hear something you like, you play it over and over to yourself don't you? Well when you hear something you hate, you bury it deep down in your brain somewhere."

"That doesn't mean it's lying there dead though, does it? I thought you just forgot it."

"Then how do you explain the ghosts?" said Sindé.

"What ghosts?!"

"When you bury something you didn't want to hear but it comes back to life and haunts you; rattling around and around in your head till it drives you bonkers."

"I've always wanted to ask, how can you win a war against ghosts if they can't be killed?"

"Same way you paint a punk elephant: One pink spot at a time," replied Sindé enigmatically. "If you've got music, a memory or even an imagination and you don't want it rattling around in your head, the first thing to do is remember it's only a ghost. It has no life of its own so it must be sucking some from you. So give it a shove in a new direction: paint the elephant with polka dots and barge it with a rhinoceros dressed like a clown. Conjure up a new picture you do want to think of and paint it over the top. Remix that irritating song with a favourite lullaby until it becomes a joke you can smile at and tuck it into bed. Then, once the ghost has exploded in a shower of glitter, the music, pictures and thoughts that are alive in your head will come back out to play." Wit nodded, hoping he could remember this when he got back and was trying to forget he had ever died as he was worried an elephant that big would need a lot of blind spots to cover it before it felt like a piece of wall or a piece of rope.

"Anyway, put those conkers on your head and let them suck out all the music you ever heard and hated; it's a daft plug."

Wit slowly dropped the dice over his ears. Electronica streamed out of him jarring him out of sleep and into a trance. The more he listened the more he felt his head being split in two. The more he felt his head being split in two, the more he realised his head was being split in two! Either side of him was being slowly sucked into the anatomically correct dice; one slightly higher than the other like a statuesque owl's fluff covered ears. But he didn't mind, being split like an owl's ears seemed to give him direction. Anyway, his mind had already been sucked out and he was split down to his neck like a zipper opening down the front of a hoody so that within a few minutes he was split right down the middle and his legs and finally his feet were being sucked into the fluffy dice. When he was gone, they began emitting a quiet duff-duff sound again as if absorbing Wit had made hardly a dent on all the music that had been thrown at them before him.

All that electronica had to go somewhere though. Lightning cracked and Wit found himself pelted down from cloud to Earth. Time didn't even have time to spin out of his way before he slammed into the ground and so he managed to get back just after he left. The only problem was he had come back as a mosquito making that annoying humming noise; a definite disadvantage if you are trying to slip back into your family without anyone noticing you've died. Everyone knows that lightening causes mosquitoes as they always come out after the rain. What most people don't know when they clap their hands over a mosquito is that it might have been crazy old aunt Bertha who had died loving opera but been zapped back to Earth after having the pop music sucked out of her. Who could blame her for buzzing around their ears wanting to say "hi" and who could blame anyone for not realising it was her and clapping her straight back to where she came from. Then again, who could blame the old opera loving Aunty, when she sees the applause coming, for magically disappearing like a phantom in the light before the fat lady clings to your hands?

~ ~ ~

Wit didn't have much problem finding his old home after the storm had passed. Though Parley's clouds had moved on, he had apparently been stuck where he was, refusing to accept that he couldn't come back. Only here he was now; back. And refusing to accept that he couldn't get in through the fly screen. He buzzed incessantly against it smelling the fresh life of his family wafting out to taunt him. Suddenly he heard his brother reminding his sister that it was time for bed; his mother must still be at work. Actually it was already well past 9:00 and it seemed his brother had forgotten the world while he was reading. 'Just like him,' Wit thought but then he remembered his sister would have to open the back door to let her dumb dog out before bed so he hummed over to wait for his chance to enter.

Sure enough, after the proverbial procrastination, she opened the door wide and waited while her dog waddled out. Wit took his chance and, buzzing his wings at top speed through the smell of rain, he ambled into the room.

"Hi! It's me, Wit! I'm back!" he shouted through his pointy nose. "Is anybody home?" apparently not considering his sister or brother to be an 'anybody.' She ignored him, as sisters do, though to this day she claims she didn't hear him, and closed the door. Wit buzzed around for a while shouting about everything he had seen but it was no use, she wasn't even listening to the drone of the mosquito and had sat down in front of the computer to finish decorating word-art on a picture of her lost brother.

"Ahhhhh, that's me you idiot!!" Wit screamed in her ear but she just flapped absent-mindedly around her head and then tightened her ponytail.

"Fine, I know how to get your attention. I'll get under your skin as only a brother can." And he flew down under the desk and approached her ankles. When he was half full of warm blood, he began to enjoy his new life but suddenly it ended. His sister had felt the itch of sibling warfare and clapped him out of existence.

"Ewwww!" she said inspecting the bloody splodge on her palm as she walked off to wash it with soap.

Fortunately for Wit though, he had pumped some of his life into her leg before he had started to suck. Mosquitoes believe it aids digestion to say, 'live-ah,' before you start drinking though others just say, 'ah-men.' It wasn't fortunate for his sister though as she now had Wit under her skin and by the time she came back from cleaning her teeth and had let the dog in, he was starting to irritate her just like he always used to.

He was quite proud of the lump he had caused on her ankle and he looked around wondering how long he could live as an itchy bite. Suddenly he saw all the other itchy bites that she had scratched and he began to tremble. If she scratched him he would die and be sent to the Alyssum Files! But flinching was a mistake. An itchy bite that twitches just has to be scratched and she bent over to see where on her ankle the annoyance was located. Just as Wit saw the slightly dirty fingernails of doom approaching, he heard a bang and the front door opened.

"Oh you wouldn't believe the traffic after that rain," he heard his mother say.

"Mum! Stop her! It's me Wit!" but, as his mouth was a tiny pinprick in the centre of a swelling, it's not surprising she didn't hear him.

"What are you doing darling?" she asked. "Is that an itchy bite? How many times have I told you, 'Poke; don't scratch?' You will kill it much faster. Here, let me show you again."

And Wit saw the slightly long fingernail of pain approaching. Using her thumbnail, Wit's mother pressed firmly into the centre of the itchy bite pushing Wit's life out into the blood where it swirled around and was lost among all the red blood cells that were on their way off to the kidneys for their bath time. She pressed again, one millimetre to the right squeezing out more of his mosquito life yet without breaking the skin as scratching does or even causing a bruise. She pressed again and again, millimetre by millimetre, until she reached the edge of the bite and then started again from the centre working her way out to the left until there was nothing left of Wit. Not content to leave anything behind, the fingernail was turned at right angles and again working her way out from the centre, one press at a time, his mum squeezed every last bit of itch out of her daughter's skin.

"I can do it myself!" said his sister as she bared her own thumbnail and started poking away at a 45-degree angle to the other marks. But by this time Wit couldn't hear a word as the massive thumping of her heart was mixing him around and around.

"Well make sure you do it again in the morning," said his mother. "And again tomorrow afternoon. And it will be gone before you know it! Remember, 'poke; don't scratch," she called after her daughter who didn't hear her as she was already around the corner talking quietly to herself about something else entirely.

Pieces of Wit swirled through the blood, bones and brain, entirely lost in thought. Some of the white blood cells wanted to be quite friendly and cuddle up to him, wrapping him in cotton wool. However, one of the white blood cells was a little snappier. It was running round and round the others like a sheepdog rounding them up and keeping them at a distance. Except it was a pretty pathetic looking sheepdog being all small and white and fluffy itself.

"Hold my leash Wit," it called out and then Wit knew it couldn't be a sheepdog, as they never wore leashes; they were far too well trained. This pathetic little untrained pooch must be lost he thought. And he reached out and grabbed the leash only to find it was dragging him over to a red blood cell that looked suspiciously like a post box.

~ ~ ~

"Did you lose this?" Parley barked at Thera and Sindé who were engrossed in a Roman game of dice. Each of the five little soldier socks had been tied in a knot so they could use them as chips.

"Oh there you are Wit," said Sindé casually. "Did you get to see them?"

"What? My Family?! You mean you knew the daft-plug would turn me into a mosquito?!" exclaimed Wit.

"Well of course," said Thera. "We had to turn you into something small enough to fit through the bars. And here you are."

And Wit suddenly looked down at his hands and feet and over at the bars that he was no longer behind. He flopped down on the grass, lay on his back and laughed at the sheer insanity of it all as well as in relief that he hadn't been scratched into Alyssum.

~ ~ ~

Chapter 3 ~ Famine

Once he had laughed himself sober, Wit settled down and watched the soldier-game for a while. A breeze of lost hopes wafted by and refreshed him and he heard a random sound of cogs clunking into gear. Suddenly he had a bright idea.

"Sindé, you're a seagull..."

"Last time I checked."

"So you might have gotten lost at sea before you flew in here over this sea! Maybe that's the way out of here, by sea!"

"OK that might work, for me. But I can't see you flying over the horizon with me? Besides I didn't actually fly here. Seagulls can float and I was sitting on the ocean having a bit of a snooze when I woke up to the sound of skim milk waves snoring onto a beachful of buttons."

"OK, so same thing," replied Wit. "You got here floating over the ocean so let's float back out. I can float too you know."

"What, on skim milk? There's no fat to sit on, you'd drown."

"No, on a boat. There have been plenty of boats lost at sea so there must be some here?"

"Well you're right," said Thera "but they have all walked inland to the Dry Dock and never want to see the sea again. They are a wreck, pottering around in the Ship Yard out the back mowing the grass and pushing up daisies to keep their mind off it. They're all in therapy; even a glass of water makes them sweat."

"Oh, I heard there was some progress," said Sindé. "One Mexican vessel had started the Society for Wave Appreciation, Mentoring and Protection. Though they have not actually left their backyard to save any waves yet, they have written an excellent charter on boats not cutting a wake and hope that, if they take the first step of staying well away from the swell, this will pacify the waves and one day tame them."

"So no boats?" said Wit

"Not unless you want to drug one, carry it into the water and float it against its will," said Thera. "But I don't like your chances. There is a nasty clipper there that I wouldn't want to meet in a dark ally; though maybe I'm just testy about clippers."

"So if none of those boats want to set sail, let's make one," cried Wit jumping up with excitement.

"Out of what?" asked Sindé askance.

"Wood of course," retorted Wit. "I saw whole forests of trees listening to the Taught-us before. We can cut them down and cut them up."

"I don't think you understand; they are dead," said Thera.

"So much the better, if they are deadwood then they will be lighter and float easily."

"You goose," jumped in Sindé. "You can't source your wood from the trees here. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Pillow couldn't kill you because you're already dead, so you can't kill them. Besides, if you take a gander at them you'll see a lot of them are Amazons; they put up a good fight."

Wit was out of answers and sat down again.

"We could ask the Wee Kid Witch of the Waste to help us?" mused Thera.

"What, you want me to fly back over to the Waste-Urn again?! Well I suppose I should return the die. Don't dice with life, They say. And I'm sure we're finished with them since Pillow won't attack us near the ocean. So waste not what you don't want and you won't want for it in the Waste-Urn.

They stood up to go.

"Your turn to carry the die, sunshine," said Sindé to Wit. He picked them up with great difficulty, as the daft-plug was incredibly heavy now it was compressed down to dice size. He put the die in his pocket but a voice squeaked out, "are you trying to kill us?!" so he had to shift them to the other pocket away from the mealworms.

Once they were ready to leave, they looked around to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything.

Wit saw the five socks still tied up and asked, "Should I..."

"Of course," said Thera. "We leave no prisoners." And so Wit knelt down and untied them one by one.

"Fluffing hell!" said the brown one. But the others shushed it and after conferring in a huddle together for a minute looked up and said, "Please Mr Therasock, Sir. If you are going on a boat trip, could we come? You might need a crew."

"Hm, you are right little socks. We might," said Thera. "Hop on board then." And with a 'whee' four of the socks jumped on his back. However, the brown one just sat on the ground and stank.

"You too," said Thera; pointing at it with its tail. And when it just shuffled around looking sulky, Thera's tail reached down and picked it up, careful to touch as little of it as possible. "You can come for a milk bath, little one." It said

"I'm not going anywhere unless he promises not to swallow me again!" shouted the sock.

Wit looked a little guilty and said, "OK it's a deal. I won't swallow you if you promise to do what Thera said and have a bath."

"Fine," said the sock a little crossly but it seemed to be enjoying the attention anyway. "Let me up on your back then."

"No, I think we'd better keep you downwind for now," said Thera. "Right, are we all ready?" And once Wit and Sindé had grabbed on, it bounded away.

Thera sprang inland, far away from the ocean to a line of tall pines. On the far side Wit could see the tall masts of dozens of sailing ships swaying; their rigging singing the high notes in the SWAMP therapeutic choir. The bass line was carried by a throbbing boom, that he couldn't yet see. Towering over all of them was a copper-green giantess conducting the song with a blazing torch. In her other arm she held what looked like their songbook.

As they pushed through the trees, Wit discovered what was making the deep throbs in the music. A number of steam ships and a few diesels were standing in the back row shuffling their rudders and rocking on their keels. The tall masters were also swaying to the music and Wit felt himself caught up in the spirit of the song.

At the end of the piece, Thera pushed Wit forward and they approached the giantess.

"Hello Wee Kid," shouted Thera and, with a groaning of tree branches, the giantess bent over, stretched out her book and said,

"You'd better come up here on my spell book. My ears are a bit wooden these days." So Thera leapt them up to stand on the platform.

Now he was closer, Wit could see she was not copper but the colour of cooked peas. Also the book was made of wood. 'Come to think of it, her dress was made of wood too and her cooked-pea face seemed woody as well.' Wit assumed this was because it was such a big face. She smiled at him. And creaked! Wit thought it polite not to stare. Even if her teeth were wood, they were also as big as his head.

"Would you help my friends please?" asked Thera up front. They wish to sail over the Sea of Opportunity in the hope of getting un-lost. We are looking for a ship that will take us over the waves. Could you suggest anyone we might ask?"

A number of the tall masters suddenly dropped their sails and hid behind them like a lady hiding behind a fan even though it only covers her nose.

"Thera, not so loud please. You know how they feel about the 'W' word," reproached the giantess.

From among the flapping sails Wit saw one three master walk out in front of the others. How it walked he couldn't see as it was too wide in the beam but he imagined it had a lot of little feet working together like a centipede. Its sails were furled and standing quite tall and straight, it pointed its bow at Thera, coughed a little and said,

"I believe I'm the man for the job."

Most of the sails behind it flapped in a squall of nervous anticipation. One old barge said, "Good on you Loch Ard! That's the ticket. Stepping out on the high seas again after all these years. You're a better man than me."

But the Loch Ard didn't hear him. At the word, 'high seas,' it had listed a little to port and then keeled over in a faint. A little ballast escaped from a sprung seam.

"Thar she belowes!" shouted a squeaky blonde rat from the rigging.

"Abandon ship!" screamed two other high-pitched voices. And three little rats scampered off the lopsided gunwales and across to where the giant stood.

"We hear you're looking for a crew Capt'n," said the first rat standing as tall as a rat can and bellowing up to Thera through a squeaky loud hailer.

"Oh well done little Star! Nice blow," said the grey rat behind her. "She's a chip off the old block, my little twinkling diamond."

"We couldn't be prouder of sweet rati Cate," said the half black and white rat beside him, and held the grey rat's hand.

"We taught her everything we know," they said together and beamed at their daughter and then at each other.

"Allow me to introduce my father, Anul Star, and my step-father, Eclipse Star; the finest navigators on the briny blue."

But at those words there was a terrible crash as a clipper and two steam vessels also keeled over in a dead faint.

"Oh come, let's get out of here," creaked the giantess. "You are not helping." And the three rats scurried up her dress and saluted in front of Thera.

Already the giantess had turned and was striding over the grass and Wit just had time to see the old barge pushing the ships back up while suggesting a rousing chorus of 'Home On The Range.'

Within a minute they had arrived at a huge Grecian urn soaring out of the grass at a wonky angle.

"I can feel someone is carrying some extra weight," said the giantess. "You can leave your excess baggage here; it will be quite safe as nothing goes to waste."

"That's your cue boy," said Sindé; and Wit realised she was talking about the two dice. He heaved them out of his pocket, staggered to the edge of the spell-book deck and dropped them over the lip of the urn just below. They hit the bottom with a single huge 'Duff!' and fluffed back up.

"Now Thera, no beating around the bush; I know you would like me to float your friends to liberty but what's in it for me? It would be a waste not to earn a little something for my troubles."

"Spoken like a true witch," said Thera. "We have some live mealworms that the lizards smuggled in?"

"Living?! Powerful magic: life. Alright one mealworm apiece; toss them in the Earn and we'll be off." And Wit counted out a mealworm for everyone except Thera, who wasn't leaving the Fields, and only one for the socks as they had bundled themselves one inside the other to look smaller. There were only two left so he tossed them in too so they wouldn't be lonely.

"Ow! Watch the owl," said a hollow voice from inside the Urn. A barn owl flew up out of the dark and perched on the edge. "How am I supposed to count the tickets if you throw extras at my head? Now you've paid for those seats you have to take two more passengers! If you keep doing that the boat will be overweight and sink. I don't care if you're so desperate to get out of here that you'd risk your life but you are not going to die on my shift! Honestly, trying to smuggle people into the There-before; over my dead body! I can see I'm going to have to watch you like a hawk," and it flew up to the deck, buried its head under its wing and went to sleep. "Full steam ahead," a muffled voice mumbled out from under its feathers.

"Oh? And is there anything more you want Oliver?" the Wee Kid cooked-pea-green wood witch muttered. But she was smiling as she strode over the grass towards the ocean.

They arrived at the button beach in no time. The skim milk lapped drowsily on the shore like lost sleep in the morning coaxing them away from rest to where they knew the day wouldn't rest until mishaps, storms or fogs would inevitably have them lost at sea and where hopefully they would wash up in a sandy cove on the other side.

Without further ado the Wee Kid lowered the spell book so they could jump off then sat down in the surf with her back to the waves and her legs on the buttons. She opened the spell book and flipping through, found the double illustrated foldout pages that she spread out to either side and then held it flat against her chest. She lay down, head first into the waves, and Wit realised that she did indeed make a reasonably efficient boat, with the book spread out from shoulder to hips making a fine deck for them to walk around on. She stretched out a hand and lifted them two at a time, the three inseparable rats first, onto the deck. Thera hung back and Wit went to say goodbye.

"She's huge," he said. "Why do you call her a kid?"

"She hasn't stopped growing yet," replied Thera.

"Wow, so, should I call her 'Wee,' 'Wee Kid' or 'Witch;' or 'pea-body?'"

"You can try calling her 'pea-body' if you like... It's been nice knowing you," it said with a wry smile. "I suggest you stick to 'Wee Kid,' 'Kid is too informal and 'Witch' is her job. May I give you some advice?" said Thera.

"Of course, please."

"Don't call her Kid Wee."

"Um, sure," said Wit. And then it was time for him to board the Wee Kid, too.

The 'boat' bobbed up and down. They all sat down and looked out to sea, the waves lapping at the shore. The boat bobbed up and down. Wit looked around wondering what would happen next but everyone else was looking out to sea lapping up the anticipation. The boat bobbed up and Wit opened his mouth to ask...

"Oh be patient," said the owl. "You're the one who paid for two extra seats. Be grateful I took one of them; we would be bobbing here all day if we were waiting for the Taught-us to step this way.

Wit looked around again and this time saw Pillow in the distance, sleeping but with her claws dug into the grass carving deep furrows through the ground as she was dragged rear first, by some invisible force towards them. Wit's eyes widened as he looked askance at the owl. The owl looked back with equally wide-eyed reproval, "What? Didn't you know there is no arguing with the Haves? You paid, and a pretty high price too I might add, so you Have the seat; someone will Have to sit in it. If not, the Have Noughts will swamp us, scrabbling to fit all their uncles and cousins in it. And no, I don't care if They can't choose their relatives; I can choose my fiends so not everything is relative." By this time, Pillow was already gouging lines through the buttons and had bumped against the witch's bare feet. She pointed her toes and Pillow was dragged, still sleeping, up over the green knees to the top of her legs. With a squeaky mew she curled into an even tighter ball on the witch's lap, scrunched her eyes up tighter and wrapped her tail around her, well away from the waves.

"What a beautiful kitty," concluded the owl wishing she would become his relative one day.

"All are bored?" said the witch.

"We're not there yet!" shouted the socks running up and down the deck in excitement.

"Right, we'll be off then. "Miss Adventures Tours Ahoy." And with that the witch lifted her other hand, popped the torch handle into her mouth so it poked up like a giant smokestack and started swinging her arms in a steady backstroke that pulled them past the breakers into the white horses behind.

"Swell!" squeaked the rats happily as they clutched the crown on the witch's forehead and caught the spray in their whiskers. And Wit's chest swelled with hope as he saw the button beach fall away behind them with each rise and dip of the swell.

No sooner had he had the nerve to relax than Wit heard a number of voices chanting, "Walk the plank. Walk the plank. Walk the..." A high-pitched screaming and the kerfuffle of someone being wrestled into position made him realise this was not just a game. The four clean socks had pushed the smelly brown sock to the front corner of the deck and, while two held it there, the other two ran down to the rear corner. Suddenly the sock was pushed over the edge and was washed by, spluttering and screaming, down the witch's side to where the others pulled him out again. It immediately started fighting back but the other socks all rushed onto it giggling and clapping; shouting, "Better already!" Then they bundled it up to the front of the deck again for the rinse cycle. By the time they had done this two more times, the poor little sock was bedraggled but decidedly more tan coloured. When they finally left it alone, it splodged over to Wit who was talking to Sindé, and looked up at him crying. He picked it up and wrung it out gently then held it in his hands to warm and dry it. After a while it fell asleep and he tucked it into his pocket to keep it out of the wind that had picked up, possibly a pipe dream, and was whistling past them. The sea too was looking a little more menacing, possibly a reaction to having been forced to dissolve the grunge off the little brown sock.

While Wit kept out a weather eye, his companions prepared to batten down the hatches. Pillow crept quietly under the spell book to be out of the wind. She could be heard giggling, which Wit assumed meant she had found something bad to amuse her. The socks swabbed the deck and the rats kept measuring the wind speed, direction, wave height, salinity and the length of each other's whiskers. Occasionally they blinked at the stars at high noon that glistened like their eyes. Checking no one was lost, Sindé walked around and asked everyone if they had seen Oliver but no one could recall when the last time was he had asked for more speed or more slack or less laughter. She finally spotted him nestled beside Pillow under the deck and whispering jokes in her ear.

"Meowth," giggled Pillow.

"Are you the captain or the conductor?!" reproached Sindé.

But he simply replied, "To wit, to woo."

What Wit didn't see was the flying fish launching 400m out. He didn't hear the drone of their wings approaching at 70km per hour and he certainly didn't know what hit him. He did know it when he hit the skim milk and he held his breath for a minute before he remembered he didn't need to breathe.

He nearly let out a wail, "lord!" knowing it would be a long way down, because he didn't know there was a whale just below him. As he floated down to eye level, he also realised he didn't know why whales are so fat.

"You're fat," he said in a deadpan voice that he hoped would make the whale defensive and so give him the conversational advantage; a large hope considering the whale was 20 times longer than him.

"Why thank you," said the whale with a smile that could have swallowed six of him. "I'm flattered that you noticed. Most people are too polite to admit their own insignificance. I wish I could say the same of you but of course you are a scrawny runt though a little more substantial than a krill. Sadly they all are these days; it's hard to catch a decent whale shark but a fat dolphin wouldn't go astray." And it licked its lips in a way that made Wit start scanning through his repertoire of other conversation stoppers; he came out with a grunt and turned sideways hoping it would make him look smaller and less appetising.

"Well in you go," said the whale matter-of-factly and smiled a little wider. "Unless you're one of those, 'Let me say my last words,' types?"

"N-no not at all," stammered out Wit.

"Are you shy? I don't mind indulging you," said the whale. "It's always so amusing to hear what the little folk have to say; keeps me on my toes." And it stretched out a flipper as if to reassure Wit that they were not so distantly related. Wit did not feel reassured. His brother was quite closely related and he was scared of his teeth too.

"May I have a last question?" he asked.

"As long as it's not the last word," said the whale. "What is it then? And take it slowly, I've got all day, and the next. That's the problem with being long lived in Elysium. I've another 80 years until my time is up. So what's your question, small fry?"

"Why?" asked Wit and stared unblinkingly into its pupil.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked the whale. "That's The Question. And I think you know it, though maybe you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Why?" asked Wit, again.

"Oh, you were serious? Or do you mean why is it a dangerous question?"

"No, I mean, 'WHY?'"

"OK, you asked for this so don't blame me if you don't outlive the answer. And remember, the rule is you can't leave until I finish." And suddenly Wit saw why it was a dangerous question to ask. If the whale went on and on for years, his time might be up before he ever had the chance to get home. 'Still,' he thought, 'it's better than being eaten for now; at least until I can think of something else to lampoon him with.'

"It all started when I was a baby, not much bigger than a bus I was," began the whale. "I was small for my age and my mother was worried so she fed me the best milk she could get. Porpoise milk, orca milk, otter milk; they were all forced to help out at the store. It was an excellent store with pretty much everything that was edible and before long I had stored them all inside and moved on from milk to solids. Most of them complained but I never saw it bother my mother so I followed in her footsteps. I still remember the day we first swallowed a neighbouring store, mother and son taking out the competition. Glorious."

"Hold on," said Wit. "I thought blue whales only ate plankton."

"Have you forgotten where you are?" he asked. "I thought boys only ate doughnuts but I don't see you boiling any oil or even knowing how to cut sugar cane."

"What's cooking got to do with it?"

"What's food got to do with Elysium? Like you, I haven't been hungry since I got here."

"But you were talking about your mother stealing seal milk?"

"Not my 'mother' mother; my other mother. Brother, are you daft. Put a plug in it and let me start from the beginning."

"I thought you did start from the beginning."

"Not my beginning, The Beginning."

"You mean the beginning of Time? Which one?"

"The one here of course; who knows what's going on back there?"

"But that will take forever," said Wit. "I'd like to get back to my friends if you don't mind."

"But you asked, 'Why.' Though if you're ready to come inside I can make the answer shorter?"

"OK, you tell me 'Why' but you don't start at the beginning of Time. Maybe you could explain who your other mother is?"

"Ah, now she was a woman you could look up to. I believe you've met her," and the whale looked up.

Wit looked up, too, to where he could see the shadow of the witch's back circling slowing.

"You mean... this was a set-up?"

"Business dear boy. Just float there and I'll explain why you can't get away. I love captive audiences - so attentive."

And Wit, though angry, conceded to listen and learn. It was still better than being taken in.

The whale started again, "I came here when I was a boy, like you, but already as big as a bus. Who wants to swim in skim milk?! So the first thing I did was to try to get back by beaching myself. I didn't even realise you can't die here." Wit nodded. "And while I was lying there waiting to dry up, a nasty way to go, the Wee Kid came past and scooped me off the beach. She made me an offer, said she could see I had potential, naturally gifted, big boned; so we went into business."

"Doing?..." urged Wit

"Doing what everyone here is doing: killing time."

"Huh, how do you kill Time?" Wit gasped, forgetting he was under milk.

"No, not Time's time. The time Time gives everyone else. Their waiting time, we kill the waiting time."

"But that's awesome, then I could go home!"

"No, then you would go to the Alyssum Files sooner."

"Oh. How does that work?"

"Well if your time is up here then your time is up there. Back there, some people die natural but still untimely deaths: a heart attack when you're 42 for example. Or hitch hiking in someone else's car accident. Anyway, that's what can happen to you there but it's natural so you'd still go straight to the Files even though it was untimely. So for those of us who are stuck here, we can make the wait shorter if we get more time here; it reduces our time there. It's a simple principle: keep the balance."

"But everything here is dead right, apart from the lizard tails, so how do you get more life here? Oh my giddy aunt, you're not stealing tails too are you?!"

"A few piffling tails? Who'd bother? No, you can get bigger by taking the waiting-time from other people, then the balance is maintained here. It's like a set of scales sitting on a set of scales. Even if you move weight from one side to the other it all still weights the same. By taking their waiting-time, there will be more people with less on one side of the scales but one person with more on the other so it's still equal."

"That's not very fair!"

"Fairness has never died an untimely death so you won't find her round here. Children there are always supplicating, 'It's not Fair!' so we don't have to worry about her fortunately. Equality, on the other hand, is always getting lost so there's plenty of it here keeping the balance. Put me on one side of the scales and it equals 181 million white bait on the other. Those little silver fish are all that's left after I get closer to my goal."

"You've lost me again."

"No, you're right where I want you," and he smiled a little wider still.

"OK, but before I agree to come inside, could you explain what I've got to do with you getting closer to the Files?"

"Simple, see my teeth?"

"Ah, no, duh; you're a filter feeder."

"Correct. So I suck things in, squeeze out the milk through my baleen plates and then lick off all the insignificant little life forms that got stuck on the filter."

"Um, hello, I'm not insignificant; I'd choke you!"

"Ah, you buoy me up with your innocence. I'll be sucking the time out of you, making you insignificant, making myself fatter. I can't kill you but I can make you smaller. The oceans here are full of krill and plankton: the small fry I made to balance out the scale that's holding me up."

"But why do you want more time anyway? I thought you were trying to make the wait shorter."

"You really are backwards and upside down aren't you; as innocent as a wee kid. The more time I have here, the less I have there; balance remember? And when my time is up, I can go to the Files, right? So I need to get more time here so I can end my time there and move on. I could wait another 80 years for that to happen naturally or I can get fat here and hopefully have a heart attack or get diabetes. I think I'm starting to go blind as it is. Everything I filter out here is making me fatter. You could say they keep me company; I like company."

"So, if you get fatter here and smaller there, what about the things you make smaller here? Do they get longer lives there?" pondered Wit.

"Minor details," mumbled the whale.

"Then every life you make into a shrimp here is getting longer there so they take ages to move to Alyssum?" accused Wit

"Yes, well, they weren't born with such long lives to start with, were they? You can hardly expect me to compare my 80 years with their 180 days can you? I mean, it's not as if we were all born equal."

"We're not born the same but that doesn't mean you can steal their lives to make your own easier."

"Well now you're being judgmental and making me upset. I think I'll just eat you now and you can whinge about it through the filter."

"Hold on," said Wit. "I wasn't allowed to stop listening so you're not allowed to stop telling me 'Why.' What's the Wee Kid go to do with all this?"

"Ah she's an inspiration that little girl!" sighed the whale. "Taught me everything I know."

"What does she get out of you getting fatter?"

"Well she's the ferry-woman, isn't she? People pay her to get to the other side and instead she betrays them and drops them off here. That is to say, the flying fish get a cut for dropping them off here. I get fatter filtering out their time and she gets a little more evil for having drowned them in hope."

"Why does she want to be evil?"

"So she can grow up, of course."

"But she's huge! How much more grown up does she want to be?!"

"Your cogs are groaning. She needs to become evil so she can be a grown-up, then she can stop growing. Only then she will have the liberty to choose if she will be evil or not."

"So she wants to grow up so she can stop growing up? And she's doing it by stretching out other people's time here? How nasty."

"Well their lives are making mine better. That's the balance."

"And what's the balance to her becoming more evil?!"

"Well I guess that's you realising what little you are good for. Are you ready yet?"

"Yes I'm ready to tell you you're fat and I know how to make you fatter..."

"Well it wouldn't be by eating you obviously; go on..."

"Eat the witch!"

"What?!"

"Eat the witch, she's massive; I bet you would explode. Your life here would be over and you can go and rest in Alyssum without stealing from the little people any more."

"Are you crazy?! Bite the hand that feeds me?"

"Are you afraid you couldn't swallow her?"

"I could swallow you first and then think about it," mused the whale out loud. But it was too late, it had taken its eye off Wit and he had taken the chance to swim like a frog fleeing boiling water back towards the pea-body. He could see Sindé's webbed feet swimming around and her head poking under the milk to look but she was too buoyant to swim down to help.

Wit was nearly to the boat when he felt a huge suction behind him. He looked back and saw the whale's mouth wide open and his throat swelling as it sucked in vast quantities of skim milk. He was sure he could make it away anyway but suddenly the Wee Kid, who seemed to be able to see out of the back of her head, put her hand under the milk and pushed him down. Instead of dodging her, Wit grabbed the long finger and held on tight, pulling the fist back obscenely until he heard a crack. Up above they heard the witch shout, "Mercy," as the wrist started to snap but they didn't realise what was going on because the milk around them had begun to spiral into a whirlpool that was sucking the whole Wee Kid down. In a minute the extra twisting had broken the hand off completely and Wit bobbed to the surface clinging onto the side of a cupped-hand coracle.

"Abandon ship!" screamed the rat husbands as the witch was sucked lower into the whirlpool. But they needn't have bothered; lil' Star was already aloft, being carried upwards by Sindé after Anul and Eclipse had begged her to save their daughter the second they smelt trouble. The witch pulled the flaming torch wand out of her mouth but it fizzled in the milk and the socks jumped self-sacrificingly into her maw to gag her from doing any magic. And, with characteristic self-preservation, Oliver and Pillow were already hugging in the handy lifeboat that had spun off and away from the edge. The rat dads leaped as one and landed on Pillow's head, unafraid of what might happen to them there.

The survivors of the wreck looked back and saw the witch spin head first down into the centre of the vortex and twirling faster and faster disappear under the milk. Wit couldn't help wondering whether the whale realized he was sucking his mentor in. He ducked his head under the waves to look and was surprised to see the whale's eyes wide open and pinning the witch with a greedy stare. The witch did not return his gaze; she was spinning like a dervish as she disappeared between the whale's lips still clutching her spell book. She was roughly the same size but the moment her spell book was behind his baleens, he clamped them shut, though not before a small white dogfish swam in, then started squeezing the milk back out. Wit felt the force of the milk press him against the side of the coracle and push them away. They rode a pressure wave out of the danger zone and just in time, too. The whale didn't even get to finish filtering the time out of the witch before he exploded into a rainbow of fluff, sea lice and white bait. The little silver fish glittered in the sun, finally free of their prison. Wit watched in amazement as they, in turn, swam around each other in tight schools, gradually combining into larger companies that became bigger fish like trevally, tuna and even a swordfish. They thrashed their tails and cut through the waves; swimming for their lives as if the whale was still in their wake.

One fish that didn't swim away as quickly was a hammerhead shark. Its fins had been cut off and it was wearing a red gridiron helmet; it's eyestalks poking out from either side with a face guard covering its mouth. It paddled past Wit with its stumps and gave him a wink.

"Thanks mate; Capital show!" it said floundering in an eddy.

"What did I do?" asked Wit.

"Set us free, of course. And with such style; taking out the witch too, what flare!"

Wit looked at the shark's teeth and shuddered. They were poking out at all angles like his brother's used to before he had braces. But the gridiron grid in front of them reassured him that he wouldn't be bitten so he decided to inquire further.

"So the witch and the whale are both gone?" he asked

"Oh she'll be back," he replied. "She was more than a mouthful, even for him."

"But where did they go?" Wit wanted to know.

"Well the whale exploded before he could filter all of the Wee Kid so what's left of her will have gone back to kid size. And I've a hunch you may have stopped her growing up at last. Becoming an adult is not just about learning what evil is but also knowing when you've gone too far with it; I think you did her a favour."

"And the whale?"

"Too big for his own boots. His dream came true, Parley took him off to Alyssum, didn't you see Them waiting?"

Wit admitted he hadn't and the hammerhead explained that the sea lice had taken the whale's fluff to be filed in the 'Alsatian Fur' section.

"It's where the fleas hang out when they are not filing things in the rest of Alyssum. They say it's a terribly itchy place to go; no rest for the wicked," he concluded.

By this time, Sindé had dropped off lil' Star with her fathers. She had also flown off and rescued the witch's torch that had fizzled out when it hit the skim milk. She had dragged it back to the boat where the rats had helped her lift it aboard and now she was floating around looking down at Wit. She couldn't help asking the hammerhead, "Why are you wearing a gridiron helmet?"

"To reassure the silver fish that I won't hurt them," replied the shark.

"Isn't that a bit weird, a shark who doesn't eat fish? What's your name?"

"Anchor Fungi - I'm a fun-guy; boom boom. But it's a sinking feeling being a shark in the entertainment business. I do libelous comedies normally. That's why they cut my fins to make shark fun sue; boom boom."

"But the helmet?!" persisted Sindé

"The grid across the mouth reassures the audience that I'm not taking them in," replied Fungi. "The clown fish bars are the best stripe joints for the fans; I'm a Nemo sister."

"Doesn't that make you your own nemesis? What do you eat? You're a shark!"

"Gags mostly, but they choke me!"

"Oh dear," said Wit, "I can see why you're a lone shark."

"Do you want me to leave you a loan? Boom Boom, Kching," and Fungi grinned so widely his teeth nearly popped out of their cage. "Sorry I know that was lame," and he wiggled his stumps in mock apology.

"No, no. But maybe we could borrow your time, if you'll lend us an ear," replied Wit.

"Look at me, I'm all ears," said Fungi and so Wit explained that he and Sindé were trying to get back home.

"Would you like to ask someone in the audience?" asked Fungi and when Sindé and Wit looked around, they saw they were surrounded by krill all waving their antennae in applause.

"OK, does anyone know how to get out of here?" shouted Wit."

"You could ask More-Ray and Way-Lean," suggested Fungi.

"Why didn't you say so," said Sindé. "And why didn't I think of that? Do you know where they are?"

"Ask Oliver, he knows more about his cousins than I do," said Fungi looking up at the owl leaning over the side of the coracle trying to see what was taking so long.

"Pillow and I would like to go island-hopping if that wouldn't inconvenience you too much," called out the owl sarcastically.

"Hey do you know where Way-Lean is?" called back Sindé.

What?! More-Ray and Way-Lean? You turkey, they'll ring your neck if you stick you nose into their lair.

"A risk we're willing to take even if it takes us a year and a day so long as it gets us out of here. So do you know?" Sindé snapped

"I can only know where they were last time I saw them."

And Wit listened carefully as Oliver, Sindé and Fungi swapped nautical information about how many leagues to starboard and fathoms deep they would find the pair. He waved goodbye to Fungi, followed by that awkward moment when the other person waits for you to realise your faux pas, then settled on a huge grin as a parting gesture and swam up to the coracle.

He wobbled his way in, upsetting everyone as he tried not to upset the boat. It was quite squeezy but the owl politely stopped swinging the cat to give him room. Wit picked up the torch to use as a paddle but it flared to life again at his touch. He nearly dropped it in surprise, the end falling back into the milk where it fizzled up a plume of steam. Pulling it out he saw it flare up again. He looked at Sindé who just shrugged and tilted her head to say he should keep trying as it was the only paddle they had.

Each time he dipped the torch into the milk it would fizzle and steam would twist around them like a Chinese dragon chasing its tail. But they seemed to be making slow progress each time he pulled it through the milk, sending little swirls behind them. Pillow even helped by dipping her paw gingerly into the milk on the other side like a cat trying to catch fish without getting her fur wet. At least it was enough to stop them spinning around, as coracles are wont to do. The steam seemed to follow them however, maybe attracted to the magic of the wand that had made it, and before long they were paddling along in a little cloud, quite unable to see the sea around them.

"Lost in a fog," chuckled Sindé to herself, "things are looking up."

Then after a few more minutes, Anul and Eclipse piped up, "We're here."

"How can you tell?" asked Oliver. "We're more of less where we were when we started."

"Ah, but now I can see Eclipse's tail in the milk," said Anul. "And such a sweet tail it is too."

"Thank you darling," said Eclipse. "Besides, the Body-clock told us its time."

Wit peered through the white fog into the white milk and saw there was now a slight reflective quality to it. He leaned out, trying to see if something was shining up through the milk.

"Get on with it," whined Pillow and she suddenly lashed out at him, deftly grabbing the torch out of his hand at the same time as knocking him head-first back into the milk.

"You, too," hooted the owl, swiping his wing at the rats and knocking them head–over-heels after Wit.

"Mutiny!" screamed Sindé and, flapping her wings, she landed in the milk beside Wit where she conceded to let lil' Star climb up on her back after Anul and Eclipse begged her.

"Who needs a plank?" Pillow hissed. "Its quicker if you surprise them," and she picked up the torch and started paddling away.

"Wait!" called out Wit. "How will we get back?"

"Walk your way out of the land of Bounty; that's what's below you," sneered Oliver.

"Pirates!" shouted Sindé. "Is nothing beneath you?!"

"Sticks and stones may break my bones - if I had any," he retorted. And he swiveled his head around so he could keep staring at them as the boat was pulled out of sight by Pillow. It was soon lost from view in its little cloud of steam.

With only the stars blinking at him, Wit looked under the milk to see if there was anything to guide them. Immediately he realised why the milk had a slightly shiny look to it. Covering the seabed were a billion shopping bags piled high with tins of food that people had bought and forgotten to open. Piles of them formed little turrets and trenches. Suddenly little Star did an elegant dive off Sindé's back and started swimming nose first down to a deep ocean vent that was blooming clouds of skim milk up into ocean. The father rats started to swim after her calling out that she should be careful and Wit decided the only way out was down.

"You'll have to carry me," said Sindé as he looked at her. "I'm too buoyant to sink." And she perched on his shoulder and held on as he duck-dived and swam down towards the vent.

When he got close enough, Wit saw the vent was actually a huge tetra box belching out the skim milk that was no doubt bought and never opened at the back of countless cupboards. Around it, little hard-boiled Christmas candies crinkled like crabs snapping at the crumbs off the table that floated past. Further down in the trench, the plumes of skim milk cleared and it was easier to see the angler fish that lurked among the tins luring their husbands to bite them and gorge their puny bodies, drunk after a hard day's fishing. And there swaying to the rhythm of the swell was a lank eel, beautiful in her slender way yet listless from hunger. She looked at Wit through dreamy eyes that stared out of pallid skin drawn tight over the bones of its face. She looked famished.

"Hello Way-Lean," said lil' Star, "Where's More-Ray?"

"He's gone back," answered the eel smiling. "I hope I'm not far behind."

"You mean you've found a way out of here?" asked Sindé excitedly.

"Well I didn't exactly see him go. But I know he got there because he's not here now. He left me a message, 'I'm not here, so long.' Or was it, 'I'm not here so long?'" Sindé looked a bit quizzical. "But, I'm fading away even as we speak," she said confidently though Wit thought she couldn't get any thinner than she already was.

"How? Tell us?" begged Sindé arching her neck in excitement.

"Well you've met More-Ron the whale no doubt?" she answered, "Nobody gets this far without him idiotically advertising his brand of power. Trying to eat himself to Death; it's disgusting."

"Wit stuffed him!" squeaked Eclipse proudly.

"Well done, the Late More-Ron, but there will be more taking his place later on. There's a great company of them trying to be the fattest. I, on the other hand, am trying to starve myself to life. Surrounded by bounty, I'm refusing to even think about food."

"But no one needs to eat here," said Wit and he pulled a tin of baked beans out from between some bottled spring water and a packet of instant noodles that was masquerading as a sea sponge. He opened the tin and picked out one bean but, when he bit it, it just turned into a bubble and floated upwards, "See? Yummy-yummy. Would you like some more?" he said offering her the tin.

"Fie foe!" she wailed and snapped at his finger, slicing the end of his left ring finger open with her razor sharp brown fangs. "You know what beans means... Is that the fee you'd pay me for the bread of wisdom? Grind my bones but don't feed my mind; you ingrate!" And she slipped back into her hole to ruminate alone.

"I don't think I can stomach that way out," said Sindé still perched on Wit's shoulder. But he wasn't listening. He was staring at the cloud of silver blood that was streaming out of his cut finger. It bloomed in front of him like a pool of mercury and he was looking at someone who looked like him staring back out of a mirror.

"Oh my. Love a duck!" said Sindé seeing through the mirror too. "Your blood's making a window back into your own life! May I come too?"

"Of course," said Wit and they stepped through the mercuric haze into a snowy street where a man who looked half like him was waiting in a white car with skis strapped on the roof.

~ ~ ~

Wit didn't recognise the car as it was the one his father had sold before he could remember but he'd heard about the three child seats crammed in the back of a hatchback; just a bit too crowded. Now those baby seats weren't there and his brother and sister were standing there under a clear white sky waiting to get inside. Their dad was picking them up from their Mum's place. His sister was carrying a small black kitten that he didn't recognise but he knew it was real because his father was characteristically telling her off for not carrying it safely in a cage. Then suddenly he saw himself, two years younger, running down the steps calling out plaintively, 'Papa, don't leave me here!' and they all piled into the back seat. The car door was still open and Wit was about to slide into his own lap to get on with his life when he felt a tickling in his ear. He ignored it and moved closer to the door when he saw a duck sitting on the roof. Sindé stepped off his shoulder and walked up to the duck as if she recognised her. The tickling in his ear got stronger and he looked around and saw lil' Star's tail wiggling towards him. She was holding onto her father's paws and he was stretched out into the scene, his tail tied to Eclipse's in a love knot. Eclipse was holding onto the edge of a mirror that reflected his fine features contrasted against the snow around him though behind the glass Wit could dimly see the Sea of Opportunity littered with the tins of uneaten opulence. In Eclipse's left paw he was holding onto a baked bean bubble; it was all that was keeping them afloat in the mercuric.

"You're ravishing," squeaked lil' Star.

"Um, thank you," said Wit thinking it was nice that someone else recognised how handsome he always knew he himself to be; "halfies are hot" he reminded himself as if he had momentarily forgotten.

"No, I mean you're ravishing yourself; you're so hot you're feverish; you're in a fae-mind."

"A famine?"

"No, there's no such thing as famine; only fair minds out of balance: the whale on one side making shrimps of everyone else. Look at all the food around Way-Lean: one man's food is another man's famine if he doesn't think about sharing. "But you're in a fae-mind, a dream you made in your blood by craving something. This one came from longing too hard to get home. It's like mercury in your veins; it's made you mad."

"But this is real."

"Really? When was the last time you saw snow? And why in Sindé canoodling with a duck?"

Wit looked around him and realised he had never even been skiing. The images bleached just a little as the car door closed. The car started to pull out of the driveway, still with Sindé and the duck arm in arm on the roof.

"Grab onto my tail and Eclipse will pull us out."

"But I want to..." yet even as he said it Wit kept his head and reached out to hold lil' Star. With the other hand he grabbed Sindé's leg though not before she had kissed the duck. They were pulled back through the pool of mercury by the chain of rats and beak-to-beak the duck was pulled through too.

"Mother of goodness, look what you've done," the rats reproached Sindé. But Sindé, thinking fast, realised this was her passage out, since it wasn't her dream. She grabbed an open pickle jar, evicted the inedible sea cucumbers that had taken up residence there and scooped up the pool of mercuric blood. As if they understood each other without even talking, the duck screwed the lid back on and tucked it under her wing.

"Let's have a look at your finger," said the duck, "I'm Dorothy by the way. We'd better get that cut tied up before you spill too much more of yourself. Do you have anything to wrap it in?" And Wit, remembering the little sock, pulled it out and stood still while Sindé and Dorothy neatly bandaged his finger.

~ ~ ~

"How are you going to use my fae-mind to get back to the other side?" asked Wit.

"What's fae for you is real for me if you say it is. That was your real life wasn't it?" said Sindé.

"Pretty much. Maybe a bit younger than now."

"Fine, then I could live in your dreams happily so long as it's not a nightmare. But you can't live in there, it's your own fae-mind. You will know when things aren't quite right so you'll always feel like you're in a dream, maybe one where you even imagine you woke up, only to get confused when you really do begin to wake up."

"So if my fae-mind is real for you, why don't you just live there with Dorothy?" asked Wit.

"Oh Eye Ronny, the cyclops, loves his little jokes, I spend my life travelling and finally meet my soul mate only to discover she's from the one place I've been trying to get away from. We will share our lives between both worlds so we can both enjoy a piece of home and the peace of being away from home."

"Your home isn't peaceful?" asked Wit

"I thought I had binocular vision and wasn't expecting to meet someone so alike. But we both enjoy swimming and flying or walks in the park to pick up chips. I'm not going to discriminate against her just because she prefers fresh water whereas I like salt. We'll mix it up a bit; variety is the spice of life, isn't it? But peace? No, two girls wouldn't get much of that in most cities we'd like to travel to. Look at Anul and Eclipse. They wanted to get married but the turkeys always ring in the nosey pigs who wrung their necks!"

"I thought you couldn't get married in the afterlife?"

"That was before they got here of course. But one-eye Ronny always has the last laugh. They lost the chance to marry there so they grabbed the opportunity here. Personally I don't see the point in a certificate. The people who write them often know little about love but that's no reason to deny others. If Dorothy wants a paper later we'll get one here and endure the hatred there from the people who preach about love."

"Speaking of here and there, where are we going next?" asked Wit

"You could try the vent?" suggested Eclipse.

"It must go somewhere," said Anul.

"But it could choke you," cautioned lil' Star. And Wit and Sindé both looked into the belching white and shook their heads.

"Do you think it comes from the centre of the earth, like lava does over there?" asked Wit.

"Maybe," said Sindé. "Let's drop a rock in and check." And she started looking around for one from her perch on Wit's shoulder. Dorothy also searched as she was able to swim around under milk. However, everything was covered in tin cans so Wit picked up a tin of asparagus and walked back to where the milk was pouring out of its massive open tetra pack. He threw the tin into the middle and stepped back. It did not shoot back out as he feared but sank slowly, fighting to comply with gravity.

After a while the milk turned green and the tin, free of its contents, caught the updraft and sprayed out as confetti.

"Um, I think we'll give that one a miss," said Wit; Sindé and Dorothy nodded their heads.

"If you want to go back to Elysium, I suggest you catch a sea snail," said lil' Star.

"Eww," said Anul and Eclipse together.

"That's a sticky way to go," said Anul.

"But she's right of course," said Eclipse.

"Always," they said together and smiled at her again.

"Follow me then," said lil' Star swimming along a line of slime.

"How could a snail be a fast way to get anywhere?" Wit asked.

"It's the Fibonacci spiral. Time gets compressed by 1.3 with each inward turn and before you know it you're there. The problem is getting inside, I don't think you're going to like this..." And Wit looked up to see lil' Star was waving down a snail as if it was a taxi. It slowed imperceptibly and she beckoned them to come and lie down if front of it.

"Allow me to go first," said Eclipse taking the position closest to the snail. "It looks worse than it is and it only takes half an hour to scrape the slime off afterwards." And to Wit's' horror the snail's one foot engulfed him bit by bit and sucked him inside. When it was his turn, he was temped to excuse himself and walk except that his friends were already inside and lil' Star and Anul were looking at him. The first half of the engulfing was the worst, a bit like the first half of walking into cold water is the hardest; once it passes your tummy you've passed the point of no return. Only with water you can dive in and get it over with. Here it was slow motion through every agonizing millisecond as the soft oozing foot crept slowly up his chest and neck. His body was rigid with revulsion but he was determined not to scream, that is, until it reached his chin when he let out a 'YAAHHH' of disgust before it covered his lips. Anul looked on in sympathy remembering his own first time as Wit's eyes bulged in an ,'Is this the end?!' kind of farewell. The last skin crawling sensation was the slime seeping through his hair roots; his feet and legs were already numb.

What happened next was almost pleasant by comparison. Wit felt himself soaking upwards slowly as if leaving the body he wished he had. And then gently at first he felt the speed of travel increase exponentially until he was racing through time in a spiral of green slime that was lubricating him from the friction of passing through so many photons so quickly. He just had time to be grateful that snails move so slowly on the outside or the insides would be travelling past the speed of light and he would have been obliterated, slime or no slime. The really disconcerting part was he also felt himself reducing in size exponentially until he felt little more than a pinprick in space. He counted his heartbeats on his fingers and before he had to take his shoes off, he saw a little hatchway in front of him being held open by Anul. Sindé and Dorothy were already on the other side of the shell, also in miniature. He stepped through and wondered if this was how They felt jumping around on the back of Parley.

Once everyone had passed through the hatch, they crawled like mites across the shell on the snail's back towards its massive head. Stepping onto the neck was again disgusting as Wit's feet sunk into the soft sticky flesh but he gritted his teeth and pushed on with the group. When they finally reached the eyestalks, the others spread out evenly around either one while the eyes lowered down to their minuscule height and Wit copied the others as they reached out to touch the bulbous eye. As the eyestalk rose up again, Wit felt himself rising, too. And he kept on rising back to his full height, greatly relieved that there was no permanent damage, apart from the slime that covered every inch of his body and clothes. It did indeed take half an hour to scrub it off, thrashing around in the skim milk and scraping handfuls of buttons over his face. It was almost worth it though for the look of amazement on his face when, within a few steps, he found himself walking out of the whispering surf and back onto the button beach.

As the small troupe walked up the beach they heard a scuttling sound and, looking around, saw the Wee Kid's hand hiding behind a rock. It was standing on its fingers like a small elephant, its long finger curled around the torch, carrying it like a log. It appeared to be watching them shyly. Sindé whistled and it crept out and followed along behind them. Walking down the beach, they met Thera just before their legs started to ache from the strain of walking on moving ground.

"I see you have brought a stray elephant home with you," it said. "You know you are going to have to feed and clean up after it."

"Be serious Thera," scolded Sindé. "You can see we're tired. Do you know where the Wee Kid is? I think it's looking for her."

"Yes, she's at the Count-Tree. Hold on everyone." And they crowded around it before leaping across Elysium again.

On alighting, the hand spotted the witch, who was now just life sized and a bit smaller than the giant hand. It rushed over to her. Dropping the torch at her feet, it grabbed her in a hug and they spun around together. Suddenly the hand broke away and stepped back warily. It pointed at her and then at the huge abacus that was in pieces on the ground under the tree. The witch had been in the process of pulling off the large abacus beans that hung off the tree like rare fruit. She was slotting them onto the bamboo bars of the cage with her one hand so she could count ever-larger profits from the Waste Earn. Four little sock P.O.W.s had been tied to the bars. The finger waggled at her reprovingly.

"What?" she said innocently but when it just waggled again she said, "What?!" more heatedly. "I earned them!" And when she put her hand on her hips defiantly, Wit could see the severed stump of her other wrist splintering against her dress. He cringed at the disfigurement he'd caused but was transfixed by the pantomime being played out before him. The giant hand had crossed its fingers and turned its back on the Wee Kid. She picked up the torch angrily and it flared back to life as she pointed it at the hand shouting, "Get over here you mangy rebel. You can't even feed yourself without me! I don't care what you think about my business methods; nobody shares the Shares. I own you! I Am Your Mother!"

At this the pea-green hand flushed red, spun around and stalked straight back towards her. It reared up on its wrist, plucked the torch out of her other hand and flicked it into the midst of the abacus. The beads immediately started to crackle and the witch screamed and tried to fling herself on top of the fire to save the precious counters. However, the hand plucked her up by the collar and held her off the ground, her legs kicking and arms flailing uselessly. The sock bandaged around Wit's finger cried out and wriggled off. It hoped over to save its four friends from the fire. Just as it got them free, there was a huge pop and one of the beans exploded like popcorn, still on its shish kebab. Another bean popped and another at which point the witch slumped and in a smaller voice said, "Fine we give away a few beans-worth to those who turn up here clutching anything less than a flower." But the hand just shook her and lifted her a little higher. "What? If you don't want to give it away, what do you want? It's not like they know how to make More from Less like I do." This time the hand dropped her on the ground and sat on her. It reached over to the fire and stepped on a bamboo bar, splintering it under its weight. Some beans rolled off away from the fire and it flicked four of them over to Thera who clutched one under each paw. The witch looked on in horror as Thera banged two of the beans together and Wit gaped, as the four beans became 16. It banged again and the 16 became 256, turning Rare into Share. It was about to bang them into 65 thousand, when the witch screamed, "Stop, devaluing them! You'll ruin me! FINE, we lend some at low interest and see it they can compete." The giant hand didn't move but just sat there warming itself by the fire while Wit counted off five more resounding pops. At that point, the Wee Kid slumped a little deeper into the grass and muttered, "What? Are you crazy enough to lend it interest free in small amounts to the poorest of the poor?! Oh, Whatever! Let Me Up." But the hand still sat there, flicking beans down the bars so they could catch the flames. Thera picked up his two beans again and she stuttered out, "N-No!" holding up her hand to stay it. "Seven point five percent of profits and not a cent more!" But as Thera's paws swung down towards each other, she screamed out, "OK, OK, this is getting out of hand!. Ten percent and accountable accounting! If that's not good enough for you pirates then I'll go and dump the whole Urn in the ocean and take up basket weaving!!!"

At this the hand finally lifted its weight off her and, stretching over to the fire, smothered the flames under its thumb. It picked up the torch, turned back to the witch and tussled her hair before dropping the torch at her feet again and crouching down submissively in front of her.

"Ahhh, grr, you..." she said as she picked up the torch and, holding it between her splintered wrist and the free hand, she welded herself back together in a shower of sparks. As she did so, the life in her body and hand balanced out so that the hand shrunk down to fit her and she swelled up to fit it. In the end she was a bit fatter and looked a bit older but she sighed as if she had finally relaxed enough to stop trying to be taller all the time. She clapped her hands and rubbed them together then suddenly covered her mouth with one and an ear with the other. She screwed up her eyes and whispered, whatever you do, don't tell the owl what I've done with his share of the Earn!

"Who?" hooted a voice from up in the tree. "Who cares what you do. Whoever you invest in, I will invest in, too, so there will always be more profits for me to woo."

"It will never be fair," said Thera as they walked away. "But we must keep the balance between the Haves and the Have Noughts. Too many on one side of the scales means they can't all fit, then bits will fall off the other side like the whale did. Since one man's might is not another man's profit, it can be a bitter pill to meet them part way." At which, it leaped them over to the Dry Dock Ship Yard to drop off the rats who parted with hearty seafaring waves. Then Thera asked if they would like to see something interesting and leaped again without waiting for them to answer.

~ ~ ~

Chapter 4 ~ Conquer

Wit looked around and couldn't see anything much. He did have a vague sensation of moving forward but mostly it was quite dark except for a circle of light high above.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Inside the Waste Urn," replied Thera. "Since you've met Dare and Care; War and Piece; and Whale-Lean, it's time I introduced you to the power behind the throne. Welcome to the world of the Term-Mights. You're standing on them by the way."

Wit looked down and realized why he felt he was moving. Around his feet crawled two million termites all busy about their work including the hundred thousand whose job it was to transport him underground. He looked up nervously at Thera.

"I thought you said it wasn't safe to go under the Elysian Fields; something about, 'fools show we're all cats in the head,' he said.

"I'm glad you remembered something," said Thera, "but you don't need to worry here. The difference is you are burrowing deeper into Elysium, not peering around the edge. Tread too near angle's Mare goes food. She's a dark horse who'd eat you alive. Term-Mights on the other hand wouldn't bite you if you were not wood."

"Um, it's termites," corrected Wit.

"Not in a democracy," re-corrected Thera. "They are the power behind the throne balanced around you but they are only here for a term; they might or might not achieve anything in that time depending on the poles."

"You mean polls?" Wit asked hesitantly.

"No, the Beast Pole or the Waste Pole. You've come in through the Waste because the Fun rises in the Beast. To put it another way, people are losing power all the time, it turns them into beasts; others are wasting power all the time, lights left on in closed rooms must illuminate something. So, like either end of a magnet, both powers parley here and it energises the Term-Mights to produce something that either power alone couldn't achieve by itself: cooperation."

"But I heard that bees and ants cooperate over there," said Wit.

"Yes, and I'm sure you know the story about how the three wise women of the Waste saw a scar in the Fun so they travelled to the beasts and said, 'You social creatures, what gifts could you share with us? And the ants gave them Bold, the bees gave them Sense and the Term-Mights gave them Mercy. Then the three wise women travelled back to the Waste and came before the Queen but as they unwrapped the gifts, her husband grabbed the Sense and boldly made himself king. But he was too focused on his new power and didn't wait for the wise women's Mercy and so began the conquest of men over women, man over beasts, dominion over the earth, rat races over your social creatures etc., etc., etc. No one can have both sense and power when they are boldly climbing the pole from Beast to Waste though some at least still say, 'Merci,' en route."

"I thought money was the route of all power?" said Wit, amazed that he was following all this.

"Indeed, but every route has two gutters, Money on one side and, thankfully, Mercy on the other; otherwise we would be rooted in evil lives."

"Um, Thera," piped up Sindé. "If you don't mind, I might skip this part of the tour. I once paid Oliver to lead me through the dark to find a way out of here but it was just a bottomless pit. Are you sure you want to go further into this Wit?"

"Seems like I'll be here for a while and getting back there at the right time is a bit random so I might as well learn something for the term that I'm here," Wit pondered.

"Well in that case, Dorothy and I will be a bit antisocial and pop out through your fae-mind. She would like me to see Anne and Terry, a couple of soldiers who have been watching out for her for years."

"OK," said Wit, careful not to show he might be lonely.

"Thanks, but if you get in a pickle, just open the jar and sprinkle some sand in. When the sandman dreams it to us, we'll be there for you." And with that, Dorothy unsealed the tin.

"Be careful not to gaze too long into your own imagination Wit," cautioned Thera.

And the two birds stepped through the opening into a world that was real for them and where Sindé could, at last, get a decent feed of chips. Thera sealed them in and Wit put the jar carefully in his pocket, unsure if they would feel it if it was bumped around.

"Stand up straight," said Thera, "we're nearly there," though Wit couldn't see where there was. He could still feet the soles of his feel crawling as a million souls carried him down and finally the air seemed to lighten fractionally by the glow of a firefly at one end of a hall and the fire of a glowworm at the other. In the middle was a miniature love seat set like a throne on a dais and sitting regally in it were the Term-Might King and Queen.

Realizing that his towering height was insignificant in this royal court, Wit whispered to Thera, "Am I supposed to bow?" afraid that if he moved he would crush the throng around them.

"No, but you'd better listen through that straw," it replied, pointing to a thin piece of wood that the Term-Mights were holding up to his knee. It had a hollow clay pipe running up one side, which acted like a speaking tube. By crouching down and holding it towards the throne, Wit could hear tiny drums beating messages backwards and forwards between the Queen, King and courtiers.

"What are they saying?" he asked.

"Shhhh," hushed Thera, "just watch." And so Wit tried to work out what was going on just by observing the context and hand gestures as if he was in a foreign country. After a while he was able to distinguish between the drumming noises of the King and the tapping noises of the Queen. The throbbing noises of the courtiers was harder to distinguish as there were so many different tempos but he could at least tell when it was the court 'talking' or the royal couple responding.

"Have you worked it out yet?" asked Thera

"Um, I've no idea what they're saying but the Queen certainly has a lot to say about it; she's not just sitting passively beside the throne."

"Try to see the pattern," hinted Thera and they lapsed into silence again as Wit strained his eyes to see what was going on around them.

Casting his eyes wider, Wit noticed the Term-Mights were swirling around in a huge figure eight with the throne in the middle. The formation was elongated towards the firefly and glowworm at either end making them look like iron filings around a magnet. Messages started being tapped at one end of the chamber or the other and would vibrate their way through the crowd until they reached either side of the centre. There would be a great flurry of drumming and tapping between the King and Queen and then the response would radiate out simultaneously to both poles and be carried out of the hall towards the workers in the Would mines. Interwoven through all of this was a dance of miners bringing in processed food for the King and Queen and nurses carrying out minors who were being born every two seconds. Though there was jostling, there was no shoving. Wit also noticed that the Queen was not the only one producing babies and that the other children were carried off to the nurseries with as much care as the royal children.

"Hang on," exclaimed Wit in a whisper, "I thought there was only a Queen in these places. What is the King doing there?"

"Good question," encouraged Thera. "Anything else peculiar?"

"Yes, I thought only the Queen laid eggs but here there are other children besides hers."

"Correct. The Term-Mights are the most cooperative of your social creatures. They do not try to control power by killing any other Queens like the hazmat striped bees do or by chemical warfare against their sisters to keep them working. Nor do the male and female compete like the fire ants do who try to conquer each other even in the egg."

"And the power behind the throne is?..." asked Wit.

"You've heard of the Tunnel of Babel? Together they are as intelligent as you. A million Term-Mights have a billion brain cells like you do. But the energy of so many cooperating, at the centre of the poles between Beast and Waste, makes greater power than you alone who rarely cooperate with anyone and sometimes not even with yourself. It's like two billion people in contact over on the Internet; their combined knowledge is greater than the sum of its parts enabling them to pull down conquering tyrants."

"That's not what I was expecting when you said this would be interesting."

"I said interesting, not exciting; but it is exceedingly rare and valuable."

"How is it valuable to me if I can't control it or exchange it for something I want?"

"What do you want Wit?"

"I want to go home! Is that too much to ask?"

"I don't know; let's ask," said Thera in a deadpan voice that didn't betray if it was serious, sanguine or seditious. It started to click its claws together in tiny staccato beats. "Oh dear, I'm a bit rusty at this. It's been a while since I've shown anyone around who asks quite as many questions as you." But Wit was transfixed; the beat of Thera's clicks had been taken up by the courtiers and was being passed through the crowd. Wit realized something else. The courtiers were adding to the original message, not changing it but contributing to the information so that by the time it reached the Queen and King it was almost a whole song. A flurry of drumming and tapping erupted from the throne and finally a single pitter-patter of little feet swelled out through the crowd around and reached Thera's ears.

"Oh dear," it said. "I wouldn't have guessed that would be the answer."

"What?!" asked Wit excitedly, hoping this was finally a clue to his departure.

"'How much wood would a wood mite bite of a wood mite would bite wood?' Or to put it another way, 'Might a wood mite not bite wood if wood mightn't bite a mite?'"

"What?!" asked Wit bamboozled.

"I'm sorry but the only way out of that conundrum is down," said Thera. "I would that wood only went up but the root of the problem goes down and so must your route; alone." Wit gulped. "Don't worry, if she eats you alive, Parley will bring you back," said Thera reassuringly. "She can go anywhere." But Wit wasn't at all sure this was at all reassuring.

And so Wit, without moving a muscle, inched away from Thera on the back of a hundred thousand footmen. Slowly he sunk down an invisible slope and, as his eyes dipped below Thera's knees, he thought he heard an owl hoothoot, "Twenty-two to one that he doesn't make it. Place your bets before he sinks; quickly, quickly, he's going down." But that was all he heard because, along with the thickening blackness, came deafening silence.

Wit's ears began to prickle at every imagined sound but he learned to calm his nerves so much that the first time he heard the clink of a chain he didn't even hear it. The second time he dismissed it. The third time it was accompanied by a low moaning sound and when he turned his head he didn't see a veiled figure flitting out of view. Where he was now looking was as void as the pupils inside his eyes. Yet on the outsides of his vision he saw more wisps as people floated in and out of view, disappearing as they came in front of him. He turned his head from side to side trying to catch sight of these apparitions, wondering if this was her first attack but he saw nothing head-on and so became more and more alarmed by the clanking chains and sighs. He nearly stepped off his platform of footmen except he remembered they were the only ones who knew where he was going.

"Close your eyes so you can see us," whispered a voice in his ear.

"See who?" he called out. But another voice just repeated,

"You can see us if you close your eyes."

"Who are you?!" he called out again, trying to sound tougher. A third voice piped up, still whispered but more jarring,

"Oh come on kid, shut your blinkers. You're not afraid of ghosts are you?"

"How can you be ghosts?" scoffed Wit. "You're on the wrong side! We are all ghosts here so nobody is, really." And he scrunched his eyes shut and flung up his arms in case there was an attack from his blind side because, even though he had to prove he was not afraid of anything, he'd had enough bad falls to be wary.

Above him and around him were dozens and dozens of bodies floating like helium balloons around a hanging rock at the roof of the cavern he was still inching his way through. One of the bodies was sitting cross-legged, upside-down to Wit, on the underside of the rock. The floor below him was invisible in the dark but each person above emitted an eerie glow of hope though shackled in place by a thick chain that plunged down into the blackness below him as if there was no ground to either side of his feet. The chains clinked mournfully as they wafted. Wit looked around with his eyes tight shut and saw they were mostly younger people, some barely children clutching lollipops that were stranger than those he'd ever been given. Others were a bit older, apparently travellers; still clutching the machete they had been blazing a trail with. The man wearing pilot's goggles sitting on the underside of the rock stood up, pulled his chain to the side and floated off to allow a young sailor to squat upside-down on it taking the weight off his chain. Seeing one boy about his own age who was holding nothing more dangerous than a car key, Wit pulled on his chain and lowered him down to talk.

"What are all of you?"

"Dead of course," replied the boy eyeing him up and down, "Aren't you?"

"Well I don't plan to be much longer. I'm going to find my way out of here."

"Huh! Good luck with that!" retorted the boy. "Each of us is off to the Files as soon as our chain breaks. It's no picnic being stuck here."

"Would you like me to try to break it? So you can come back with me - or wherever?" asked Wit, not quite sure how he could make good on that offer.

"You wouldn't have a hope," snorted the boy. "This chain was forged in my mother's determination not to let me go. He pointed up at an innocent little girl and said, "Hers was forged by her father's disbelief that this could ever have happened on their holiday. We all died without our loved ones knowing if we are dead or not. Chained to the Mis-steps, we're waiting until we can go to rest in Alyssum. It will be my turn to take a rest on the hanging rock soon. It gets you down having this chain pulling your leg all the time."

"Come on, come with me then!" said Wit.

"What? back there! There's a catch - I've been dead for 22 years! Do you think they would even believe it was me?! I should be 37 by now. Nobody knows I'm buried in rubble at the bottom of a gorge. They didn't even know I knew how to hot wire a car because I was careful not to tell them what I talked about with my mates."

"Oh," said Wit, realizing the dilemma. "So what's keeping you here? Apart from these chains?" Wit had to tug on the chain a little tighter as his feet had moved a little further away along the path."

"Love. What else binds them all? We're caught between a crock and a dark place. She won't let us back and they won't let us go. But you can't blame them. Faith, hope and love are the same thing in a parent. They love us till we die whatever happens, right?"

"Right," hesitated Wit.

"So they hope we are still alive and they have faith that if they keep waiting we will come back, or the police will find us. But faith is in a crock, our heads, and there are some things that faith just can't do. They have to hope we're alive but it can't make it true but they have to keep believing because they love us; a Catch 22."

"But then they bind you here because they love you?" asked Wit.

"It's not my mum's fault!" said the boy getting defensive. "She can't stop loving me, she's my mother; see. So she'll never stop looking for me even when her eyes are closed because my image is burned inside her eyelids - tattooed there by the tears she's wept for me. Where there's hope there's life - for her - or she'd die of a broken heart. She's chained, too, by the curse of the hollow men." Wit raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Men with no heart. They snuff out other people's hearts without caring and then they don't even have the guts to tell someone they killed us so our loved ones could grieve," he shouted but then crumpled into himself and swallowed his tears. "Only for me, I was the hollow heart who didn't tell them where I was going and was gone before I could tell them where I was! That's why we sit on the rock up there. For our loved ones, when we die or disappear without trace, their whole world collapses around them and they feel rooted to the place where it all went so wrong - like they are standing on a rock floating over an abyss. It doesn't get better over time, they just learn to sit down so they don't trip and fall into the void. Only, down here, we know what happened to us, nothing holds us down any more except the fact that we can't move on. So we float endlessly and can only take a rest by sitting under their abysmal reality..." The boy stared around him vacantly until Wit was embarrassed to hold onto his chain any longer and slowly released it so that he drifted back up beside the small girl. She vainly tried to comfort him with her lollipop as it had once comforted her after the man took her away from her school picnic 45 years before. For all the boy's angst, Wit could see there was nothing he could do to help. None of the ghosts had dimmed so much as a flicker. The hope and chain that kept them floating in the dark was between them and their parents and no one could come between.

Wit opened his eyes and the apparitions again flitted only at the corners of his mind, instead of in his face, and he travelled on in silence, too, still without moving his feet, brooding over the boy's words and wondering if the greater horror was to be stuck here or to be family stuck back there not knowing where he had gone. For all that he still couldn't understand why they wanted to go into the Files. Finally, with a judder, he stopped short and heard a clicking cry, "Last one out's a peanut butter sandwich!" and he felt himself drop two millimetres as the Term-Mights scampered out of the way. Their footsteps clicked hurriedly back into the distance. Feeling like there was no point standing still waiting to go dotty, Wit slid his feet forward to test each step and little by little edged further into the night's mire.

After a while he started to see things ahead. He was not sure if it was a trick of his eyes that had been wide open seeing nothing for so long. His eyelids ached and felt dry but the eyes themselves felt quite relaxed having not seen a garish colour or pedantic pattern for hours. What he did see now however was impossible to interpret though he did feel he could get used to it. Everything was in negative. All the colours of the world were inverted and every shade was there but going from light to dark instead of dark to light. Shadows were lighter, the sky was grey and there were pinpricks in it; black stars twinkling around the dark side of the moon which was brightly visible at last. Beside it the usual craters shone brightly on a black background. Wit's brain could only take in one anomaly at a time and it took him a second to realize all this was below his feet and somewhere above his head a vast plain of grass spread to the horizons though it, too, was in negative and each blade of grass was a dark rustic grey with a white shadow behind it. One thing looked familiar - a set of steps spiraled gently out of the grass above down into the abyss of the black stars below. It gave him a sense of place for he was sure this must be the other half of the Taught-us, the lost steps of wisdom learned from mistakes. Only now they were in their true colour, black, for wisdom about what's bad can also be learned from mistakenly doing something better than an evil mind had intended. Shaded by whites and greys the steps still held wisdom in what not to do but Wit was sure it would be a good idea to stay away from the dark-side of the Taught-us as he did not want to know too much about the bad things people had done. Unfortunately his intentions, like his eyes, were also inverted because the slope he was walking down did not take him up to the reddish grass but was sloping more and more towards the lower tip of the spiral steps. It was becoming steeper and steeper until Wit nearly lost his footing and had to sit down and slide on his bottom. Eventually even the added friction of his pants gave way and he started to slide on his back down and around the Taught-us in a counter clockwise corkscrew that deposited him at the last step.

Wit hesitated. It seemed the only way up to the grass was via the steps yet he had serious misgivings about trusting the Taught-us. Even as he paused, another three steps were added to the bottom of the staircase by people who had lost their step over there but who had learned to do worse things than before from the experience. Wit's invisible slope also dropped down a bit further to match the new lower level and he remembered this was an endless staircase, for 'of making mistakes there is no end' and the study of it would weary his legs if he waited longer. It made sense to boldly jump on now and start climbing to the merciful sanity of the grass above before it got even lower. And so he looked before he leapt, hoping he would not lose his head learning about the evil others had done.

Climbing the steps was not as bad as he had dreaded. At least the Taught-us did not read his mind and so stayed silent. Maybe it couldn't since his mind was not inverted; he was just a tourist in this universe of negatives. Progress, he realized, was better seen but not heard. He could however hear the sad clink of chains when he passed a step that had the thick iron links shackled to its side; chains that soared off into the vault around and seemed to hold the very stars in place. Concentrating on his path, he was pleasantly surprised to find that his legs didn't ache; pain it seemed did not make it here since the people who could afford pain killers were a tiny minority and so the vast bulk of pain was never lost over there. What he did discover was that so many of the steps were repeated and repeated. Each lesson he climbed shone on him from its shadows and he got a passing glimpse of the mistake that had formed it: So many people making the same mistakes over and over. If only they would learn from each other's errors they would become geniuses but instead each person was determined to do it their own way and learn from their own mistakes. Maybe that's the only way they can remember the lessons, wondered Wit. After a while, he realized it was not essential to study each mistake in detail and started walking upwards two steps at a time. Soon even this became boring and he started to run and finally to sprint. Keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him and not looking at his feet, Wit found he could gallop through the ages, something he was very grateful for when he passed through certain periods of history when everyone seemed to be committing one atrocity after another and learning from each how to do worse the next time. He would stumble into these periods suddenly as he was travelling backwards through time and each era of evil seemed to come to a sudden end as empires collapsed under the weight of their own self revulsion and people reverted to normal human kindness in rebellion against tyrannical rulers. The first such sustained period he ran into was the fall of empires in the Middle East, then through the fall of communism and before that the fall of the Nazis. On and on the pattern went, periods of mundane mistakes repeating their neighbours' mistakes interspersed by bursts of steps that were so black that in negative they blinded him. Wit wondered if the inability to learn from others' common mistakes was why people didn't realize sooner when they were entering a time of atrocious mistakes. They were so busy losing their step and learning from that experience that they didn't step back to look at the wider picture. One mistake he did notice again and again was all the times people ignored those few individuals who did warn those around them of an emerging pattern of corruption, nepotism and cruelty that seemed to typify the start of tyrannical control.

Wit then sped backward through ancient history and was horrified by man's inhumanity to man. The unspeakable cruelty seemed alien to him and yet resonated with what people had done to others in more recent times. Finally he saw the grass approaching above him and he got to the last step more quickly than he had feared when he first set out. Curiously, the last step showed him a man killing his brother. Wit winced; life seemed more precious than ever to him since he'd met Parley. He moved on, reaching out to touch the grass ceiling but his hand went straight through it. He felt the steps continuing on the other side and realized this must not be the real end. Where, for example, was the lesson about not eating from the tree of good and evil? Or was that lesson on the other side of the Taught-us, since learning about what was good and bad had surely been a good thing? Wit poked his head through the grass hoping he would come out in Elysium but instead he just saw more and more negative steps going an infinitely longer way back in time. The lesson about the tree was not on this side of the Taught-us and it was also definitely not the beginning of the lessons. Wit could see 100 thousand years of people learning from lost steps in front of him and he realized that this must be the nightmare that everyone warned him would eat him alive: seeing his own insignificance in history. He wondered if this was why one of the mistakes of history had been to build a false beginning, a fake grass field a mere six thousand or so years back to give people a false sense of importance. Maybe when it was first built it was closer and more believable but now it was already so far away people were losing touch with it and it no longer gave them a sense of place in the universe. Maybe knowing just how insignificant they were would have been a better place to learn from rather than a false and fading sense of importance.

Wit decided to try to rely on his insignificance to give himself a place in the universe. He leapt into the centre of the spiral and hoped that, having no place of his own, he could be any place. He reasoned that if he was as pointless as a dot in time then he was immeasurably small. Eternity might be infinite but that only made her immeasurable, like a point. And he had finally gotten the point - immeasurably large just meant unmeasurable. With no dimensions he too could be anywhere she was. Maybe this was how Thera shimmered from place to place; knowing it had no point allowed it to be at any point. Fortunately Wit didn't obliterate at the thought but within 300 millionth of a second had travelled back through 100,000 years of human history, not counting the six-million-year dawn of self-awareness, creativity and humane behaviour preceding that, and so he landed head first on the real underside of the Elysian Fields.

On reaching the negatively russet grass roof with its white shadows, Wit clung onto the tufts and pulled himself hand over hand, hanging down like a monkey. Fortunately he didn't weigh much or he might have been afraid of falling into the void below. Looking around he saw huge mushrooms as big as trees growing down from the ceiling; small birdies flitted between them. They were flying upside down and looked at him quizzically. Wit realized he would appear to be standing on his hands in a field if the grass was beneath him and gravity beneath that.

"Hello," said a white unicorn stepping out from behind a green-topped mushroom in front of him. She was standing upside down on the grass; though right way up from the unicorn's perspective. "I'm not as scary as you think." But he couldn't hear a world, as with the Taught-us, it seemed he couldn't hear in this inverted world. He held on tightly to the grass and watched as she mouthed, "I see, your eyes are inverted but your ears are not converted." And before he could flinch, she bent her head towards the grass but instead of eating, planted a rubbery horse-lipped kiss on the side of his head. He could feel the teeth against his ear and a wind whistling through them into and around his head making him squint. He could also feel the wind blowing out the other ear, much to his annoyance, as it confirmed what his mother had always said about him. However, he found he was now sitting right way up on the grassy plane as the world had spun round and up was now down. Stars twinkled blackly above him.

"Hello, I'm the Night Mayor as I guess you've guessed but I'm not as scary as you imagine. You'll soon understand that I'm just your fae-minds played backwards to help you sort them out." Wit wasn't yet sure if she wasn't scary as he noticed she had horses' legs, hooves and head but the body and tail of a panther, albeit an albino, being in negative view. "If you left Them to do all the sorting out in Alyssum, you'd be insane before you got there. So I kind of point out your fears, get you to face them and nudge you onwards. So what's your name?"

"They call me Wit; I don't know my name. I think it hasn't been forgotten yet." And he nudged a tear out of the corner of his eye in case she saw his fear.

"Are you here too early?" she asked

"Yes, I didn't think anything could go wrong."

"Fearless?"

"Totally!"

"And now?"

"I'm not afraid!"

"Even of Parley?"

"Of anyone or anything!!"

"Of yourself?"

"I can look after myself."

"And yet you're here."

"I just want to go home!!"

"But you can't because you are in Night Mayor's territory."

"I'm not afraid of you!"

"Cats fear Parley."

"Parley can go to hell!"

"He will if you die here," she mused. Wit blinked. "Even Famine hardly ever visits; like most horses, I feel forgotten. But I think you will find a way out when you accept you can't go home; ever. Sorry." And they lapsed into silence while Wit thought of ways not to accept what he didn't want to agree with.

"I'll get out of here; just you watch," he bluffed.

"Sounds like hot air to me, you'd better see someone about that." And she suddenly reared up and charged at him. She knocked him to the ground and stood on his gut, winding him. A large bubble of hot air wheezed out of him and hung in the air turning. Wit staggered to his feet and looked at the bubble; being clear, it looked like a bubble even in negative. It juddered and turned to face him; it had a face.

"The Bubble says: Do to others what they did to you," it said wobbling angrily in the Night Mayor's direction.

Wit looked at the Mayor who lowered her horn just a fraction. He decided this was not good advice.

"Just ignore it," she advised. "Better out than in, I always say. But now that it's here we will have to burst it, humanely. Could you please put one hand into the platitude and grab it by the pompous. When you're ready, use your other hand to grab the point." And she lowered her horn in a friendlier manner. It glowed like a night traffic-director's baton.

Wit, disarmed by her civility, did as he was told. He pushed his fingers through the sticky bubble and found the hard part in the middle that gave it self-importance.

"The Bubble says: If a monkey holds a nut in a jar, it will not let go until it is captured," it popped warningly.

Wit glanced anxiously at the Mayor but she smiled.

"Just ignore it. Hold on." And as soon as Wit touched her horn the world around him went white in negative and he shielded his eyes from the brightness of it.

When Wit looked out from behind his arm, everything had changed. They were surrounded by barely dressed but pregnant dancing girls and longhaired musicians, that were playing repetitive music on instruments carved from musical fruit; sweet potatoes. The girls were feeding spoonfuls of sweet potato, seasoned with baked beans, into the mouths of straightjacketed eunuchs. He assumed they were eunuchs from their size. As big as cows, they grazed without ruminating. The air around their other end was filled with bubbles and robed men with heads shaved out of respect to the Bubble were netting them in flimsy veils that he presumed had been borrowed from the dancers. Resting on a mound in the middle of the ceremony was an enormous bubble; its fat face gazed at him languidly and winked at the bubble around his hand. A man with a shaven head rushed up to it and pressed his netful of bubbles against its side where they were absorbed into the flobulating globe.

"The Bubble says: Feed the Bubble and It will make you full." And the hot air in his hand vibrated in anticipation of losing itself in the Great Bubble of Bubbles. The Mayor nudged Wit forward with her horn and he approached respectfully holding his bubble before him. As they came closer, the fat face smiled beneficently at Wit and pursed its lips into a kiss that stretched out to meet his bubble's throbbing excitement. The two bubbles fused and Wit was tugged forward, only remembering to let go of the pompous just before he was sucked in, too. He staggered backwards and shook his head. The fat face turned to look dispassionately at another shaved head that was rushing up with more bubbles.

"What, not even a thank you?" grumbled Wit as he turned back to the Mayor. A dancing girl with a black eye slapped his face for his impertinence and hissed,

"The Bubble says: He who feasts with the King should cut his own throat."

Suddenly there was a deep glubbing noise, like bubbles under water.

"Boo! Ha!" belched the Bubble smiling deliriously.

"Duh," thought Wit.

"Do not strike the simpleton who damns the never ending Instruction for he will be dammed by never ending happiness." And it laughed at its own joke, its D-cup breasts juggling in sycophantic agreement.

"THE BUBBLE HAS SPOKEN!" chanted everyone around them as they bowed to the ground, eunuchs emitting a stream of bubbles from both ends in their excitement at this bum steer. Musicians hastily wrote conflicting versions of the platitude into song.

"His Omenence saw me," squealed the dancer who had struck Wit. However, the exertion of anger followed by an endorphin-fueled exhilaration seemed to trigger something inside her and she gasped, cried out and bent double. When she stood up, she was cradling an infant with a baby's body and a bubble instead of a head. Wit could not tell whether the father was one of the priests or the Bubble himself but he could see it would grow up in the ways of the acolytes around it. Still, he hoped it might grow a brain for itself and burst the bubble its parents had put around its head. Its mother discreetly hid it behind a veil as she fed it, chewing a baked bean for it in her mouth and squeezing the juice into her baby's bubble. When she had finished, she gently patted it on the back until it burped into its own head, swelling it slightly. It also emitted its first little bubble from the other end and she devotedly took this to a priest kneeling as she presented her child and the small bubble. He added the bubble to his netful to be offered to the Bubble later.

While they were distracted, the Mayor nuzzled Wit who, resting his hand on her horn, was transported away from the distracted throng before they strapped him into a straight jacket and turned him into a eunuch too.

A safe distance away and behind a row of black polka dotted mushrooms, Wit asked the Mayor, "Why don't the Bubble's disciples notice how obscenely obese he is? He's a bully bloated on their labour; indulging in pleasure by denying theirs. Yet they love him for it like a herd of heifers and steers!"

"Have you ever seen anything like that before?" asked the Mayor.

"I saw the whale before he exploded..."

"I heard there's another one now."

Wit shook his head sadly, "He was even more bloated than the Bubble, yet somehow his piracy was honest. At least everyone knew what he was doing and hated him for it. But I just can't understand why the disciples agree to their slavery?"

"Because they don't see it as slavery."

"Is he paying them?!"

"Not as such, no."

"Then what do they get from him that makes them want to labour for his ever expanding grandiosity?" asked Wit exasperated.

"Labour is power, yes?" asked the Mayor leading the witness.

"Yes, I guess that's what people buy when they employ others, the power of many."

"And if the others remain separate then you have to keep paying them, right?" Wit nodded. "So if you make them part of you, they would be doing it for themselves, wouldn't they?"

"OK, I'm following you," said Wit, "But I didn't see anything to show they are on the same level as the Bubble. He was herding them, exploiting them!"

"And do you think they also knew they were not on his level?"

"Sure, they were obsequious; kowtowing to him."

"Then all he needs to do is feed them Hope. Hope that one day they can be like him, on his level. Hope that he will accept them even though they are lower. Hope that he won't condemn them to the hell he created in their imaginations."

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Wit. "He controls their minds!"

"Worse. No one can conquer your mind. Yet some animals will domesticate themselves by begging for the crumbs from the table. However, if you live for a false dream you may forsake your common sense, even into Death. Those disciples wouldn't be the first or last to wonder why they are lost when Parley comes panting into their martyrdom."

"You mean they wanted to die for something over there and now they want to die for the Bubble here too?!"

"Yes, some people are slow learners. By-the-way, do you still want to go home?"

"Totally! I'm fixated on it. It's my sole purpose for living. I can't think of anything more important," cried Wit zealously.

"See."

"See what?" he asked, bemused by the apparent change of topic.

"I see," she didn't reply, "back to school for you. Go fish. Maybe you would like to see yourself as I see you." And she poked a pair of eyeholes in the side of a mushroom so it looked similar to a submarine's periscope except that when he looked through them he saw his old life as if through a kaleidoscope. Each of the glittering beads was a picture of himself forcing himself to do something impossible; snapshots of his life replayed in a loop. There he was climbing a pole that no one else could scale. There he was riding his first bike down the slope in the back garden. There he was learning to do back flips, pushing himself to practice over and over again until his knuckles were grazed but conquering the skill to his friends' amazement. Between the bright beads were gaps, also filled with replays of his life. There he was putting his headphones on so he couldn't see his homework. There he was quitting his soccer team after the first game. And there he was sitting at the back of the concert hall refusing to play his clarinet for the band that wasn't good enough for him even though he wouldn't practice.

"I see," he said, "I'm a bit of a loser aren't I."

"I don't think you counted the wins and losses. I'd say they are about even."

"But I'm great at what I like, hey?"

"I thought we were talking about the disciples," said the Mayor, steering him back on track. "This is not about you, it's about self control."

"I have heaps," he said then stumbled over what he had just seen. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"I'd say you have a healthy lack of self control," said the Mayor. "Sometimes."

"Um, isn't that a bad thing?" asked Wit.

"Was it your self-control or your lack of it that brought you here early?" she asked, piercing like an arrow.

And Wit had to admit, "I conquered my fear of being a loser by imprisoning my common sense. And I cared too much that no dare would get the better of me. I guess I was trying too hard..."

"As are the disciples. They can't see where they are because they are trying too hard to get somewhere else. The only thing you can conquer is your mind; take it prisoner. But if you do capture your common sense and imprison it in a herd, I think it's better to go quietly and look for a way of escape than to pretend you're still free. We are all school fish at heart but it's the scale of self-imposed domestication that steers us." Wit thought he understood, until she asked, "Are you still trying to get home with the same determination?"

"Yes," he answered with the same conviction on the outside.

"I'm glad you've dropped the, 'Sole purpose for living... Nothing more important,' bit," she sighed.

"Well I guess it won't kill me if I don't. But I'd still like to... Is that a better way of putting it?"

"That'll do for now," she smiled. "See, I told you your Night Mayor wasn't going to be so scary." And Wit smiled, too, as if he had got an assignment right at school.

"Maybe it's time you had a friend down here. If you still want to go home, you could do with some company to help take your mind off things.

"Do you see that flock of birdies over on those mushrooms?" Wit nodded. "The one in the middle is alive. I've been having the Dickens of a time stopping all the dead ones from teasing it. Could you see if you can do anything? I'm sorry but Parley's just brought in someone who blew himself up. It scares the willies off them when they see me in my true colours, unlike the negative perspective you walked in with. Not that I see anything wrong with being a black unicorn. We are all black on the inside if our eyes really are the windows to the soul. But even with a mirror it usually takes a while to talk them out of the expectations they bring with them. It doesn't help that the dancing girls are so will willing to comply with their need to breed. But those 'halfies' they churn out are not what I'd call 'hot;' still, it takes all sorts. What amazes me is that most of the guys are so determined to hold onto their convictions that they actually submit to the knife when the older and shrewder ones, like first wives in a harem, sabotage their aspirations. They know they can please the Bubble by enslaving others as it has enslaved them. Anyway, on your bike, those birdies are ganging up again." And she disappeared in a flash of white that blinded Wit's negative perspective.

The little birdie that the Mayor had pointed to was hard to see. However, the flock of birds surrounding and taunting it was unmistakable to anyone who has been through primary school. Children can be the cruelest creatures over there and it appeared they could be the cruelest here, too; not because they usually inflicted great damage on the victims but because their victims are so sensitive, fragile and easily damaged. The teased take what their peers say to heart, having so little else in the world to compare with what's happening to them. Sometimes it builds resilience; sometimes it shatters self-esteem. Wit couldn't tell in this instance what the little birdie was thinking, as it was cowering against the trunk of a mushroom looking around defensively in case any of its tormentors should cross the line between insult and injury. It had an egg balanced on its back like a cuckoo, which made it look like the egg was hatching it, answering the age old question about which came first.

As he got closer, Wit heard their jeers and understood their motives. Simply, the little bird was different; being alive didn't make it look different; being alive didn't make it act or feel different but it was enough that the others knew it came from somewhere else to make them feel superior.

"Your mother's so fat, you need to migrate just to kiss her goodbye!" called out one.

"Your father's such a cuckold, you're cookoo," called another.

"You're so old, you're the king of the dinosaurs," quipped a third.

But the taunted birdie was not without spirit. "I'm going to kill a mocking bird; oh, you're already dead!" it retaliated.

Reminding the gang that they were here and not there was not the best lesson in how to win friends, though it did influence them. They rose up in twos and threes and started to dive at the birdie's head. The egg wobbled, toppled and Wit instinctively reached out to grab it though he was too far away to be of any use. The egg cracked and a wail split the air scattering the crowd who were afraid they would get the blame for having unleashed a dervish. Even the little birdie took a step back as if shocked that a skinny screaming baby had rolled out of the eggshell instead of a fluffy chick.

"What on earth is that?" gaped Wit aghast at such a ghastly looking baby. The poor little thing was so skinny and thin it could have been washed in a jug.

"I don't know," said the little birdie. "I found it under the bed. Can I keep it?"

"What were you doing under the bed? And what was that doing under the bed?" asked Wit, wondering how to shut the baby up. "Um, do you have a name... by the way?"

"Birtie; I was under the bed because I took a nightmare to Ally. She gave me the egg and promised I would grow out of my fears if I took it further into the dark. Do you know how to shut this baby up?" it asked.

"We could play with it?" suggested Wit. "Who's Ally?"

"The gory monster under my bed. What's your name? Do you think we could wrap the baby and roll it around the mushroom?"

"Are you crazy? That will make it cry more. And who goes chatting to monsters under the bed? I'm Wit."

"Nice to meet you. Well I had to face my fears. And it seemed a reasonable deal to carry the egg into the dark. Only I got lost and so I'm stuck in here with this; I wonder what's its name is?" said Birtie pointing to the baby.

Wit cast his eyes around, always a painful process in retrospect, and they fell on the mushroom behind him. The eyeholes that the Mayor had poked were oozing milky tears and after carrying the baby over he cupped his hands and caught a handful of them. The baby greedily gulped as he let them slide down his fingers into its mouth. After it had a full tummy it was less of a handful and Wit wiped his hands of it.

"We can't just leave it here," said Birtie. "It might have a face only a mother can love but full term it might turn into a hero."

"A tiny Might, isn't it? I wonder if the Term-Mights might be able to look after it?" pondered Wit.

"Might be worth a try but how will we feed it until we find them?" asked Birtie.

"Well these mushrooms are growing all over the show," said Wit with superfluous eloquence. "Maybe they all weep if you poke 'em?" And he walked to the next to indulge his elegantly satisfying theory of elephants and fish for tea.

Wit and Birtie travelled from mushroom to mushroom taking turns to carry the baby skeleton covered in skin and being taunted at least daily by the flock of dead birds with nothing better to do.

"Your baby's so ugly you could use it as a pin, except then you wouldn't have a voodoo doll to stick it in," was one regular jibe. Wit noticed that the teasing was repetitive. They would regularly pick on Wit for feeding the baby just because they couldn't understand why you would be nice to anyone. They also kept picking on Bertie just because he was from somewhere else. Wit assumed this was because they lacked the imagination to put themselves in his shoes, to feel what it would be like to be in a strange country, mixed with the lack of intelligence to understand how it could benefit them to share that country. On one occasion, one of the biggest bullies came too close and Wit flicked it in the beak, drawing green blood. It kept the peace for a while; the flock respected his power but hated him more for having exposed their weakness. Revenge was not far behind; one birdie gained local hero status by dive bombing him from behind and clipping his ear. Having gotten used to the negative view of this world, Wit was surprised so see his own blood was green and he wondered for a moment if he was an alien until he realized they were all aliens outside of the Alyssum Files. It was the first time he thought it would be nice to go somewhere where everything made sense because everyone had their own place. 'Only to visit of course; you wouldn't want to live there.'

Wit was not exactly sure where to find the Term-Mights. He could hear the tapping of their drums in his head and thought he recognized where he had come in from the pinprick pattern of black holes in the grey sky above. The further they travelled, the fatter the baby became. That is to say, the less emaciated it looked and the louder it screamed when it was hungry. Wit and Birtie had a harder time feeding it and had to poke two holes in each mushroom to get enough milk for it and once, when Wit was looking into the dry holes to see if there was another drop, he discovered that the mushrooms were in fact periscopes looking back into his old life. It was nice to see something that was not in negative for a change. More exciting was the discovery that, as they travelled on, he found they were getting closer to the point where he had lost his head. This was just as well or he might have fixated on one mushroom and refused to move again but the desire to see the next scene pushed him onwards. And then one day they had passed it. He was looking into a funeral where his brother and sister were handing out origami instructions to a busload of schoolmates and scouting friends who folded paper cranes to put on his coffin. The sight of his own coffin shocked him. Later his brother spoke about how he grew up the day he had beaten him at chess. Wit strained to hear his own name and pressed his ear to the hole. Frustratingly he kept missing it or having the clatter of the flock block it out. He tore at the hole to make it bigger and discovered he could pull the mushroom apart and was soon able to get his whole head inside. By that time, people who hadn't contacted his father for a decade were telling him how deeply they felt his pain and how close he was to the daily care of a nameless god; presumably why they wouldn't feel the need to contact him the day after either.

That was when Wit had a brilliant idea. If he went back one mushroom to before he died, he could dig a hole into the side of the mushroom and tunnel his way back up into his life. He would just need to wait in the background until he died and then walk home. But, like all great ideas, he suddenly saw a catch: it would be a bit awkward to be there, alive, when they were viewing his dead body and he thought of a few crazy plans to get rid of his body before anyone found it. Until of course he realized he would need his body so he had to stop himself killing himself. But if he did that then he wouldn't be here to go and stop himself; Catch 22. Finally he realized the only way he could get back was to go and possess himself! 'What could go wrong,' he reasoned. 'I'm sure the me-before will understand the me-now. If I just explain it slowly, I won't go mad. Maybe this happens all the time.' And satisfied with his own ingenuity he set about convincing Birtie that the best place to find the Term-Mights was inside the mushroom just behind them.

"Would you like to go home, Birtie?" asked Wit. "It's been the purpose right behind me since I got here and I think the answer is right behind us."

"Would I ever!" exclaimed Birtie. "But what about the baby?"

"We might meet the Term-Mights on the way. Or if not, we can give it to my mother, she's always wanted to adopt a nameless orphan."

"Well, if you're sure it's alright... Come on, let's conquer Death! Hey, maybe there's no such thing as Death anyway; just getting lost?!!" And the little birdie started to hop up and down excitedly.

And so they backtracked with the tail of bullies swirling around in circles above their heads calling out, "You're bound-to-be bound-for out-of-bounds! We're bounding off to tell the Mayor," yet not leaving as they watched the progress of the three travellers with boundless fascination.

When they arrived at the previous mushroom, Wit found the holes he had poked to get the baby's milk and pressed his eyes to them. There he was sitting on the bed in his normal coloured bedroom reading that text from his ex-girlfriend. 'OK,' he thought, 'this would be a good place to get back. I'm sure he's ready to meet me.' And he poked another hole in the stop-light green polka dotted mushroom, collected some milk for the baby and set about widening the hole. The flesh of the mushroom parted before him with squelching plops that repulsed him but he pushed on, determined to beat his disgust if it got him to the point of being alive. Birtie pecked at 20 pecks per minute and together they managed to widen a hole big enough for Wit to squeeze his shoulders through. The baby sat to one side sucking on fistfuls of mushroom pulp, black spittle dribbling happily off its chin.

Once the hole was wide enough, Wit pulled himself through and looked around. The inside had a hollow column and he could see his bedroom just above. He reached back out and grabbed the baby, gently prized the pulp from between its fingers, and pulled it in after him. Birtie hopped in last and they looked up towards the cluttered room.

Wit ignored a tapping on his foot, spread his legs and arms wide so that they touched with either wall of the chimney about as wide as a door frame and, bracing his arms, first jumped and then braced his feet so that he was suspended half a metre off the ground. He then reached down and took the baby from Birtie, waited for Birtie to fly up onto his head, then passed the baby up onto Birtie's back. Bracing his arms and alternatively his legs, Wit scaled upwards. However, his old bedroom remained just out of reach and after a while he felt a tapping on his hand. Looking up, he saw a Term-Might wagging its antenna at him. He paused to look at it and it tapped him again and pointed to the baby.

"She says you can't take the baby out without a valid visa, passport and return ticket," translated Birtie.

"Oh? Where do we get those?" asked Wit.

"You can't. It has to apply for them by itself." Wit looked bemused but Birtie reassured him, "Don't worry, she says you can leave the baby with all the other Term-Mights who died before they saw the light of day."

"You mean it will grow into one of them? That's impossible," said Wit, forgetting where he was.

"I don't think we can keep the child even though we want to," suggested Birtie reluctantly. "Maybe this is what Ally meant about growing up." He had also grown attached to it in their short time together.

"Well I guess it will be in good society," said Wit and lifted the baby off Birtie's back. About a 100 thousand Term-Mights were grouped around Wit's right hand and they gingerly received the baby from him and started to carry it away. As they receded into the gloom the baby appeared to shrink until it was no longer any bigger than the rest of them and finally rolled off the back of the last one carrying it and was lost in the throng heading towards the Would-have-been mine. Wit asked Birtie how it had become one of them and Birtie tapped out the message with his beak. The Term-Might near his hand tapped out a reply then turned and waved an antenna as it followed the others away on an invisible path to the left.

"She said that because the baby was lost before it learned to choose between flower and power so it can join their society under the hill. We, however, are already over the hill and have to find our own place; either live or Dog. So, forwards or backwards?..." And they continued to clamber up the chimney, the bedroom above getting gradually closer.

The hollow of the mushroom brought them out in the shadows under Wit's old bed. As they crawled over the edge between dark and light, a gory monster blocked their passage.

"Hi Ally," said Birtie. "This is Wit."

"A pleasure to meet you," said Ally customarily. "Did the Night Mayor give you a day pass?"

"Um, not exactly," said Wit, not expecting to have to go through Customs to get back. 'At least,' he thought, 'that must mean this really is the real world and not a fae-mind.'

"I'm planning to stay for the term of my natural life," continued Wit. "Let us past or I'll set my point setter on you!" And he pointed at Birtie's beak hoping this would hound the monster out of the way.

"Glory, do you think I'm a bird brain?" yawned the monster. "Look, I'll cut you a deal. I'm gory for a reason; shed a drop of blood and you may pass. If you're a ghost you won't have any. No ghosts under the bed, only monsters, got it?"

Wit hesitated but Birtie stepped forward and said, "Pluck the parson's nose if you like; I've got enough blood for the both of us." And, pulling a feather out of his rump, he splashed a droplet on the floor. Birtie bent round to pluck again...

"Pass," said Ally and she shimmered. Before Wit could blink, he saw that the monster was now between him and Birtie. "Sorry sunshine, the blood must be spilt on the inside; seems you're out already. Fly away little birdie, you're free now. So where's your blood, Witless?" Ally said with a sneer.

But Wit wasn't witless at all and he pulled out the pickle jar from his pocket, opened it quickly and dripped a drop of his fevered mercuric on the floor beside Birtie's. It fizzled and steamed as the two mixed.

"Nice move," admitted Ally, "but..."

But Wit hadn't finished his move. Remembering that he was insignificant, he closed his eyes and conquered his dislocation by becoming pointless and therefore virtually anywhere. The universe shimmered around Ally as he opened his eyes and smirked. He had made it to the other side.

Ally snuffled, shrugged her shoulders and grunted, "People smugglers, huh? They'll get you in the end. Just get out from under the bed and don't come back; monsters only, got it?" And Wit slid out, only too happy to oblige.

~ ~ ~

Finally beside himself, Wit could barely contain his joy. Birtie, on the other hand, peeked out tentatively from under the bed, unsure how the arrival of a small bird in a room with a closed dark window would affect the occupant. The boy sitting hunched over his knees did not look dangerous but he didn't look welcoming either and even though he was braver than a country mouse it still paid to be wary.

"Hi, it's me," whispered Wit, not wanting to startle himself.

The boy hunched tighter into a ball and tossed the phone he had been clutching to the end of the bed.

"Um, I know we feel really down about this but by this time tomorrow night that text will be the least of our worries. Can we talk?" said Wit a bit louder and the boy looked around the room, apparently aware of the voice in his head but unsure where it could have come from.

"We need to talk about tomorrow. We need to go to school then to work as usual. Just be good at being alive. You don't have to prove you are anything special to anybody, especially me; OK?" said Wit raising his voice.

The boy stood up, opened the window and looked out to see if one of his mates was outside playing a joke on him.

"Look, just let me possess you, I mean, my body and it will all make sense. By-the-way, what's our name; I've been dying to know."

But the boy just shook his head and muttered to himself, "Well, if I don't even know who I am, it can't matter if I go to school or work or anything tomorrow. I might just dump them all for all I care." And he hunched back into a ball, his back to the fresh air.

"Look!" shouted Wit, grabbing the boy's forearm. "You Have To Let Me In! I know you're cut now but I can help us get through this!" But as he tightened his grip so did the boy, digging his own nails into his arm, gouging the skin underneath his shirt. The pain stopped them both. The boy rolled up his sleeve and in his anguish picked out the razor blade he kept hidden inside that book of Sunday children's stories he'd stopped reading so long ago. Wit stepped back aghast as the boy caressed the blade and then gently rested it against his forearm. He pressed just deep enough for a bead of blood to glisten around the metal. The pain distracted him from his own inner anguish but Wit cried out in horror, reliving the pain in his heart that had driven him to do this the night before his accident.

"Stop, please!" cried Wit. "It's not normal to feel this bad, someone can help us through it if you just ask..." and a tear glistened in the corner of his eye as he saw his own blood drip on the floor. But the boy's tears burned behind his eyes at the pain he felt against the world and he moved the blade a millimetre further up his arm, refusing to listen to reason, even from himself.

Suddenly Wit staggered backwards as he spotted the elephant in the room - himself. He was caught in a Catch 42. Not only was it impossible to be here, dead, to talk himself out of dying but he had actually, inadvertently, become part of the problem. He had given himself the idea that it didn't matter how he lived. He had started himself thinking about some way to make a name for himself. And he had even increased the physical pain that led him to seek some extravagant release from the anguish of being bullied by his own insignificance. He was his own worst enemy and couldn't help himself now any more than he could before. He turned and fled through the window, Birtie fluttering out unseen behind him.

~ ~ ~

When Wit landed in the cool air of the street he realized he had to tell his parents that he needed help if for no other reason than to stop them finding out the shocking truth behind why he always wore long sleeves these days. If he let himself die tomorrow, someone would eventually cut away his clothes to check his body and then everyone would know. Surely his mother could tell him what to do - if only he could keep his head - but no sooner had he thought that than he flinched at the strangled scream of a crow behind and saw out of the corner of his eye a huge raven swooping out of his window towards him. He turned and ran into a nightmare where running was the only thing he could think about but where he was never more than two steps in front of the assailant. His mother's house fell away behind him and, hoping to reach the safety of his father's, he turned to the right. Almost immediately a black unicorn galloped in from the side, cutting him off. He swerved out of its way and it fell in beside the crow chasing him along an endless gutter.

On they raced, Wit's heart racing as he held his breath. "Run-papa," he wanted to say but no sound came out and he felt he couldn't beat them or even duck when suddenly he tripped over the storm water drain of his life and fell heavily on his side crushing the bottle of mercuric in his pocket. As the unicorn and the crow descended on him, the fae-mind soaked through his clothes and he felt himself being sucked, hip first, into his own mercuric craving. Screaming soundlessly down the pipe of his lost hopes - though at least the assailants had vanished - he scrambled to his feet and tried to run down the imaginary road of his fae-mind but bumped straight into a long-legged blonde model in a mini skirt. She looked down at him through her large Armani sunglasses and shifted her Louis Vuitton handbag out of his way as if he might be a common pickpocket.

The sleek grey cat in her arms purred, "Well, if it isn't our friend Wit! Look Dorothy, he seems to have grown up a little."

"Sindé?!" asked Wit panting, recognizing the voice if not the form. "Am I going mad?"

"Not if you can ask that question," replied Dorothy in a sultry Russian accent completely unlike her former voice. "But if you're in a headache you might need to see a quack, sigh. I can refer you to one if you like." And she opened her mouth wide, extracted an envelope from between her postbox red lips and said, "Mail this for me will you dear?" She handed him the referral letter.

"Oh my, I think I'm losing my grip," said Wit feeling light headed. "Where on earth do I post it? Where on earth am I?!"

"Well you can't post it on Earth," said Sindé, "since you are inside your own head where you should have been on the night you lost it. But never mind that now. The question is, are you ready to sort it out?"

"You mean in Alyssum?" asked Wit taken aback by the thought of surrendering to the inevitable. "But I conquered Death, I got back to myself!... Yet, I couldn't even help myself... And now I've gone stark raving mad!!"

"Not at all," purred Sindé soothingly. "Come let's walk together down to the post office."

"What's happening to me?" he asked in a smaller voice.

"You've realized something that you'd never thought of before. You need others. And not just to make you feel better about yourself. You need them to be yourself, better. That requires submission though, not conquest, doesn't it?..."

Wit still looked worried.

"Um, would you like to carry me?" she continued. "I've been told hugging a kitty can be very relaxing when you feel you've lost a dogfight." And Dorothy leaned down and passed Wit the sleek cat. Sindé purred quietly as they walked on.

"But what happened to you two?" asked Wit looking up at the high cheekbones of the model. "Why aren't you a sea gull any more? And what on earth happened to waddling Dorothy; now she's swanning around?! Not that I mind."

"We are in your mind remember; only it was a bit narrow-minded for us so we chose to look a little less conspicuous; it gets tiresome being bullied and it's also tiring."

"Oh, I see," said Wit, the light going on at last.

"Yes you should. We thought you'd know better but never mind that now either. Here we are. There's Parley tied to the lamppost. Unleash her if you're ready to sort it out with Them."

"Thanks for setting me straight," said Wit

"Straight?" smiled Dorothy. "We were batting for the other side; Thera and the Mayor set you up from the beginning. They like to keep people moving on to Alyssum as soon as possible, it'd get awfully crowded with sleeping beauties in the Fields if everyone refused to accept what's happened to them."

"But I thought I had to wait there until my time here should have been up," questioned Wit.

"Everything is up for negotiation," joined in Parley. "I thought you would have learned that from the Wee Kid."

"Speaking of which, could we ask you for a favor in return for having saved your wits? Could you drop us off here?" said Sindé.

"Where?" asked Wit looking around.

"Since you entered your fae-mind while in the real world, we'd really appreciate it if you'd let us out here before the mercuric dries up. If we could just stand on your head, I think we could reach the edge of the drain you fell down."

"Of course," said Wit kneeling. "Climb on. I'm sure I have enough balance to hold you steady. But aren't you afraid of the crow and unicorn? And what will you live on? You'll need real money there."

"Your breathing is steady now so I'm sure the Night Mayor has passed by," she replied. "As for cash - I guess we can cash in on this fantastically expensive handbag. Gawd, humans may have evolved because they learned to carry their tools around in a fold of animal skin or a gourd but they still let others pocket their cash whenever a more gaudy bag is on offer."

Dorothy then picked up Sindé and stepped onto Wit's shoulder steadying herself against the lamp post. Her Channel stilettos dug into his shoulder but he managed to stand up. Parley wrapped her leash around Wit's legs lashing him to the light so he was braced as she stepped up onto his head. Still a bit shy of the edge, Dorothy swung the cat who managed to get her claws into the world. From there Sindé and Dorothy were able to help each clamber into a real society that they hoped to change for the better. Wit discretely didn't look up until he heard Parley bark excitedly and, by that time, the route back had evaporated.

"Well Parley, where to now?" Wit asked.

"That's up to you," answered the fluffy white dog with a wag of its tail. "Thera and the Mayor are always hospitable if you're not quite ready to sort things out with Them?"

"I'll give it a try as long as they don't bite my head off."

"Well I wouldn't exactly call Them friendly but They grow on you. Shall we?..." So Wit picked up the leash and they walked through the blood red doors of the post office together.

~ ~ ~

Mr Sock's Recap:

Chapter 1 ~ Death

"...We are going to the Alyssum Files and I'm Death. Keep up will you."

"Death?" smiled the boy, "I don't think so. He's that big skeleton with a scythe; black hood." And he forgot to keep walking, his heels digging into the ground that gave way before him so that he skated along being pulled by the leash...

~ ~ ~

Chapter 2 ~ War

"...There is no such thing as raw war," said Thera. "Wars are lost there and turn up here in Piece. Everyone wants a piece of the spoils so it's really just raw greed and greed is really just so others will envy you. 'Why?' I'm glad you asked: If others are looking at you, then you're the centre of the universe. But it always leads to madness in the end..."

~ ~ ~

Chapter 3 ~ Famine

"...No, there's no such thing as famine; only fair minds out of balance: the whale on one side making shrimps of everyone else. Look at all the food around Way-Lean: one man's food is another man's famine if he doesn't think about sharing. "But you're in a fae-mind, a dream you made in your blood by craving something. This one came from longing too hard to get home. It's like mercury in your veins; it's made you mad..."

~ ~ ~

Chapter 4 ~ Conquer

"...Come on, let's conquer Death! Hey, maybe there's no such thing as Death anyway; just getting lost?!!" And the little birdie started to hop up and down excitedly...

~ ~ ~
Chapter 5 ~ Taxes

Wit entered the now familiar Manila Folder. When Parley sat down and began to scratch, he also sat down to watch, somewhat more relaxed and 'together' than he had been previously. As before, fleas started jumping out of the white fluff until a small plague of them was assembled in front of him, hopping about and chatting excitedly. After a while they broke into groups then the largest group split and divided between the smaller ones. Amidst more chattering, the next largest group split and merged with the others. Then so on until there were only two groups left, the larger of them letting out a little cheer before spreading out and encircling the smaller group. Finally one flea from the centre of the losing small group was pushed forward and forced to speak on behalf of the rest. Wit discovered he had shrunk down to Their size.

"Hello, did you find your name while you were out there?"

"No," said Wit, a little despondent that They had highlighted one of his many failings first up.

"Oh good," said the flea smiling a teeny wee smile that only a flea could see. "We do find them troublesome at the best of times and even more so in early arrivals. The trick to fitting in is not to make a name for yourself. Now we understand from Parley that, having died, you would like to stop living. You understand your time is not up yet?"

"Yes, but there doesn't seem to be much point to sleeping through it in Elysium."

"Good point."

"And I'd just make things worse if I go back..."

"Indeed."

"Nobody loves ghosts do they?"

"Yet they are all haunted by memories of loved ones."

"Even so," mused Wit, "I think they are better off if I leave them in peace."

"Quite. Do you know why dogs howl at ghosts?"

"No? I thought that was just a myth."

"Maybe it is but we bite them just in case; it helps get the message across to the ghosts that they are not helping."

"Do they care?" asked Wit, curious to know if the bullies and tyrants also got a chance to get back.

"Yes of course the dogs care about being bitten. Blessed are those who are flea bathed regularly; so the Bubble says," said the flea with a twinkle in its invisibly small eye.

"Do the ghosts care?"

"I don't know; they're a myth aren't they?"

"Are they?" Wit asked.

"Catch 42: If they can walk through walls, then they can go anywhere. If they can live forever, they can go anywhen since even Our history repeats itself. Free in time and space, there would be no ghosts because they would warn themselves not to die. But if they did warn themselves, they would scare themselves to death. A Catch 22 is a vicious circle; a Catch 42 is a short circuit."

"Oh? But I got back to earth so what was I while I was there?"

"You were a bright spark, well grounded; a filament of your own imagination. Maybe you're a figment dreaming you're a man? The endless possibilities give us butterflies. It's more important to ask yourself, 'What will I be now, if not chaos?'

"OK. Then what will I be?"

"There are only two things that are certain," said the flea scratching absent-mindedly at the mites on its back. "And you have already achieved one of them so you've passed - so to speak."

"And the other?"

"That's a taxing question but it requires an answer; more or less?"

"More answers would be good..."

"We're asking the questions: More or less?"

"Oh, of what?"

"Time of course. That's why you're here isn't it? To get into the Alyssum Files sooner."

Wit's mind raced to find the right answer. He thought about the 'Wannabes,' the cats' limited lives being jealous of the 'Haves,' the lizards' limitless tails and realized they were as daft as More-Ron, the whale. Only the Term-Mights seemed to have a grip on reality since they didn't try to overpower each other or even themself as he had. He had at least learned that civil war is not civil.

"Less is more unless it's more than a lesson's worth," he hesitated.

"So you would like Us to make your time there less so your time is up here?"

"No, I mean: Please Sir, can I have some Less? I'd like to give away my time here so I can be the right sort to sort through my life."

"Well Wit, if you would like us to send you on a taxing quest, you may indeed find you can sort your way through this warren. But I have to warn you: this will buffet you; it's even more taxing than why you're here in the first place."

Wit just nodded and waited. The fleas, as one, looked him up and down. Finally their spokesperson, Wit couldn't tell the he from she, stepped forward and said, "If you're free, could you bring us a cup of tea?"

"Um, that's it?! No quest to con a dragon; no fairies to mind; no warp to unwind?"

"No thanks, we already have those and Frankenstein's monster to boot. You're young so we'll keep it simple. A cup of green tea will be fine. Your reality will not be everyone's cup of tea but it will do us nicely. Oh, no milk or sugar of course, that would be taking things too far; Progress must know his limits. That monster thingy was a bloody mess - too much of a good thing," it sighed wistfully licking its lips.

Suddenly the party was broken up by a huge foot that flapped zombie-like down into the middle of the throng. Wit, already back to normal size, looked up and saw a man stagger forward and tumble down in an attempt to bend over. He seemed to be trying to scoop up the fleas but they had turned as one and leapt back onto Parley who spun around and disappeared in three barks. "Knock, knock," the partially see-through zombie's knuckles rapped against the ground missing the group entirely. Wit shuffled back out of the way of the man who wiped a tear clumsily out of his eye and just sat there glumly.

"Who are you?" Wit finally asked since he made no attempt to move.

"Oh? You can see me? Well that's good I suppose," answered the man, half to himself. "I guess if you can see me I must be becoming less of a ghost."

"You're a ghost?!" gasped Wit thrilled but scared to finally have met one in the flesh, so to speak.

"Yes I'm not dead yet but I'm so close that my mind is here already. It was a virus that felled me and I feel like a virus myself now - neither dead nor alive until it all goes up in flames. But if you can see my body here, hopefully it must really nearly be here too, though I'm still stumbling so badly I guess it isn't willing to give up the ghost there and hot-foot it here."

"You mean you're stuck between both places?" asked Wit

"Yes, and like all ghosts I'm cursed. I've been trying to get here for ages but they won't let me go from there. Apparently it's acceptable to lay down your life for others but not OK to lay down your lifeless life. Even when my eyes plead with them to turn off the machines they just pat my hand and say it will be all right soon. They're not the ones stuck in this body though. I'm just asking them to show mercy and release me..."

"Surely the Fleas could help you?"

"They won't even talk to me."

"Can't you get Parley to bring you here?"

"She just barks at me for coming into her territory without knocking but over there she sits patiently by my bed waiting day after day - man's best friend; huh. I suppose it's some comfort knowing she's around but my family is too scared of her to even pick up the leash and put it in my hand. If I could only reach out, I'd grab it and be over here quicker than you could knock off work. But what about you? Are you trying to get in or out?"

"Well, 'in' now; seems there's no going back. I've been told to make some green tea but I don't know where to look."

"Have you tried the Tea Section?" suggested the man.

"Is it here in Alyssum?"

"Yes, I've been around here. The beige walls won't let me out into the Fields; seems I'm already overdue so I can't go into the Waiting Fields like you youth from Asia. Ouch... Well, good luck... I just felt a prick inject the patient back there. Probably some more drugs to wipe my mind so that I don't long to be here too much; long patience is a virtue they tell me. I just wish I could tell them that bringing mercy along is virtuous too." His last words slurred slightly as the drug took effect and he rolled forward, closed his eyes and became a bit more hazy or 'ghost-like' though certainly not invisible.

"So, the Tea Section?" thought Wit out loud and looked around though all he saw was nothing. He was surrounded by the beige walls of Order. Previously Parley had let him out into the Elysian Fields by wagging her tail at the wall. Wit pressed his hands on the smooth cardboard to either side. They bowed slightly but were unyielding. Having been ushered in by Death and survived War, Famine and Conquer to get here, he didn't press too hard in case he fell through and couldn't get back again.

'Alright,' he thought. "If I can't find some lost tea leaves in Elysium, I'll find some used ones here and boil them a bit longer. Let's see if I make any progress going forwards instead of sideways.' And he set off down the length of the Manila Folder.

At the end of the folder he popped his head out into the Files and saw, stretching to either side of him, an infinite number of other folders. Uniform, unending Order - sanity gone mad if you tried to think about it so he didn't. Instead, relying on his insignificance, Wit looked in every Manila folder at the same time. Suddenly a lot of things made sense and a lot of questions he had never thought to ask were answered. For example, were tealeaves cut into shreds from larger leaves or tiny but whole like tea-thyme? The answer was both, depending on the type of tea, and there was a frightening array of teas to choose from. Fortunately the fleas hadn't specified anything more than the colour so Wit went looking for anything greenish. He saw that all the tea that had ever been cut from a larger leaf was now spliced back together and each leaf was joined back onto the bush it had grown on then filed in its own folder. Wit coalesced beside a dozing green oolong bush that was resting in one piece and set about collecting a handful of leaves.

"Ouch!" she said as he tugged on a twig. "What off Earth do you think you're doing?!" And Wit stepped back in surprise, not having anticipated that the bush might have an opinion on whether she was boiled or not.

"Um, I was wondering if you could lend me a few leaves to make some green tea for the fleas?" he asked.

"Ah, Dear Child, you're new here aren't you?"

"Yes, and They said I could only stay if I did something taxing like make a cup of green tea. I can see that's not going to be as simple as I thought."

"Oh dear no. They do like to suck people in. There's one born every minute according to Them."

"Could you help me?" asked Wit, having learnt, at last, to ask.

"Certainly Dear Boy. It will do my old roots good to worm their way out of here for a while. Now, did you say green tea?"

"Yes," replied Wit relieved.

"Then you're barking up the wrong bush. I'm an oolong as the label says at the top of the folder. Made the finest black dragonite tea in my day. What you need is a camellia. Hold onto my branch there and we can shimmer over to the 'Japanese' section. There's a svelte little bush there I know; we used to sit in a cupboard beside each other. I'm sure she'd be happy to help. What do they call you?"

"Thank you so much. I'm Wit. I hope it's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all Sweety, it's all about cooperation here. I'm sure you'd do the same if I asked you to cut off your fingers and boil them for me. Now hold on there." And before he knew it, Wit was transported to the 'Japanese Beverages' section where he was introduced to a shriveled dry young bush that was being chatted up by an English rose hip.

There was nothing unusual about this except that the rose hip, without legs, was sitting in a wheel chair and spoke with a plum in its mouth.

"How extraordinary Camilla, that is a most fascinating exposition but I cannot concur with your assumptions that existential angst is, on occasion, caused by nomenclature..." The rose hip paused to take breath but the camellia bush coughed twice politely, "Ahem, ahem," and rustled in the direction of the new arrivals.

"Morning Squire, Camilla, this is Wit. How's the new ride Squire?" the oolong enquired pointing to the Squire's wheels now he had turned to face them.

"Oh, They have set the corpulent Corporal on me again. Apparently I'm not supposed to shimmer the wheels with me when I travel. They are cutting my independence since too much gadding about gets things out of order. That's why I'm here regardless; I'll apologise later. How are you getting a-long Dragona?"

"Nice to meet you Wit," said Camilla.

"Fine thanks," replied Dragona. "They have asked Wit for a cup of tea! Can you believe that?! No consultation, that's the worst part about it. I'd be happy to help but they have stipulated green tea so we were wondering..."

"Yes, I'd be delighted to oblige," said Camilla with a bow.

"Great, thanks," said Wit smiling. "Can I just take a few leaves? Then I need to find some water to boil."

There was a needling silence, like snow falling on a pine forest; minds bent under the cold weight of disbelief.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Wit forgetting to consider the audience's perspective.

"Shush Child," said Dragona defusing the situation. "We understand you're green around the gills. Try to understand it yourself."

"Drawn and quartered. Capital show. Punish the boy's impertinence!" smirked the Squire. "So if I may infuse some analysis into the question, will Machiavellian Camilla duck being dunked or draw on a belief in mutualism even though it drains her? Personally I don't believe in anything and I think you shouldn't get all steamed up about it my Dear," he opined.

"And I think that is for me to decide. Thank you for your Opinion; it will be filed away if you please." And a flea dressed in livery hopped into the scene with a small broom and swept hurriedly around the Squire's wheels. As soon as it had collected up the dust there, it leapt over to the extended 'Opinions' volumes, burrowed down to the 'Beliefs' folder and deposited the contents into a clip-lock bag marked 'Disbelief.'

"Hey, let me out!" shouted the Opinion. "You can't separate Crutch and state of mind. I deserve support too. I will not be silenced!" But the other bags around it all 'shushed' it.

The flea didn't realize they were just waiting for it to leave so they could recommence their eternal arguing. Mistaking the quiet to be out of respect for what it had to say, the flea lectured the little Opinion, "Be still, yes you are alive but you were still born here so you have to wait to be born again there. Be patient, folk are queuing up to adopt healthy little opinions like you. Don't worry, We will find you a good home." And it bounded away on Its business.

"Gawd, I thought he'd never leave!" grumbled the contents of a large garbage bag marked 'Miscellaneous Religions, Horror-scopes and Other Superstitions.' The garbage bag sauntered closer to the 'Disbeliefs' bag. "We could use a spirited chap like you. I'm about to be adopted by some minister in Outer Anglophilia. We could set up a cult together. We just need someone who can handle any seeds of doubt that the surrounding Opinions might try to sow. A feisty dose of Disbelief in Everything Else and we can run the show! What do you say?"

But the Opinion in the clip-lock bag just fluffed itself up and said, "I told you, I don't believe in anything."

"What?! Not even in yourself? Go on, you were made for this; this is your chance to be great."

"Of course I believe in myself. I know I'm right; I don't pay dues to anyone; becoming a cult wouldn't even tax me. I'm going to be great without your help, thank you very much. Maybe I'll start my own cult when I'm adopted, who knows." And it shuffled over beside 'Séances' and the other sealed bags to join in the argument that was heating up again about which unsubstantiated idea was right first. It didn't stop to notice that the bag marked 'End-Time Predictions' had a hole chewed out of the bottom of it.

~ ~ ~

"So," said Dragona, as soon as the flea had taken the Opinion out of the way of their conversation. "What do you think Camilla? Would you like to be dunked in boiling water again? I don't know if you believe the stories about if you die here you will be reincarnated back there?"

"Yes I've heard them but I'm more interested in just helping the boy for the sake of it. Wit, do you really want to come to the Alyssum Files even though your time there is not yet up? You're not using this as some way to be reincarnated, too, are you?"

"Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that," Dragona said. "Trust me Wit, reincarnation is a flight of fancy..." .

"No, no," Wit hurriedly reassured them. "I abseiled down the Bog o' Belief before but that route turned me into a maiden in distress and then into my own rabbit. I started to lose myself in my new self. I don't want to gnaw that route again, really."

"Hold on," interjected the Squire. "Even if you are willing do this for him Camilla, he still doesn't have all the ingredients for tea. It's impossible to get water here for a start. Whatever you do to it, it's never lost; it just changes state into steam or ice. It keeps getting recycled from clouds to rain to oceans."

"There was some bottled spring water around Way-Lean when I was there," suggested Wit. "Could I bring that into the Files?"

"Yes, of course; brilliant," exclaimed Dragona.

"That still doesn't solve the problem of fire," said the Squire pessimistically. "I'm sorry to douse your coals but when fire dies it always dies down or dies out so all the flames in the 'Do Not Play With Fire' section are so down and out they can't go out to play at all. You won't be able to boil any water with them."

Wit looked a bit sullen, unable to think of any other way to make tea when suddenly he remembered the sparks that the Lizards had released from their tails. If he could catch one of those before it shot up to the sun, maybe he could bring it back into the Files also. He was just about to share his reignited enthusiasm when the Squire drowned it for good.

"And you would never find a kettle to boil water in or a pot to brew it in. They are all queued up, fighting to get into the 'White Goods' section and claiming the other group should be excluded because of their colour. Even They have not been able to sort out that dispute yet; They might have to refer it to the Mites."

"I'm sorry to burst your Bubble Squire," said Dragona, "but you seem to have forgotten you can boil water in a paper bag! Backyard apartheid is only for things that can't see their similarities. They are not even like Eye Ronny because he at least has one good eye." Wit thought of how Pillow had fought with the lizards because she had only one eye on herself. "At least the cyclops was born that way. Now off you go Wit," she said, "and bring back water, fire and paper. Camilla will make you a nice cup of tea and we'll see if that will placate Them so you can have a nice lie down. The Nanna-naps here are to die for. Off you go and don't let anyone tell you, you can't do it." And turning to the Squire she made a zipping motion across her mouth just as he was starting to open his again.

The Squire, known better for his blustering and bravado than for his subtlety and discretion blundered ahead anyway, "Speaking of referring things to the Mites, did you know the Mites have been called in to deal with the Emperor's new clothes?" But Dragona and Camilla, experienced ignorers, just stood in front of the Squire and waved Wit on.

Wit looked from one to the other. They looked back and Dragona gave him an encouraging nod. 'OK,' he thought, 'I can do this.' And he shimmered all over the place. One part of him couldn't help but look in on the Emperor's file on the way past. One part had to go and ask Thera if his travels had really been a set up to get him into Alyssum and the rest of him shimmered the furthest he had ever gone since his first leap of 100,000 years. Going flat out, he aimed for Way-Lean but flatly missed by miles, skimmed the tops of the white horses like a flying fish and sank like a skimming stone gone flat. He even missed the edge of Bounty by miles and sank into a desert of very wet sand. "Fuhjimshbytbgdf," he spluttered, the taste of skim milk filling his mouth but sliding off his tongue leaving him feeling flat.

"Hugo's swear?" trumpeted a seahorse the size of a draught horse from behind him. Wit spun around and saw the sea horse was white like the wind-blown tops of the waves above. It had panther ears on its head and was very pregnantly fat.

"Way won food," he replied hoping this sounded like a password.

"What?! I was just asking who goes swearing like that? It's quite uncouth you know."

"What the f..." but Wit checked himself, remembering that discretion was the better part of valour and, looking up at a seahorse that big, he figured he needed as many parts of valour as he could muster.

"Hi," he said with his most charming smile. "I'm Wit. Could you please tell me how to find Way-Lean?"

"Hello Thera, nice to see you again," he said and Wit spun back around to find he had brought Thera along. Standing beside Thera was himself, as if in a mirror, which would have been fine if he wasn't moving independently, as if in a movie.

"Ah," said Thera looking between the two Wits, "You didn't tell me you had shimmered into a split insignificance."

"I didn't know I had," replied the Wit that was standing beside Thera and the Wit that was standing beside the seahorse wanted to go over and punch himself for taking the words out of his mouth.

"That's what happens when there are too many places you'd like to be in at the same time as you realise your own pointlessness so allowing you to be anywhere at anytime; you end up bothwheres. Well you'd better kiss and make up." And Thera nudged his Wit towards the other and the seahorse poked his Wit towards himself with its tail. The two Wits approached each other unsure quite what to do or even if he wanted to be this close to himself. Then, accepting that it would be rude not to kiss this seeming stranger, he had that awkward moment when he didn't quite know which cheek to kiss himself on. Their heads haltered from side to side like two people trying to avoid each other in a narrow corridor and, finally, settling on the left cheek, Wit felt his head bumped gently by the seahorse's tail so that the lips on both his faces just touched at the corners. He had that moment of embarrassment where some invisible line between formality and intimacy had been crossed but he hoped the other person and everyone watching hadn't noticed. The moment didn't last long as he was instantly sucked into his own mouths, recombined and stood there blinking, looking out of his own head, yet feeling incomplete, like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Though fortunately not so incomplete that it felt his stomach had dropped out of his bottom.

When he looked around, Thera was already standing beside the seahorse, laughing like old friends. "Wit, this is Sauce. Do you remember me saying that I didn't betray you but I just let you follow your dreams? Even though I knew you couldn't get back, I believed it was best to let you find that out for yourself rather than deny it and go to sleep with Pillow's kiss. I thought you had what it takes to pilot your own way into the Alyssum Files." Wit nodded, the part of him that had been with Thera on the way here remembered and the part of him that had come straight here knew that he knew though couldn't remember the learning. "People will tell you a lot of stuff about the afterlife," continued Thera, "but if you don't believe any of it, it's better to find out for yourself." Wit nodded again.

"At least, you've come to the right source," said Sauce straight from the seahorse's mouth. "Thera was telling me They have sent you on a quest? They are always a con these quests so the best way to con a quest is with Conquest's horse. At your service." And it sort of bowed over its pregnant bulge.

"You mean, you're Conquer's horse? The four horse's of the apocalypse?! Thera is War's headless horse and the Mayor was Famine's?! And now you're Conquests?!"

"I concur, though there's no such thing as Conquer remember. That's just a cur's con. On the contrary, when people strive to become social beings, they appreciate it much more than if it's handed to them on a platter full of Term-Mights."

"But if you're Conquer's horse, why are you floating around under the Sea of Opportunity? Shouldn't you be transporting the Progress of empires?!"

"I'm on pregnancy leave."

"Um, I thought you're a man?"

"You didn't notice I'm a seahorse? We have the babies."

"But you have cat's ears! And doesn't Conquer doesn't mind?"

"No such thing as Conquer, remember. You are a slow unlearner."

"Unlearning what?"

"Yourself. You are unlearning all your expectations that there is Conquer and Famine and War. They are just in your head; put there by countless generations of ancestors who have all ended up in the Files despite wasting their lives fighting for power rather than sharing with the Have Noughts."

"I never learned that seahorses have ears."

"We are all cats in the head," said Sauce and Thera in unison smirking at each other.

"So if there is no such thing as the four horsemen why are all the horses here?" asked Wit wittily imagining he had them on a technicality.

"Have you met four of us?" asked Sauce saucily.

"Well, no," pondered Wit. "I've met you, Thera and the Night Mayor. Where is Death's horse?"

"Yet you have met Death; unlike Conquer, War and Famine?"

"Parley? Yes of course, we're old friends now."

"And does Parley look like she needs a horse? Or something more fuel efficient, like a Prius? Or even a rocket ship to unleash Death on all the aliens?" asked Sauce.

"No, of course not. Death is everywhere, isn't she?"

"Last question, why do we call Death a 'she?'"

"I've no idea," replied Wit dumfounded.

"Come come," encouraged Thera. "Use your wits. I'll give you a clue: dog Ma gives birth to..."

"Um, OK, when anyone dies, everyone else is sad. So I guess Parley brings grief when she takes life?"

"Excellent!" said Sauce. "You were right, this one does have potential; such a waste."

"So," Thera continued, "if Necessity is the mother of Invention and the grandmother of Progress, Death is the mother of Grief and the grandmother of Imagination. For Grief is always dreaming up new ways to deal with the loss of loved ones. At their core, all the bubbles that people hide their heads in are a way to imagine that their loved ones are waiting for them in an afterlife rather than accepting that they are gone - as they themselves will be, too, one day. There is no great meeting, no parley, in the sky; only Parley: The Meeting with Yourself."

"And you are?..." asked Sauce.

"Insignificant..." realised Wit nearly shimmering out of existence as he said it but kept in place by the one point that was himself, now; not what he was or what he could have been, just himself, now. But one point was all it took to hold him in place among all the other points in Eternity. His brain hurt.

"So if only Death is real and yet she makes Imagination come to life, why do the other horsemen need horses?" asked Wit changing the topic to something he could see.

"Well, we have to be somewhere," answered Thera. "People keep talking about us as if we're real. You remember Ma Fate and the four little ducks don't you? They have to be somewhere since people keep thinking about them but they are not real so they are here."

"You mean I'm not real either? I know I'm dead, but does that mean I only exist in other people's memory and imagination? If they feel me in their hearts, it's because they felt me before, not because I'm there?"

"By Jove, I think he's got it!" trumpeted the seahorse. Wit's left ear heard the sound of one hand clapping but his right ear still had to ask what was going on.

"Maybe you really are ready for your quest now?" said Thera. "So what was it They sent you to get?"

"A cup of green tea," replied Wit.

"Ooh, tricky. Water is never lost and fire never dies," commented Sauce. "But when success is easy there's little reward in it. So do you have an idea where to look?"

"I think I saw some bottled water near Way-Lean," said Wit and the lizards have fire, though I don't think I can carry that in my pocket. But one spot at a time to paint a punk elephant, right?"

"Right you are; then off we go. Piggy in the middle?" said Sauce and the two horses stood on either side of Wit, pressed on him and shimmered together over the top of a few sand dunes into the land of Bounty.

Contrary to expectations, Way-Lean looked a little less gaunt than before.

"Don't even think about it," she said as soon as she saw them.

"Think about what?" asked Wit.

"No, you will not trick me into saying it. Last time I gained a week after I saw you. I will not say 'food.' Oh, damn! See, you've done it again." And indeed, she did seem a fraction less skinny than a second ago.

But Wit's eyes were not focusing on her. Surrounding her hole was a double row of water bottles, a small fortress shielding her from the view of Bounty, the mountains of wasted food all around.

"Could I borrow, I mean have, one of your bottles of spring water please?" he asked.

"I do not share water. It's the only thing I can think about that doesn't have any calories. It fills my mind and washes it of all impurities. Help yourself to the baked beans if you want to float away." But even as she said the word 'baked beans' she fattened just a tiny bit more. She was obviously losing the fight to disappear as More-Ray had done.

"Way-Lean, could I offer some advice," said Sauce and Way-Lean turned her head to indicate she was listening. She hoped he would not talk too much about food as she was starting to realise it was more precious than she had at first believed.

"What's sauce for the Gander is sauce for the geese." And she blinked at Sauce demanding an explanation.

"Well even They have to die and face the Mites. And the Mites might die, too, for all we know; only whatever they have to face is too small to see."

"Are you saying I should accept where I am and not try to get home? You want me to go to the Files, too?!" she gasped. A sea cucumber wriggled away from her warily in case her anger turned to resignation and awoke her appetite; not being able to wriggle very fast it realised it was in a pickle. "Haven't you noticed They are all parasites?!"

"I just think if you accepted Wit's help you would be happier than if you hold on to your dream of fading back to life," Sauce said.

"Way-Lean, we are all parasites," said Thera. "Nature is red in tooth and claw but it has to be: life lives by lapping up other lives. Most deaths are caused by other creatures trying to survive. Hunger drives creatures to fight and the spoils go to the winner; it's famine, war and conquer in miniature; in balance."

"Precisely," said Way-Lean. "That's exactly why I don't want to think about food at all. I don't want to exploit other animals or even plants for my own gain."

Thera looked thoughtful, then said, "But even fading back to life is draining time from others, inadvertently, because you could be giving it away to make their lives better. None of us exist in a vacuum; everything we do affects someone else. That's why They want Wit to find his place in society, not just to find himself. He needs to accept that we are all parasites and yet we all pay taxes, too."

"I find it's better to look at myself as part of a species rather than as an individual," said Sauce. "Look at humans: individually they may be exploiting a cow when they eat it but as a species they are just a parasite on the cow species. Like lice, they have to eat but at least they don't turn their host into a ghost. Humans have even learned to breed more cows so the cows, as a species, have benefitted."

"That's right," said Thera. "And cows have become stronger and healthier over many generations of farming so being a parasite can even benefit others. So long as you accept that you need others to live, you can turn your need into something symbiotic; mutual parasitism like the mitochondria feeding in your cells give the cells energy in return."

"I don't have any cells; I'm dead, remember."

"Well I mean before, sorry. For that matter even the Merry Mitochondria that had homes in your cells are now dead. But what was true there is true here too. Yes, They are all parasites but so are we. And They pay Their dues, too: They need to put everything in its place and we need a place where we can fit in; we all benefit. Symbiosis resulting in synergy is perpetual energy. It's what allows the parallel universe of the Alyssum Files to exist."

"So Wit, you actually want to go to the Files?!" asked Way-Lean. "Everything in its place because it's the place everything ends up; won't that kill your dreams?"

"I've given them up," said Wit. "I am what I am; we are dead. No point fighting it or dragging it out until our time is up. We belong in Alyssum now. They have said I can come in if I'm taxed. I think that means I have to give what's left of my time to others; to help them. You're in my society, so maybe I could help you, too; if you'd like to come with us?"

"But I'm wasted," objected Way-Lean. "My feet couldn't even carry what's left of my weight."

"I can carry you. This is a quest after all. It would be like rescuing a damsel in distress," he smiled. "Please come. I think you'll be happier there accepting yourself for who you are rather than trying to be something that's natural only in your head, not in anyone else's."

"Fetch me a pickle to gnaw on, will you, and I'll think it over." So Wit reached over and picked up one that wasn't wriggling; he hoped it wasn't just playing dead. However, when he turned back to Way-Lean, she had disappeared into her hole.

"What should I do?" he asked Thera and Sauce.

"You could just steal a water bottle and move on," said Thera.

"Or you could wait till she steals out again and keep asking," said Sauce

"Aren't quests fun?" said Thera. And so Wit sat down. Unsure what to do, he decided to do nothing.

After a while Way-Lean poked her head out and, seeing him still sitting there, said, "I thought you would have stolen a bottle and moved on." The pickle began to wriggle back out of the way.

"No, I was serious; would you like to join us?" he replied.

"Fine. This hole is getting a bit tight anyway with you feeding my mind all the time." And Wit smiled and picked her up. He carefully draped her round his neck and she clasped her tail between her teeth like something his grandmother stole from a fox. Even as she settled down to be carried, she seemed to feel heavier. Her arms and legs that had hung limply by her side started to regain some shape though her tail didn't shrink. Pocketing a bottle of water, he looked at Thera and asked, "Do you know how to get back to the source of the Lizard's fire?"

"But of course, the course is clear," it replied.

"I'd like to stay the course, too," said Sauce. So Wit put a hand on either wither and whither did they wander to gander at the source of life.

On entering the heart of the volcano Wit couldn't see so much as a spark because he was staring straight at the left flank of the Night Mayor. It was as black as his pupil, the window to his shoal. He took a step back to assess whether she was friend or foe only to stare wide eyed as she reared up and lowered her horn to gore him in the eye.

"Ahem, I wouldn't do that if I was you, Mayor," said Sauce. "They have sent him to con a quest."

"Oh hello chaps," said the Mayor dropping back on all fours. "I didn't see you there, sorry."

"No problem;" said Thera, "tricky working in the dark. Could you shed some light on Wit's problem." And immediately the cavern melted back a little as the tip of the Mayor's horn glowed like a traffic baton. Now that the Mayor had moved aside, Wit could see the lizard's fire burning in the distance and the lizards filing in from the sides to throw their lost tails into the blaze.

"I thought you were coming to steal some life in the hope of getting back there," said the Mayor apologetically. For a minute Wit's heart raced at a possibility he hadn't considered but then he calmed himself remembering that the last time he was here was because Pillow had been stealing the tails' lives and he wasn't about to do the same thing.

"OK," Wit asked "how do we stoke the lizard's fire so that we can capture a spark? And what on earth am I going to carry it back to the Files in?"

"You live?" asked the Mayor and the other two horses chanted, "Evil ewe," nodding their heads solemnly as horses do. Then, having conferred, the Mayor turned back to Wit, "Evil is live backwards, right?" And this time Wit nodded. "So live is the opposite of evil?" Again Wit nodded, wondering where this was going. "But what stops lives?"

"Parley," answered Wit knowing as he said it that the simple answer was sure to be wrong.

"Right, Death can be anywhere, anytime; but what stops life?

"Um, carelessness," he thought out loud, thinking of his own kind, "cruelty" thinking of callous killings, "or crinkles?" he asked, thinking of how he used to stare in fascination at his grandmother's wrinkles before she passed away and how they were still there after she'd died, only still, never again crinkling into a smile for him.

"Close," replied the Mayor. "All of those come from being close to people don't they? Or in your case, from not being close enough. Lives end when the Wee-evils bite through the interwoven threads of life, you go to parley with yourself, leaving holes in the social fabric."

"I think it's best if we show him," said Thera much to Wit's relief. "You two look forwards and backwards in time. Hold on Wit."

As Wit reached out his hand to Thera, Sauce and the Mayor shimmered beside them. Thera explained, "Death is everywhere so you just have to look through everywhen to be in the right place at the wrong time."

"I've found one," came Sauce's muffled voice through the musts of Time. The Mayor stopped shimmering and she and Thera reached over and touched Sauce who transported them to the same place in a different era, leaving Way-Lean suspended in the air where Wit's neck had been since she was not ready to see the Wee-evils yet.

Once they stopped shimmering, the four of them walked closer to the fire, overtaking an ancient lizard who was hobbling along beside a much younger one. "Careful Grandpa," the younger one said and Wit realised he was carrying two tails towards the fire; his own and another with the dry skin flaking off it like his scaly grandfather. For all the grandson's care, Wit could see the aged one would barely make it before he could throw his tail into the fire and restore his life. The grandfather seemed to know it too and was busy reminding the boy of the many things he had taught him.

"To see the social fabric you will need to ride with cooperation," said Thera and Wit looked around confused until he realised it was looking at Conquer's seahorse. "And to see the Wee-evils you will need to touch the Night Mayor at the same time. Hold onto me also so you don't lose your head." So Wit clambered up onto Sauce's back and stretched out a hand to touch Thera and the Mayor on either side. As he did so, he noticed something different about the grandson and grandfather making their way slowly towards the fire; there was a glowing cord binding them together. Its radiance was reflected in their eyes whenever they glanced at each other and, as the grandfather talked quietly, warmth pulsed towards the boy.

When they reached the blaze, Wit noticed something else. There were three stubby caterpillars waiting invisibly for them. One was spinning ewe-wool. Having so many feet, it was able to operate two spindles at the same time. The threads were taken up by the second grub, which was weaving them together into patterned cloth on a loom. Wit was able to focus on just those two threads but in reality there were zillions of them interwoven in groups of seven strands, crisscrossing in all directions; a grate meeting throughout time and space. He nearly lost his head again, realising his own immaterial part in the material of the Infiniverse being woven before him but Thera kept him focused and he noticed that the third grub was crawling over the social fabric, snipping at the threads with her scissors. Sometimes she would bite a particularly resilient thread with her teeth, at other places she would ravage an area with both teeth and scissors, rending it so much that the tear could never be patched. Looking closely, Wit saw Parley, in miniature, leaping through each small hole and the surrounding threads pulling themselves back in fear of her, making the gaps wider. One hundred billion threads away he saw the rump of a pink elephant that was trying to squeeze through the gap left by his own passing. And though the Infiniverse traced every life that was, even after they were cut short, the edges were frayed as every thread was eventually cut. Only a couple of infamous names were remembered through the ages - though not forever. Stranded in time those strands raveled their way into the lives of the living from infinitely distant histories. As the Wee-evil snipped and savaged, she occasionally cut a thread when there were no others woven around it - no one else's life was affected. Then Parley passed unnoticed and the grub paused at the tear and shed a tear.

As the lizards approached, the spinner stopped spinning one of the spools and looked at them, the last of that thread slipping between her claws. The grandfather paused for breath then staggered on giving his grandson a weak-reassuring smile. The weaver, however, didn't pause for a second, continuing to thread both lives into the loom. The grandson reached the fire and setting down his tail on the ground lifted up his grandfather's to help him throw it into the fire. The grandfather patted him on the head and said he felt his end was looming and he wanted to watch the boy throw his tail in first; to enjoy the ritual of life one last time. The boy cried out it wasn't true and quickly threw his own tail into the flames where it burst into sparks. As Wit had seen before, one spark flew into the boy's chest and the others shot up into the vault above them to mingle eventually with the sun. Next the boy helped his grandfather heave his tail into the blaze but even as it left their hands, the last of the grandfather's thread was woven into the fabric and he slumped onto the ground. At the same time, the grub with the scissors reached out and cut the glowing cord that bound them together. Sparks flew out of the fire as the old tail exploded but the one that was meant for the grandfather hit the boy in the chest instead. He cried out, calling his grandfather to come back and cried tears of grief into the dry, still and unsmiling scales on the ground. After a while, the boy looked up, focused on one spark that was soaring upwards and called out through the tear in his heart, "I'll see you in the Sun one day grandpa!!" and then he dragged himself away from the fire back towards the cracks in the walls. The severed thread trailed behind him in the dust and ash still glimmering warmly from the all the things his grandfather had shown him throughout his life.

While this was happening, Wit noticed the fear of Parley widening the gap that had been made in the social fabric but the boy's last words seemed to stitch it back together a little. He realised there were many patches across the fabric, some of them elaborate but none of them quite fitting with the beauty of the original interwoven pattern of relationships. While he mused, a white dog turd of ash fell off a log and enveloped the grandfather's body in dust. When it cleared, Wit realised his escorts had shimmered him back under Way-lean who was complaining she had gained a year waiting, though it had only been half a second. She certainly was heavier and, despite her tail, was looking healthier and more human by half.

"So you see Wit," said the Mayor, "Wee-evils are in our lives both weaving and cutting the social fabric. You asked how you could stir the fire. The answer is to build a bond. One day it will be cut and knowing about the tear left behind is the best training in not losing your head - though in your case it's a little too late to dance on that pin. One day all your bonds will be cut, even your parents will be free from their lifelong double tax and at that point you will remember your name. But for now you just need someone who is willing to help you as you helped her."

There was an awkward silence where everyone except Wit thought they knew what the Mayor meant.

"So," said Way-Lean, "You mean someone has to be willing to help Wit which will build a bond between them and so stir the fire?"

"Almost," replied the Mayor patiently. "Except it has to be someone he helped who helps him back. It's no use just doing something for someone if you are not willing to let her or him repay you in some way. Then you would have a lot of bonds hanging off you but they wouldn't be tied to anyone else; a bit like a floppy porcupine."

"Well Wit helped me," said Way-Lean and the three horses sighed in unison. "I could give you a hand," she said stretching her pianist's fingers towards him.

"Thanks Way-Lean but looking at the lizards filing in behind us I think I need to ask one of them if they would lend me a tail. That seems to be the only thing that bursts into sparks."

"But Wit, you wouldn't have done anything for that lizard so there wouldn't be an attachment from your end," said Thera. "Think about how you and Way-lean could cooperate."

"Ooo, I know!" she burst out, "I can give you my tail..."

But Wit looked scared of the debt he would owe for such a generous offer and said, "No, I couldn't, that would be too much..."

"No, really, I'd be happy to be rid of it," she said. "Please?..."

"Well I still think it's too much but it's up to you," and seeing her nodding and smiling, added, "Thank you."

Way-Lean shook herself vigorously, releasing her tail which she picked up and presented to Wit. He took it reluctantly but gratefully and they walked forwards towards the fire to throw it in.

"Next problem," said Wit. "How am I going to carry the spark over to the paper tree without setting it on fire, let alone back to the files?"

"I can give you a hand there," said Sauce wiggling his fins excitedly. "If you need a pot, I'm the man for the job." Wit looked askance but he continued, "Just toss in the tail and I'll catch the spark in my pot belly. It's full of water so the spark will be safe till we get there."

"Um, thanks but water and fire don't mix," said Wit.

"You keep forgetting where you are, even after all this time. Trust me."

Wit smiled at Sauce to reassure himself and lifted the tail - ready to throw it into the fire.

"So all those unraveled threads end up filed away in Alyssum?" he asked, then continued on before anyone could answer, "So eventually I will get to meet my loved ones in there?!"

"Ah Wit, your wits are still wanting for wishes but no, whatever is unraveled cannot be raveled again. There are an infinite number of relationships in the Infiniverse and once cut they can never overlap again. I'm sorry," soothed The Night Mare.

"But if there is an infinite amount of time for me to meet people then everything is possible so eventually we must bump into each other again..."

"Infinite possibility does not result in infinite probability because anything that is infinitely possible is equally infinity impossible. Seven ate Nine until Nine ate Seven, you know."

Wit didn't know but rather than admit it he casually threw the tail into the blaze as if he understood and accepted the outcome. The blast of sparks was blinding. One fizzed towards Wit like lightening but Sauce's tail was curled into a spring and he flung himself into its path like a bodyguard taking the bullet. The spark plopped into the hole in his tummy and spun around inside him, unable to escape. It made him glow yellow, like a paper lantern.

"Right, next stop: Pillow and the paper tree," said Thera and the small band held hands and shimmered together. Wit looked behind, wondering if he had left anything behind.

~ ~ ~

The bit of Wit that had left the 'Tea Files' while thinking about the Emperor's new clothes, went sideways instead of forwards. He landed downwind of 'Herbal Medicines and Other Infusions' and nearly poked his eye out on Mr Chin's knitting needle. Sitting on a saddle with no horse underneath it was a broken little man. He was furiously knitting grey socks to add to the piles of them that were heaped around him. He smiled at the newcomer and, though Wit wasn't quite all there, they struck up a conversation to the clicking of needles. Having exchanged names and occupations and commented on the weather, Wit asked why Mr Chin was knitting so many socks.

"For the soldiers of course. Someone has to look after them," he replied but Wit struggled to put this into context for there were no soldiers around them.

"Oh they're down in the 'Tourists' section having a holiday," he explained. "They'll be back from over there soon and will have worn all their socks out again. It's an endless job... Look, I've worn my fingers to the bone so They gave me fingers of clay instead." And he lapsed into a flurry of clicks before looking up again and enquiring about Wit's health and the price of tea in China these days.

After a bit of needling, Mr Chin divulged his story. He had once been a great emperor who had forced a million people, including wives and children, to slave for a generation making an army to fight for him in the afterlife. However, since being here, the soldiers had constantly been on holiday and he, as their creator, was now responsible for looking after them. Wit discovered he had been there for over two thousand years but still didn't know his name as it hadn't been forgotten in all that time. As Emperor, he had been proud and burned many books that disagreed with him so, in revenge, the Books had written his name in many many others to make him unforgettable. He was called 'Chin,' he said, because he had stuck his neck out by trusting what others told him about life after death. "Advisors! Pah, little better than 'add visors' most of them. So here I am, constantly making new clothes because I trusted people who didn't dare tell me the truth. That's the problem when you kill anyone who disagrees with you: People tell you what you want to hear. Well the last laugh's on me isn't it? The worst part is not all the knitting I have to do but the fact that those advisors all found their names after a couple of generations but mine has been written in so many books I think I'll never know who I was." Wit looked on sympathetically as he kept knitting, socks falling off his needles with little squeaks of joy.

Though not fully appreciating just how vast the Emperor's folly had been and how many socks he still had to knit to warm that many toes, Wit came up with an idea.

"Mr Chin, could I borrow a few bundles of socks from you? I think I could help you dress your soldiers."

"And how would you do that dear boy?" asked the old man. "Have you ever knitted anything?"

"No, but I know where there are a lot of lost socks. If I could match them with yours, then hopefully They would let them into the Files, see? And you would have twice as many as before; as long as the socks all agreed to be worn and are not too worn out that is."

"Yes, there is always a catch. You can say that again; 'always a catch,'" he said muttering to himself. "Well, let's give it a try. It's taken a while but at least I've learned to filter advice rather than just swallow or discard it in bulk. Where are all these socks you saw?" And Wit explained about the paper tree where he had last seen the sock children at play.

~ ~ ~

When Wit arrived with Mr Chin, he found the other part of himself already in conversation with Pillow. Standing around him were Thera and the Mayor plus a huge glowing white seahorse, who would not have been blown over in a draught, standing beside a slender girl, who could have been. She was dressed in flowing silk the colour of skim milk. He barely had time to wonder how he got there ahead of himself when he saw Thera tap the other him on the shoulder. The other him then turned, smiled, excused himself from Pillow's discussion, walked over and kissed him square on the mouth. He let out a gasp of shock but found he was now staring out of the other him's eyes and that he felt a little more together than a second ago. The parts of him that had been to the sea and back nodded to Mr Chin and said they were pleased to meet him and he, in turn, looked at Way-lean amazed that he hadn't recognised her now she had blossomed. He couldn't help asking, "Um, do the cows really benefit?"

"As a species," replied Thera. "But Progress can go too far - like those poor fattened chickens and the steers don't get much out of it."

"Hello Thera," said Mr Chin looking it up and down. "Still hiding your head in shame for having run out on my War all those years ago? Just kidding, how are you holding together?" The Mayor and Sauce snorted derisively at him.

"Still looking for a fight I see Mr Chin," replied Thera with a twinkle in his button eyes. "Sorry, the pieces are all safe and sound, thanks."

"Um, you mean you know where your head is?!" exclaimed Wit also amazed that Thera seemed to know everyone. "How do you know Mr Chin?"

"Oh emperors get around," said Thera. "I knew this one when he was a boy who brought seven kingdoms under his control. I managed to rear up and throw War a few times in those campaigns. Battles are never quite as crazy as the generals intend - are they Mr Chin?"

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it? I got my way and unified the country around the black hole of my ego. Is it still going strong? I guess so but who knows; the boys never tell me what they've been doing there when they get home."

Wit's eyes were getting wider wondering how the soldiers got back there, maybe because they were not alive before, but he could only formulate one question at a time, "You mean you didn't do what War wanted when you were there?!" he asked.

"No," chuckled Thera, "You can't bridle a horse with no head. War was always furious that I'd buck and rear just when he was about to land a devastating blow."

"This nostalgia is all very amusing," simpered Pillow sarcastically, "but could we talk about the here and now? The answer is still, 'no.'"

"You know you can't stop us," said Sauce

"This may not be the Files but I know there are protocols even here and that you do not have as much imagination to skirt them as I have skill to adhere to them, when it suits me."

"In that case we will let the sheaves decide for themselves," said Sauce who then called out in a loud voice, "Would anyone like to come to Alyssum with Wit?" Immediately a rustle of pages came from the tree and many pieces of paper floated down to the ground. Pillow spun and hissed, and the pages shrank back towards the tree trunk quivering. Pillow's yellow eyes narrowed into the slits of a dungeon cell causing Wit to also take a step backwards as he remembered the last time he was imprisoned by her claws.

A number of socks peeked warily out from around the tree trunk, too. Wit remembered why he had come and whispered to Thera his plan to free the socks by pairing them with Mr Chin's. Thera smiled, flicked its sock to indicate that Wit should hold on and shimmered back to the file marked 'Emperors.'

"Cowards," taunted Pillow into the air behind them.

"You're a feisty little kitty aren't you?" chuckled Mr Chin. "How would you like to be my lap cat in Alyssum?" But Pillow just spat at him and hissed, "You know I can't go in there until all my lives are spent you despicable little grasshopper. Get away with your pony mates and that scrawny girl before I shred you all!"

Way-Lean looked worried but far from being cowed the Mayor and Sauce just sniggered and waited for Thera to shimmer back. Mr Chin's face, however, had gone black. He evidently hadn't quite forgotten that he was once great; possibly why the Squire had thought the Mites might be called in.

"YOU IMPERTINENT YOUNG EPIGLOTTIS!" he thundered. "Put a Sock In It!"

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile Wit was gathering up armfuls of the Emperor's socks even as he was asking Thera how they could carry enough back to pair with all the lost socks.

"Take the sock off my head Wit," it said but Wit was reluctant, not wanting to expose Thera to the shame to being a headless horse.

"Come along now; we must get back," said Mr Therasock. So Wit reached up and pulled the sock upward and gaped, open mouthed, at seeing Thera's head right where it should be.

He stopped mid-step while Thera whinnied happily, nuzzled him on the blind side and said, "Allow me to introduce Algernon, my head: Wit, Algernon; Algernon, Wit. Come, fill up Mr Therasock while you ask your never-ending questions."

"What the?!" asked Wit eloquently.

"Close enough," grinned the russet horse's lips and, while Wit continued to pile socks into the sack, it explained, "I lost my head with a blow from behind, as I said, but They suggested I should go back to work anyway, turn my loss into a strength, so long as I didn't mind keeping my head in Alyssum. I stayed sane even though War was crazy, always looking for an opportunity to throw my rider at the wrong moment. You could say They gave me the point: My tale became to tail War to keep the pieces from getting out of control. That's why they call me the Piece. I keep the other piece of me here where it can't get hurt and only join myself together in the Files. There will be no apocalypse of War, Famine and Conquer because you can't fool all of the pieces of society into losing their heads. There will always be some fair-minded folk who cooperate together. Are you ready?" Wit nodded and dragged the huge stretched sock bulging with smaller socks back over to it. He held on and was shimmered straight back to face Pillow who was whining threateningly at the others, unsure who to strike first.

~ ~ ~

Pillow looked at him and, sensing the tide had turned, growled, "This time it is the end for you Wit!" but before Wit had time to worry, a flea jumped between them and swept up the dust that had floated around Pillow's feet. "Sorry," it said, "the 'End Time Predictions' are stuck in traffic. We have about two thousand and twelve of them but they keep getting out of the bag. But it's OK - they are all on tropical island time though they might get here one day. The Mites will sweep them aside if they ever do arrive." And away it popped with the dust, as suddenly as it came.

"Pillow," said Thera from the empty space above its shoulders, having left its head grazing safely in the section marked 'Stray Thoughts and Other Things You Dreamed Up in the Shower But Got Washed Down the Plughole,' "you can intimidate most of the people most of the time but you can't imitate all of the different people all of the time because they are out of control." And with that it upended the sack of grey socks into a squealing heap from where they immediately started hopping around in playful groups. It did not take a moment before a rainbow of lost socks had giggled out from behind the tree and were running around laughing with their new friends in a splendid, chaotic game of mix and match. Before long, socks were finding partners and as they snuggled up together little popping sounds pierced the air as fleas emerged beside them, jumped up to measure they were the right height, if not the right colour, and then vanished them off into 'Mr Chin's Soldiers' section back in Alyssum. Mr Chin ran around giggling too, though it was not clear if he was infected by the socks' mood or thrilled that he had got the day off from knitting. After a while the fleas surrounded and reminded him he had to cook supper back at the barracks.

Pillow's head spun backwards and forwards trying to keep track of the mayhem and then glowered at the Mayor's horn, which had managed to skewer the corner of a passing page of a diary that had never been completed. Seeing she had lost the battle, Pillow sat down and licked her rump as if she hadn't even noticed, though it may have been a flea bite for she flicked her head and tongue around afterwards sending a small dot flying aside to where it could jump onto Parley later.

"Shall we go Wit; Way-Lean?" asked Thera.

"Yes, I think we have everything we need," said Wit.

"N-no, I don't think I can do it," stammered Way-Lean. "Not the Files; my time isn't up is it?"

"Do whatever you like Dear, it's your death," said the Mayor trying hard to look as brown as she could. "You don't have to face it until you're ready. Maybe you'd like a little snooze while you wait? Don't panic, dreams can help to arrest the missing pieces." Way-Lean nodded so, passing the diary page to Wit, the Mayor guided her over to Pillow who breathed on her before stalking away to the far side of the tree. Drowzee Way-Lean lay down to sleep and the Night Mayor nuzzled her gently and then stood guard over her until she, too, was ready to face her fears.

Wit felt the bottle of water in his pocket, gripped the paper and checked that Sauce was still glowing with the spark. "I'm ready," he said. The two horses nodded to each other and the three of them shimmered into Camilla's file; Thera's head reappearing on top of its shoulders as they arrived.

The Squire was slumbering noisily in his chair. The green oolong bush was reading the camellia's dry leaves and whispering about the good and evil that might come. As soon as they saw Wit they both rustled their branches and rustled up the Squire.

"Symtriosis..." he mumbled out of his dream. "Oh, it's you boy. Back in the fullness of time; nothing precipitous, hey? Never mind, I've travelled in snails that were slower. And you brought our perpetually energetic mates, He and It, with you, too. Where's She?"

"She's the cat's mother," chided the green black dragon tea.

" _She's_ a nag," he thought. Then aloud, "So what's this conjuring trick you are going to show us Dragona? Seems a prodigious waste of energy carrying around a spark of life in a seahorse. This better be good."

"Well, it would be better if you helped," chided Camilla. "Make yourself useful and pop down to borrow a shard from Mr Chin will you?" And the Squire shimmered away on his errand.

As usual, Dragona had just ignored him. Fussing around Wit, she quickly fashioned the paper into a water balloon and filled it from his bottle.

"Excuse me," he asked her, "Why doesn't the Squire have any legs? I thought everyone in the Files would be healthy and whole?"

"Oh he's healthy enough," she replied as she waited for the water to soak through the paper, "haven't you heard his lip?! Like you, he was in a hurry to come in; saw no point in cooling his heels in Elysium while he waited for the rest of himself to catch up."

"But he's not complete?" said Wit still unable to reconcile this with his ideas on wholeness.

"Fortunately They don't discriminate against incompleteness. Look at you... Did you finish growing up? So you're not complete either yet here you are."

"Oh," thought Wit realising he had been scythed at the wrong size.

"And imagine what a grind it would be if They monkeyed around not letting in all the people who had kindly donated their organs."

"But doesn't he mind not being complete?!"

"Oh he can remember his legs alright, they are not called phantom limbs for nothing - it's not remembering them every minute of every day that's the trick. But the Squire is not one to be knocked down just for a missing leg or two \- he just hangs in there, standing tall whenever he's facing a black knight. I guess you saw at the Infiniverse how hard it is not to be attached to someone even if they are no longer there? It's the same with losing a limb, it's there in your head - you just have to learn, gradually, not to reach out with it, not to stand on it for support, otherwise it will come back and bite you."

"Come to think of it," pondered Wit incompletely, "why is Mr Chin so old? I thought everyone here would be the same perfect healthy age. Maybe 25, once our brains have finished growing?"

"Eww, now that would be boring wouldn't it?! A universe with such little variety sounds like hell to me; a rainbow in shades of grey is just a fog. Mr Chin looks old because he has been here for a very long time. He is wiser now but he still has quite a lot to learn about getting stains out of the soldiers' clothes; goodness knows what they get up to when they go back there in those tour groups. But they come back with stories to tell or lessons to share. It all adds a bit of colour to the place."

By this time the Squire had returned with a broken piece of pottery that They hadn't yet sorted. Thera took it off his lap and placed it on the floor in front of Sauce.

"Mr Chin said to say sorry he couldn't come to watch," said the Squire, "He's up to his neck in washing and ironing."

Sauce carefully picked the spark up out of his watery belly and placed it on the shard where it coughed twice and shivered.

"You've broken it, haven't you?" the Squire commented. But the spark rubbed its hands together and shook the water out of its ears. Then it started to glow with increased vigour until there was a steady stream of starlight pouring upwards. Dragona picked up the water balloon in one of her branches and held it over the blazelet.

Wits eye's popped. "Won't the paper catch fire?" he asked.

"Not if it stays wet," replied Dragona and she adjusted the height just a little so that the water that had soaked through the paper wouldn't dry up. It steamed, but more soaked through to take its place, while at the same time the heat was soaking up and bringing the small cup to the boil. Soon enough, there were little glubs of bubbles floating to the top but still the three varieties of tea stood still, respectfully waiting until it was bubbling rapidly. Then, even as they watched, the little pot boiled and Camilla stepped forward and plunged a branch of her dry leaves through the steam to let them infuse the water with mild green tea. And, as the spring water flushed green, Spring green flushed Camilla. She turned from a withered dry bush into a flowering fresh one.

"How extraordinary," muttered the Squire.

"Right, there you are then. Well done everyone," said a flea that had jumped up to Wit while he was transfixed on the tea ceremony in his honour. "You've ticked all the boxes so Evon has awarded you a tick just in case We need to tax you further. And it pinned a small tick to his sock; that being as high as it could reach. It clung on, looking like a gold star reward and smiled at him reassuringly as if to say, 'don't worry, I won't bite - yet.'

"Um, besides making green tea, what boxes did I tick?" asked Wit bemused.

"Helping Way-Lean out of her hole then letting her return the favour; helping Mr Chin get socks for the soldiers while at the same time helping so many lost socks to find a partner; and most importantly: letting everyone else help you make tea without making a big deal of the fact that doing so helped Camilla too," it said jumping up to tick each one off the list that had appeared beside it. "Oh, and you also made up with yourself. Your File is over in the 'Lost Boys' section between 'Pilots That Never Land' and 'Foreign Fickle Fathers' but feel free to wander around and get to know some of our more colourful characters who hang out at the 'Lie Bury;' we've collected a few of them over the last six million years." And then it was gone.

Wit looked around at the small group that was smiling proudly at him. Thera trotted over and nuzzled him, "Good work Wit. I'm sorry I have to get back to find Mr Sock in Elysium, Pillow's probably sleeping on him. But maybe you'd like to look after my head, Algernon, for a while until you find your feet?"

"Sure," said Wit grateful to be with an old friend, even if it was the other piece of it. He reached up and patted the strong neck but as he did so the body shimmered out from under it and he was left holding the russet head in his arms.

"Please, call me Nobody," Thera's head snickered merrily, then it shimmered as well taking both of them off on the adventure of his life.

In Finito

~ ~ ~

Author's post-word:

Parley After Life is a grave allegory. Any reference, which may make you think of yourself, anyone else or any organisation is solely in your imagination and the tension that causes is not intentional. We apologise for the inconvenience,xv P.J. Potts.

Back to Chapter 1

~ ~ ~

~

**Key to the Novel**

'Paint a punk elephant... one pink spot at a time,' is a play on the mind game, 'Try not to think of a pink elephant.' Once imagined, it is impossible to remove the image by trying to concentrate on not thinking about it. It is also a play on Creighton Abrams' sage words, "When eating an elephant take one bite at a time." I.e. Insurmountable problems can be overcome if tackled step by step. ~ ~ ~ Sindé's advice is the key to the novel. It is premised on the belief that grief is a form of posttraumatic stress disorder PTSD because it involves involuntary repetition of memories and imagined interactions regarding a loved one who can no longer reciprocate. These memories are like ghosts, they are not alive but sap energy from us and can even drive us to distraction. The best way to stop thinking of a 'pink elephant' is to think of something else. For example, if you want to get an annoying song out of your head, don't try not to think about it - rather, think of a different song. Replace the focus of the neurons that were dedicated to the first song with a different focus rather than trying to leave them without a focus. You may find that the second song gets stuck in your head but hopefully you will have chosen to replace it with a song that is not so annoying. ~ ~ ~ The same principle can be applied to any number of mental images or combinations of images and conversations that can get stuck in our minds. Grief or PTSD can likewise be dealt with by learning to distract yourself. Trying to ignore the feelings and images or even to deny they are real may not help to stop them repeating nor alleviate the anguish or fears they reignite. The more effective method that the author is suggesting is to deal with them by recognising when they start then using that to trigger a process of active self-distraction. Pre-prepare other images or mental tasks that will refocus the brain's energy and draw you away from the source of anguish.

Please note, the author strongly recommends that professional psychological help be sought for PTSD and overwhelming grief. Grief counseling services based on cognitive behavioral therapy are an essential tool to help move through this period in your life. Likewise PTSD should not be seen as a mental health 'weakness' but rather as signal that the 'machinery' of the mind just needs retuning by a professional 'thought mechanic.' A Google search of qualified cognitive behavioral psychologists in your local area is a good place to start. The author recommends making an appointment today if possible.

