"You! You have the soul of a dog!" she exclaimed.
"Ha! You have the soul of a pig!" he returned.
"Oh yes? Well, you have the soul of a pig’s parasite!" she volleyed.
A screaming came across the sky.
"Why … you have the soul of a worm!" he parried.
"Is that so… Well you – have the soul – of a water rat!" she delivered.
"Brrngmmgn… And you have the soul of a dragonfly!" he rebounded.
Riverrun a lone a last a long the -
"Well so … you have the soul of a dragonfly’s dung!" she twatted back.
She stood erect, her manly breasts many breasts proud. She was a hell of a bird, but intelligent and sassy and smart too. Feisty by name, Feisty by design, she used to say, snapping back one of her breasts then releasing it to knock the others in synch like a Newton’s cradle. In this way she mesmerised her victims.
"I win!" she heralded.
"Huh-whu??!?!" he asked back. "But you broke the rules, dung is not even a living thing!"
She picked up the box. "The first player to reach full italics wins, irrespective of breaches of other rules," she read off. "Right, little one?"
Unkadn’s eyes went round in spirals, unable to break free of the force of her Hypnotits. "Yes…" he monotonously warbled. "Right – little – one…" One day soon he would learn the rules of Our Souls properly and give her a damn good seeing to.
Suddenly they were up in the air. The amphibious landing craft BoatTerror XIII floated at a right speed over the atmosphere of the ancient land of Sestlimpap, powered only by Feisty’s thoughts and Unkadn’s solid waste, which was what the game of Our Souls had been set out to decide about, and so Unkadn was eating like blazes to keep up the fuel supplies, now that fossil fuels had been run out by this follysome planet’s former inhabitants, hummus apings or something Feisty had told Unkadn they had been called ("Watch out!" exacerbated Unkadn with tears in his eyes as a turd came out sideways, urging Feisty to have a particularly big think to raise them up over a strange metallic criss-cross structure that came up in a point like a giant A and had words on it in strange sigils and hieroglyphs that looked something like 2089 Troisieme Centenaire, whatever that could mean, he wondered what the building was and what it meant, what a strange planet this was), for four miles.
Time passed. It was clear above, blue and not pink as in the real world (of Unkadn), and below the BoatTerror XIII – which was made of glass even underneath – it looked like a mineral quarry in greens and blues and oranges and colours.
"What are we doing here anyway Feisty?" Unkadn querulously put.
"Oh how many times must I tell thee?" repeated Feisty, bending over. "We are here on a mission of healing and recovery for a lost world. For the demon known as Grahaparsni hath shackled ye world to a slavery involving pain and people being used as batteries for his computer matryx, and the theft of 'ydeas' and children too, even babies, and it turns out ye world is just an illusion anyway. Now read on!!!"
So, reader, we beat on, BoatTerror XIII against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the future! And beyond!
(TO BE CONTINUED...)
