250 Words: An unruly strip of land

The land is caged like a beast.  It was dug up to lay pipes and now it is convalescent.
Before the wounding it was meddled with by man, regularly trimmed to keep it in line.
Now nature returns with unexpected surprises: a wealth of plants grow tall within the
confines of the temporary fence.  Before, where short grass lay like a carpet, various
“weeds” grow in different varieties, blooming into a spectrum of colours.

Across the path a child sits on a swing and stares with a sad look in his eye,
imagining the possibilities of exploration denied.  He thinks of the bugs and worms
he might have tried to grasp while deep within a ladybird climbs to where the boy
can only dream and tips her hat to the cabbage white and the earwig.  From the
new heights she wonders how she managed before and decides to spend her life in
search of such havens of wonder as dandelion seeds float by.

Or so the boy sees in his mind as he leaves the swing’s seat to walk home for tea.
This evening, before bed, he will ask his father to read to him about Scott or Drake
or Columbus and he will dream of travels abroad and talking with Indians.  Or,
perhaps, after staring at the moon, he will dream a journey into space and making
first contact.

Or maybe he’ll just return as a bug to that unruly strip of land that first started his
brain a-thinking.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn (32): The Animal Help Era, No 1: An Introduction or The Start of a New Era in Attempted Unicorn Capture

I had already rejected the very idea of human help, course, because of the niggling feeling that that person might covet the unicorn a little too much and I would wind up with a rival.

But the offer of help from the Snake, Salazar, could well be a different matter - a new way to crack the problem, or try to.  It was John that helped me see it. 

Initially I had forgotten all about Salazar and John that was to be.  On the way home following the porridge episode I started thinking about how to I had started to think about how to follow up that plan.  I figured the porridge could still be used - the unicorn had clearly been interested; I just needed to find another way to get it to her.

A plan started to form in my mind's eye.  A more long winded one to those of norm that would take a fair bit of planning, maybe even moving into the forest.

I was brainstorming as I drove, trying to remember all the details so as I could jot it all down when I got home.  But it all fell out of my head for a few weeks when my flow was disturbed by a squeaking from the passenger seat.

I had forgotten all about the little white mouse who had acted as a taster for the unicorn.  I suppose I'd assumed he had toddled off back to his forest life.  But, of course, I hadn't seen him again because the mouse's existence had become nought to me the second I saw the unicorn.  Yet there he was, looking up at me from the passenger seat with perfect little black spherical eyes.

After pulling into my drive, I picked up the mouse and attempted to release him into the wild of my front garden.  Instead he followed me into my house and became a lodger, becoming attached to me, determined to help me in my quest.  I named him John, after my favourite literary mouse; though I was never sure of gender, to be honest - I should have guessed much earlier than I did.

John began living on my kitchen table.  I would have bought him a cage but he never seemed to leave the table.  Certainly nothing was ever nibbled at or anything and he made no mess or smell.  He was the perfect guest, quite content to simply nibble on some cheese each night and sleep in the ash tray some arse had brought back from somewhere for me for no apparent reason.

After a couple of days John started to become irritable with me, continually tugging on my sleeve with his tiny teeth and running to my 'paper.

I would spread it out on the table, slowly turning the pages while John would watch and wait.  When a picture of an animal featured he would quickly dash to it, standing on it and jump up and down and stand on his haunches, looking at me as if waiting for something.

It took me far too long to work it out.  I never was particularly fast.  I twigged when he first jumped on a photo of a colourful snake not too unlike Salazar.  I folded the newspaper so that you could see the snake and put it aside out of curiosity before embarking on some unicorn research.  Pretty soon John was going spare, jumping on a hopelessly inaccurate picture of a unicorn like he was possessed.  And then he ran back and forth again and again between the unicorn and the snake until my brain finally gave way and a tiny light bulb flickered and glowed a little.

And that is how (and when) John the Mouse became my guide to the animals in the forest in the era of animal help.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn (31): Porridge (1)

After failing to overload the unicorn with oats, I figured I should try and lure her with them instead.  The clearing had thus far proved an unsuccessful battleground after all.  Maybe it was time to move away, mix things up a bit.

I parked the van across a lay-by at the edge of the forest with the back end up against the turf curb and the doors thrown open.  In the back I set up a small cauldron on top of a four-hob camping stove.  All four hobs I fired up and in the cauldron I made some porridge which I heated and stirred until it was boiling and producing as much steam as it could.  Then I helped nature along by switching on a big fan.

The first animal to approach was a red squirrel.  His little head popped up out of the centre of a mulberry bush, his nose twitching.  But he was too shy to get any closer and soon disappeared from sight.

Not long after a sleepy looking badger shuffled out of the forest's cover and wandered up to the van.  I ladled out a bowlful and watched as she ate up the contents before sidling off back home to sleep.

Shortly after, a grey squirrel came bounding along out of a tree and into the van where the cheeky devil begged for a feed.  He turned down the porridge offered on a spoon which confused me.  Until the squirrel pointed at my lunchbox and I remembered the nuts.

Soon after the squirrel bounded off happy and full of monkey nuts.  I was still awaiting the unicorn's presence and cleaning up the shells when something seen out the corner of my eye made me freeze.  A blue and green striped snake was slithering through the grass towards me.  My body paused while my eyes followed the snake, its tongue flicking out every second, guiding it to my cauldron.  Finally it reached the van disappearing for a moment before rearing its head and meeting my petrified eyes.

It was a friendly snake, though, and we chatted about my quest.  He agreed in principle to help me out at some point in the future and even wished me luck.

Ten or twenty minutes after Salazar wiggled away a magical otter appeared out of thin air, looking up at me with huge, moist black eyes.  Once she had had a taste, the otter seemed to mouth an incantation whilst staring blindly ahead and a mole appeared just as she had but poking out of a molehill.  They both ate two whole bowlfuls.

A Forest Imp was my next visitor.  He was a jolly soul.  Telling me about his treehouse home and his whole (extended so many times) family and his Town Imp cousins, one of these Towmps poses as a midget and interacts with humans, would you believe.  And all sorts about the forest - about virtually every aspect of it, in fact, bar the unicorns.  And he didn't even have any porridge he spoke so much.

The Frimp was quickly replaced by a sprite I suspect had been waiting in a bush for the chatterbox to leave.  I warded it off with a big stick, the odious little wretch.

Then followed a period of quiet...

...ended by a really trippy experience.  It started with a translucent hand coming out of a silver birch.  This was followed by the rest of a green body, topped off with hair made of silver birch leaves.

This spectre was followed by another, brown in colour, from a neighbouring fir tree, again with hair like its tree's foliage.  Soon an apparition was exiting from every tree this side of the forest and they were all advancing toward me - a host of green and brown ghosts.

I was shit scared I don't mind telling you.  Especially when I heard the voice in my head.  One of them, maybe all of them, was apologising, saying they could not resist and would I mind if they tried some.  "We are tree spirits, by the way," I was told when handing over the first bowl, my hand shaking. 

They all liked the porridge very much and soon cleared me out, leaving me right where I had started.  Once they were gone I let out a sigh and picked up the oats again.

By the time I was up and running again, Sports Report was coming to an end and the light was fading.  A white mouse appeared and I started to lose hope.  I offered the tiny creature a spoonful to sample.  She sniffed at the mixture and began to squeak excitedly.

And that's when I spotted her.  Obscured by some hawthorns, nose flaring, she was clearly excited.  She stepped forward when the mouse stopped its report but ceased her movement a foot or two after the trees ended and stared fixedly at the cauldron.

Her nostrils kept sniffing the air, her tongue flicked out of her mouth and licked her lips several times, and her front hooves were shaking slightly, trying but failing to stay still.  Once or twice one or the other foot was lifted and put back down again.

Clearly something was holding her back.  Her senses cried yes! but that something inside would not let her step forward and enjoy.

She stepped forward twice but stopped as her knees and then her body began to shake violently as if she were scared.  This lasted for ten or twenty seconds and then the shaking abruptly stopped.  The something inside had won.  Before she turned away, her eyes seemed to look down at the van's back tyres and her head shook from side to side a couple of times.

250 Words: From the report of the lead investigator in the case of the Heimdall mystery

We arrived two days after the incident.  Aside from the bodies there were two
anomalies suggesting the presence of an intruder.  Firstly, the CCTV had been
cut shortly after Thompson had returned from his space walk.  Additionally, the
computers had been used to access almost every subject relating to humankind
(history, geography of earth and the intergalactic regions, biology too).  Most
worryingly, every detail of the space fleet had been comprehensively researched.

And, although the investigation team found no foot, finger or hand prints nor any
DNA evidence, the evidence of the crew's bodies conclusively shows there was an
intruder.

Jonsson and Thompson were found slumped at the lounge table.  They had been
disturbed during post-dinner drinks, too quickly to be able to react it would seem.
An implement had been forced through both their heads: first into the back of
Thompson's head and then between Jonsson's eyes.  This implement (which was
round with a diameter of 5cm; there is no evidence to suggest anything else about
it)  was then removed and wiped clean, leaving a puddle of blood, bone and brains
two metres behind Thompson. We believe the computers were accessed before this
event, probably while the crew ate dinner.

The ship's systems were shut down to conserve evidence after the crew failed to
report, the CCTV was found to be not transmitting and no evidence of life showed
itself.  The intruder had clearly departed long before the incident was discovered or
else they surely would have been seen.

Myths of our Solar System (35): Sedna seethes

She sunk to the bottom, what was left of her hands outstretched and reaching toward the
surface and the sunlight.  At this point she was still in shock, unable to kick her legs and
move upward and she moved ever downward, leaving behind trails of red from the open
wounds where her fingers had been.

It was the stinging from the salt water that started to bring her round and see what her
father had done.  After she’d been on the bottom a while, her fingers joined her (already
showing the smallest signs of transformation) and Sedna began to seethe.

Already with gills on her neck, she saw her future and was angered that she would never
see the land again.  Or her friends and family.  She would never feel the air or the wind in
her hair- her hair that would always be at the will of the water and that she would never be
able to do anything with anyway as she had no fingers.

And the resentment built up until Sedna could no longer simply seethe and bottle it up.

Instead she screamed and from her mouth came the most terrible currents causing a most
awful storm that wrecked men on shores distant from their homes and lasted for some
forty days and nights until Sedna saw from the corner of her eye what her fingers had
become.

She saw seals, polar bears, whales, fish, dolphins, sharks- and all the creatures of the
sea.  And she saw she would not live alone and that she was now the mother of the sea.
Sedna became calm and began to adapt to her new life as she met and learned about her
children.

However, sometimes she would think of what had happened, and she would begin again
to seethe until she exploded once again, sending out another storm through the seas from
her home to all the shores of men.

Myths of our Solar System (34): Sedna, first water-bound traveller

Sedna was initially uninterested in the role Mother Earth tried to give her.  Water, to her,
was not a practical thing but, when warmed and scented, a thing of great pleasure.  Ah! to
be submerged, the water surrounding her every part and caressing each simultaneously,
arousing her senses beautifully.

But to do all the things Mother Earth was suggesting seemed wrong somehow.  When
her mother mentioned Neptune, however, something stirred in Sedna’s stomach and she
changed her mind.

After she had risen to her feet, her eyes wide and her cheeks covered with dry mud,
Sedna said goodbye to her siblings and quickly learned foraging skills from Ceres before
travelling out into This World in search of water.

Sedna soon found a river.  First she removed her shoes and carefully dipped her toes,
initially recoiling at the cold of the water.  But she was hot and sticky from walking and
soon felt there would be benefits to getting in.  Sedna therefore stripped naked and cooled
herself in the river, soon learning to float peacefully on her back and then swim through the
clear waters.

Sedna travelled on finding further streams and rivers as well as lakes.  Mother Earth spoke
to her again on a bank by her first lake and Sedna built her first boat, rowing it across and
around the expanse of water.

Onward Sedna continued until one day when she saw her first sand dunes, over which
blew a salty wind that intrigued her greatly.  Beyond the dunes Sedna found her first sea.
And in it she swam, initially put off by the salt but soon enjoying the waves and the beach.

She listened to the Sea Hydros and built a second boat, a sailboat, and took it along the
coast and then out to sea.  Here she found a much changed Neptune and together they
swam in the ocean and got to know one another while resting in Sedna’s boat, Neptune
introducing her to the fruits of the sea.  And Sedna enjoyed her time at sea, until she
realised that she had to go back to her people.

Upon her return to the First Settlement, Sedna showed the people of This World how to
fell trees and strip their branches.  Then how to hollow the trunk to make a canoe and also
how to make planks and use these to make larger vessels with oars and/or sails.  Then
to the waters she took them, at first to learn and for pleasure, teaching them to swim and
paddle their canoes, allowing them to get used to the strange sensation of being on water.

Eventually Sedna introduced nets and spears for finding food.  First on the rivers and lakes
and then out to sea, introducing mankind to the Sea Imps (or Seamps as they would later
become known).  Then Sedna travelled, locating other islands and lands, always travelling
with the protection of Neptune and his Seamps, a tradition that continued until the Second
Coming of the Dark Warrior.

Sedna became more and more attached to Neptune, her feelings gathering within her and
turning to the warm glow of love.  And the same occurred within him so that while they
were apart the two would-be lovers pined for one another, Sedna crying to Mother Earth
about the situation.  Until Mother Earth and the Sea Hydros came to an arrangement.

Sedna was told to say goodbye to her siblings and to enter one of Pluto’s wells where, as
had happened to Neptune during The Chaos, she was transformed and transported to the
sea.  And Sedna lived happily ever after with Neptune as his queen, continuing to help and
teach humans at sea.

250 Words: What’s the deal with Stanley Steel?

What is the deal with young Stanley Steel?  He sits across the room at his desk
all day like an anxious animal afraid of a predator’s presence.  His hand, it shakes
permanently and his face always wears a look of extreme concentration as if he is
listening intently.  Always in this way he sits while simultaneously fulfilling the bullet
points in his job description as if another person lives inside a rigidly fixed shell of a
body.

That is until a look of pure ecstasy appears on his face and he takes one of his, often
rather long, trips to either the toilet or the stationery cupboard.  From where he will
tend to return looking quite refreshed before sitting down at his desk and returning to
that pose like a statue that is waiting for life.

He has not been exactly the same since his accident six months ago- that’s when
this whole mind seemingly only half there business began.  Before he would chat
and drink tea while somehow managing to clear the jobs put in his in tray.  And there
are the those stories circulating of accidents without harm- boiling water poured
on his hand, for instance, and a dog that supposedly savaged his hand and left no
mark.

And there is that man who keeps saving lives and capturing criminals all over the
world.  A man whose deeds usually appear on internet news sites shortly after
Stanley Steel has returned from either the stationery cupboard or the toilet…

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn (30): Too Many Oats

Now I knew she liked oats a lot.  Time and again they had helped to draw her in in one way or another and I had been trying to think of a way they could work a plan on their own for quite some time.

The inspiration for this one came from a party for my Gran’s 80^th Birthday.  It was staged round at her house, complete with a large and, not-too-elaborate, buffet on offer.  There was loads of nice food - crisps, dips, ham sandwiches, egg sandwiches, tuna and salmon (not mixed) too and cheese and pork pies and sausage rolls - all good stuff.

Most people there ate quite a lot, gave themselves a decent feed, but my uncle went way over the top.  I swear he must have had half of what was there.  Back he went, again and again, returning each time with a mini mountain of food on his plate.  First with the savoury, then again with the sweet - drowning the poor pieces of cake in vast seas of cream.

Eventually he stopped getting up.  Finally defeated, he fell asleep for a bit.  At home time, two of his sons had to help him out to the car as he was still semi-comatose.

"What a plan!"  I thought and borrowed a trough from a farmer friend under false pretences, filling it to the top with sweet, sweet oats.

The unicorn duly started to eat them on her arrival - tucking in and burying her nose and mouth deeply, gorging herself on the trough’s contents, clearly surprised and happy to have so much at once, unable to believe her luck. 

And as she ate, I kept it topped up.  I had several bags of oats at the ready to help make sure her stomach would get more and more full.  One bag went in - and these were big bags, sacks really, and she didn’t look like slowing down.  A second, then a third, a fourth… and I was soon out and on she kept going through what was in the trough.  I thought what I had would do her.

Mistaken, I went to get the two extra sacks I’d brought with me just in case.  By the time I got back, the trough was licked clean and we started again, with me hoping each bag would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

But it never seemed to be.  She picked up the last of the oats with her tongue and looked up at me proudly.  I groaned and started to move the trough back onto the cart I had pulled it out on. 

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (29) Wrestling I

I have no idea of the context of the conversation or anything much about it at all but it involved the need to wrestle a horse to the ground.  I remember thinking how humorous and ridiculous it sounded at the time.  The very idea seemed absurd, impossible even.  Now it sounded very useful indeed.

So I hit the clearing and laid down some oats to keep the unicorn occupied.  And then I cleared the area of stray twigs and dry leaves, anything that might make a noise to alert her to my presence.  Then I did what I spend most of my time doing.

I waited in the bushes.  By now the ground had grown accustomed to my ass.  A dent had been created by my weight and in it I would nestle and roost each week waiting to put a plan into action.  It was surprisingly cosy, actually.  Like Homer on his couch awaiting a new season, I would sit, crack into position, hugging my legs in anticipation, eyes alert, scrolling the scene for that first flash of white.

Which that day came soon after three, not long after I’d had an afternoon cup of tea.  She entered the clearing, her head held high until she found the clearing empty of contraptions when it dropped and she sat down dejected.

I cursed in my head - how had she not seen, or at least smelt, the oats?  Normally it would not take so long.  And then she sneezed a funny little sneeze and everything made sense. 

Thinking on my feet I picked up one of the twigs I’d hurled aside earlier and threw it towards the oats.  Hearing the small pat of the twig hitting the ground the unicorn turned around and perked up immediately on the sight of those oats, so delicious to her. 

Once her nose was buried I started to creep up on her, my eyes fixed on her behind, trying to spot any movement that might indicate she knew what I was up to while moving as silently as possible so as not to make her tail twitch.

Following a nervous and long couple of minutes I was in a position to pounce.  I paused, a little worried of what I was about to do, I didn’t want to shock her too much or hurt her in any way.  I remembered the first time I had seen her and had tried to approach her, how she had run on the moment I had put my hand out and how far I had come since then.  Then something inside took over and I just did it.

I dived at her middle, wrapping my arms around her and pushing the unicorn to the ground.  She resisted, of course, trying to push me off but I had caught her just right and sat on her, had her pinned as I took a rope from my waist and tried to gather her legs in to immobilise her - I had a cart waiting in the wings. 

She must have seen WWF before or something because right at the last second, just before she was to be bound, just when she looked defeated, the unicorn made her body convulse, a ripple running right across her torso, sending my sorry ass flying.

I composed myself quickly, turning and pulling myself to my knees in time to see the unicorn’s advance, head down slightly, a grin on her face.  I smiled back and prepared for her strike.

What followed was something akin to the metopes on display of the British Museum showing the fight between the lapiths and the centaurs but with a little of the playfulness and gentleness of lovers injected in that we both held back for fear of hurting the other.  Only a little, though - the unicorn was still ultimately fighting for her freedom and a certain grit determination remained in her eyes.

We tussled this way and that, moving one moment fluidly to gain the upper hand, the next jerking to get free of the other’s grip until I was suddenly on my back, my shoulders pinned to the ground by the unicorn’s hooves.

I held out my hands and said, “I submit,” smiling again as I had at the start of the fight proper.  I had to hand it to her, she’d beaten me fair and square.  All I could do was walk away defeated but energised by the exercise.

We did not wrestle again for a long time.  I wish that first time had been the last.

250 Words: 14th August 2007

Once his time machine was finished, Vincent Vane had a quick think.  He decided
he was a little too nervous to try out the machine before knowing for sure if it would
work.  Though he told himself this way round made more sense, although he wasn’t
sure exactly how.

Having made his decision, Vincent left the garage, returned to the house and sat
down on his bed to wait, making a check of the time.  About sixty seconds later
he heard the front door open and a strangely recognisable gait climb the stairs.  A
smiling face then appeared in his room and Vincent could see he was about to have
fun.

And how!  Vincent Vane proceeded to have the best sex of his life that grey and
dismal afternoon.  Everything about it was just as perfect as he had imagined it
would be.  All the disappointments of the past faded away and he began to think
about all the future sessions ahead of him.  Still, it wasn’t over yet and chickens
shouldn’t be counted before hatching.

After his lover had kissed him and left, Vincent had a refreshing cup of tea and a
shower (the evidence of both being noted in his lover) before returning to the garage
to operate his new toy.

Before long Vincent was back in his bedroom for more of the same.  Even though
he knew basically what was ahead of him it was still fantastic, still highly worthwhile
inventing the machine that made it possible.

Myths of our Solar System (33): Eris has a think and makes a decision

Eris looked about the world and despaired at the treatment of her fellow women.  She
saw a long line of women screwed over by men all over the place- among them tales
of abandonment, imprisonment, sacrifice and self-destruction.  While in others were
women pursued against their will and only able to escape through suicide or permanent
transformation.  And all women (and some men to be fair…) were in danger of becoming
the plaything of Zeus (even if they transformed themselves), further forcing the hand of
Hera to cause further distress.

Elsewhere she saw Eos, in the same role as Helios but lowlier than he; the barbarian
Amazons, an inversion of how men desired their women to be; Cassandra, who was
cursed and raped; various monsters of danger to men; Antigone, pure as pure could be
and yet still driven to the same fate as her mother.  And Pandora- of course it would be a
woman who would bring all bad things to the world- nobody ever blamed the Gods who
gave her the vase rather than keep it safe in the heart of Mount Olympus.  Eris didn’t even
want to think about the potential sexual meaning in that tale.

And yes there was wisdom, love, self-sacrifice and adoration that did not cost.  There
were the Fates who ultimately held the power; the Furies, the ultimate judge, jury and
executioner; and the Muses, who brought so much joy.  Though they do not create art
themselves, and women could not even enjoy the output, anyhow.  That was the domain
of men because the whole reality that Eris was seeing was that the cities of men were
run entirely by men, for men.  Women were kept hidden away upstairs at home and
were veiled when allowed outside, taking no part in the democracies, monarchies and
oligarchies.  Sent away into marriage with money to sweeten the deal, they were nought
but property for breeding, most of their daughters being exposed to escape later expense.

Eris saw all this and decided to take matters into her own hands.  She would do all she
could to upset the male monster.  She would move among them, much like Euranos,
and whisper and spread dissent, chaos and strife.  She would teach them a thing or two.

Although few of the pig-headed bastards would actually learn.

Myths of our Solar System (32): Eris, vessel of an organised chaos

Like Makemake, Eris was treated differently from their siblings.  Though this had not
always been the case.  Eris had been a sweet girl, and kind too, until the day she played
alone by the Tree of Life.

Among the roots she found one of the Fruits of Knowledge- an extra one that had
fallen and been hidden from the view of the Knowledge Seekers.  Eris decided
in an instant that she wanted to be wise like the wizards (who she believed had eaten the
other fruits) and gobbled it down quickly and greedily.  But, under it’s unblemished exterior,
the fruit had gone rotten and the knowledge Eris received was of the most horrible kind.

This knowledge tainted the mind of the young girl and from then on Eris became unhinged
and violent, the knowledge in her mind driving her to commit nasty acts.  Especially toward
Makemake, who she tormented, playing tricks on him and often beating him up.

Saturn had warned Mother about Eris.  He didn’t know why, exactly, but he did know that
Eris should be kept away from her uncle, the man who now resides beneath us all, and
maybe all others.  But it wasn’t until the day Mother caught Eris attempting to cut off one of
Makemake’s ears that Eris was kept away from all others.

Eris remained on her own until the First World started to fall apart and, when the Tree of
Life rose into the air and scattered the tower hither and thither, she was sent flying far
away.

In time Eris made her way back to the First Settlement, her mind racing and eager to
wreak further chaos upon everyone she found there.  Each night as Eris lay on the ground
to sleep, Mother Earth would try and talk to her estranged daughter, pleading with her to
calm down and to avoid her uncle.

The former Eris actually managed, a return to nature’s wonder reminding her of what she
had once been like, so that when she reached the First Settlement she was quite calm and
shocked her siblings with her wholly new demeanour.  Yet still, they stayed apart from her,
scared of what she might do.

The latter request, however, Eris became more keen to do and actively sought out the
daemon who would later split This World.  When Eris saw her uncle, for the first time ever
as it happened, they each saw in the other something they thought was only in them- Eris
seeing him as a means to comfort her, as the one person who would understand and who
could help her stay calm- maybe even return her to her former self; while her uncle saw
only a new tool.

They became great friends and, in time, Eris became keen to unload her troubled mind
and eventually she imparted to him the knowledge she had gained from the rotten fruit and
set him onto the road that would lead to the First War.

As with Venus before her, Eris saw what she had done and what this beast might do as
her mind finally, fully, came to terms with the knowledge she had and realising that it should
have remained with her.

Quickly, then, before the First War had got going, Eris went to Jupiter and his followers
and told them of the ways of war.  And she told them more than she had told her uncle,
thus saving humanity from the grasp of the man who rules the Underearth.

250 Words: The little boy and the fat man

The little boy and the fat man blew from a great height and ravaged all in the way
of their explosive anger.  Giants of their kind, like Godzilla after them, they moved
through the towns they had been sent to and proceeded to twist metal and smash
stones until buildings fell broken to the ground.  They marched for miles, razing and
reducing as they, in turn, took their targets apart with the same ease a knife slides
through butter.  All in a flash that left the remains burning with few left to fight the
flames.

Where they didn’t kill indiscriminately and instantly, their breath, filled with heat and
poison, burned dress patterns into skin, fused children to their tricycles and melted
eyes from their sockets (leaving the rest to cry gunk from the empty holes).  And
then it hung in the air, invisible to the eye, so that it could infect and distort bodies for
years to come.

They sat back after and claim to have saved lives by slaughtering thousands.  And
that they have seven relations ready to come and do the same.  That the graveyards
without tombstones they have made are preferable to fields of shining white and
identical gravestones that would be forged here and back home.  They make their
point in a devastating way, like fists the size of hams squashing ants.  And it is hard
to fight back when you are so appalled and when other events, though smaller in
scale, can be pointed to.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (28) The Cage, Episode Two

I spent the Sunday of that weekend sweeping the soil away and the grass and the plants I had covered the clearing with.  Carefully removing this artificial topsoil, putting it into wheelbarrows and scattering it like compost around the forest hoping it might nourish something, do some good.

By the end of that day I had a dirty clearing made up of flowers and grass flattened and mixed with dirt impossible to completely remove.  Before going home I carefully wheeled the cage bottom back to the roadside and transferred its little garden to create a new one by the roadside to greet me each week on my arrival.  I stored the cage bottom under some tarpaulin at the forest’s edge.  Ultimately I left the clearing that day in the hope that wind and time might help restore.

Which it did amazingly.  The clearing looked resplendent, had regenerated beautifully, the next weekend when I returned with the cage bottom and placed it, with the axe and four jacks, just outside the clearing before setting up a new pile of oats.  My plan now was to drop the cage onto the unicorn without the cage bottom.  That part of the plan had probably been flawed anyway.  The chances of the top falling in just the right place was extremely minimal.  Instead I would jack up two sides of the cage and gently slide the bottom under.  Again, this was risky as the unicorn was unlikely to play along.  If she refused to budge I had a load of tranquillisers ready to put her out.  I know that hadn’t worked before but I had more this time and was determined to make use of this goddamn cage after making the effort to build the darn thing. 

Around the same time as the previous week, the unicorn entered the clearing, and, pleased with its appearance, walked across to where the mound of oats was located, looking around for a moment or two before tucking in gleefully.  I exploded into action, bringing the axe into the air and then sliced through it and the rope.

The top half of the cage came down quickly with an almighty crash, the hollow bars ringing for a full thirty seconds as I approached to examine my caged friend.  She was a little shaken by the ringing, I think, and when she saw me, gathered herself quickly together and looked as blasé as ever, and awaited  my next move.

Which, as you know, was to raise the cage a little and slide its bottom underneath ready to take the unicorn home.  She watched me eagerly as I put the four car jacks into position, as if waiting for a trick.  All she got was me slowly raising up the cage by working each jack a little at a time until it was far enough off the ground.  Then I fetched the cage bottom and gently slid it under, removing each jack as I got to them, allowing the bottom to take the weight and sliding it along to the final position once all the jacks were out and locking it in place.  To my surprise, the unicorn was extremely willing to go along with all of this.  She simply stepped up onto the platform and continued watching me, waiting to see what I was to do.  Finally, I tied a rope onto one side of the cage and prepared to haul it home.

The moment the rope was taut she made her move.  Just as the wheels were about to turn the bars of the cage began to vibrate.  Only very slightly at first (but noticeable as the vibrations sent their waves up the rope), then more and more violent until I thought the cage might fall apart.  Fortunately it didn’t and the vibrations stopped.  I smiled a smug smile and turned to start the transportation again.

That’s when  I first heard the ringing of the bars, all the side bars, as they cried out.  Cried out because they were slowly and forcefully being twisted anti-clockwise until they first began to resemble the spiral pattern on galloping horse’s poles, lowering the cage’s roof a little, before cracking and ripping and tearing loose from the cage and falling to the clearing’s floor.

For a glittering and shiny half a second  I thought the unicorn had made a foolish error, that the top would fall and knock her out.  What a tit!  It was, of course, still hovering in midair and didn’t fall until she had walked out from under it on her way back into the forest.  Sometimes, though, I wish she would do that sort of thing a bit sooner and not leave me thinking it was done.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (27) The Cage, Episode One

I suddenly realised I had never dropped a cage on her.  I was watching some programme fronted by Des O’Conner and Melanie Sykes.  Terry Gilliam and Michael Palin were being interviewed.  Des asked Terry about how all his films feature a cage and it hit me.  Never with a cage - and why ever the hell not?

Because I hadn’t thought of it and built one, I guess.  That simple.  I was annoyed, though.  I’d recently read The Pythons Autobiography and watched all the Python films, Fawlty Towers, Ripping Yarns and all Gilliam’s output as a consequence.  I was mortified that Des O’Connor had had to point out this plan to me.

So to work I got creating a lightweight (ish) cage of galvanised iron with a detachable bottom complete with wheels and locks that would fit neatly into the van.  And cultivating grass and plants in my garage-come-lighthouse, high power lamps set up as if I was growing marijuana on a grand scale and not summer flowers in winter.

The set-up took two days.  On the first I wheeled the bottom through to the clearing and set it up in the optimum position underneath the tree that I would hoist the top part into.  I then spent the rest of the day hauling great big bags of soil and plants from the van to the clearing using my big wheelie cart that I was by then keeping under tarpaulin just inside the forest. 

It was bloody hard work, we were talking about, like, fifty bags of soil and lord knows how many plants and pots of grasses.  Because I spent the afternoon covering the bottom over completely with first soil and then the plants I had cultivated.  Of course it looked odd, this small garden on a platform.  So I spread the effect out over the whole clearing so it all looked natural, though the ground was actually a few inches higher than it had been but it tapered out nicely enough.  So long as the unicorn wasn’t too sensitive to the changes, I was confident of success.

The next Saturday I returned with the top part which I hoisted up into the tree, tying off the rope around another tree that I would utilise to hide under.  Directly in the centre of the cage I piled up some oats and the trap was set.

I waited in the shadow of the tree ready with an axe to make the cage complete, mentally preparing myself for the long haul back to the van, shit scared I might not be able to move it.

About 1530 the unicorn arrived in the clearing and stopped dead right at the edge.  Her head had been down on approach and the moment her nose got to the edge, it shot up in surprise and she stared, saw the oats, turned around and walked away. 

Well, the clearing did look completely different.  Even I could see that now.  Where optimism had blinded me before, reality brought me round with a smack or two about the chops.  However, within thirty seconds I started to thinking about how to turn it all the right way about.  And I started by clearing the clearing.

250 Words: On meeting someone new

Moments like this should be recorded for posterity to remind and allow for
reminiscence. Photographed for a frame or filmed; or perhaps shrink-wrapped for
the fridge or freeze-dried for storage.

It was one of those beautiful summer days that, unlike the following one, wasn’t so
hot that it stopped things happening. The sky was clear and a light wind took the
edge off the heat. We met in the museum’s library by the computer I was working
on. You breezed into the room wearing a patterned halter neck summer dress with
arms and shoulders painted by the sun.

You said hello as you saw me (or my back) sitting across the room. You thought I
was someone else, though, as you seemed taken aback by the end of your sentence
which didn‘t make sense to me. You asked me what I was doing, we had a brief
chat (I think I may have been a little curt, for which I apologise), exchanged names
and you left the room with the boards you’d come to collect.

That is all, nothing momentous, but it felt so good that I wrote it down just in case it
became important later on. I later found out you were engaged (now married) and
lived in Hampshire. Although that’s irrelevant really. The encounter felt almost like
a lucid dream and it made me realise that we so easily forget where things begin yet
they should be recorded clearly somewhere for us to view at our leisure.

Myths of our Solar System (31): Makemake plans to take over Rapa Nui

“It was me who created humanity and it is me who allows it to re-produce and carry on. I
could just as easily wipe it away again,” thinks Makemake as he sits, jealously watching
the island’s statues receive all the attention.

“And I would, too. Drive them all into the sea. Force them to die breathing water.

“I am the rightful ruler of this island yet they waste their time on those big-headed
monstrosities. If I were in charge I would not allow such frivolity, such back-breaking
labour. Forcing people to drag such freaks across the land. It’s inhuman. No grand and
overbearing monuments would I require.

“I would have everything covered in my image instead. Let the people know who is boss
that way. Leave my mark like that. Far more subtle. And not so easily stolen from this
place and lost.”

And with that Makemake rose up and his birdmen spread their wings across the island and
they wiped away the old order to create his own.

“Now I’m in charge, it will be forever. The island is mine- Creator of Humanity and God of
Fertility- the rightful heir. My cult rules now. Forever.”

Later, the first time one Easter, Europeans would come. They found toppled statues with
large heads around the island. And strange birdman engravings on stones all over it.
Both were a mystery.

Myths of our Solar System (30): Makemake, the first birdman

Makemake had been born with the umbilical cord about his throat, starving his brain of
oxygen and killing much of it. The people of the First World did not know this, they just
thought he had been born stupid.

Makemake never learned to speak, only ever saying one word as a child, one he would
shout when he needed to sit upon the potty and earning himself the nickname, Makemake.
And he didn’t learn to halt the ageing process, as the other immortals did, until he was
quite aged looking. So that though his siblings were young and pretty, he was old and
haggard with a long and wiry grey beard.

Mother had always seen a gentle spirit within her son. In his eyes was such wonder as he
stared day after day into the air around him each morning before starting his daily ritual of
jumping from his bed and showing intense disappointment every time he hit the ground.

Mother knew she could not give Makemake the gift of flight, not yet, and so she entrusted
in him the care of the birds, knowing that that gentle spirit would love those who could.
And so when he stood, rising to his feet, his eyes wide, his cheeks covered in dry mud,
Makemake began to whistle.

He tried various whistles until a sparrow came down from the sky and landed on his
shoulder. From then on Makemake would entertain himself by calling all the birds of This
World to him (sometimes several at a time) and amaze all those, including his siblings,
who had called him dumb or made fun of him. Amazing them especially when he would
call an eagle and then instruct it to attack small animals (something Haumea quickly put a
stop to, of course). Mostly, the birdman, Makemake, would sit with a female Blackcap on
his palm and they would whistle to one another.

Others copied and followed him so that soon, many people could call birds and those
people learned what could be done with them. Some were kept as pets while others were
eaten and later, during the First War, they were used to carry communications.

Makemake did not live to see all of this, however, dying after only a few years in the New
World and becoming its first inhabitant to rejoin Mother. And not long later, that female
Blackcap found herself a mate.

250 Words: The monologue of the Monument

Aww, I remember when I was the tallest building round here. People’d come for
miles to tickle my stairs with their feet for an unrivalled view of London. Higher
than the church spires and steeples we were loftier than angels; equals of the sun
and sky. And I was a telescope, too, with stairs designed for barometric pressure
readings.

Now lazy oiks go round in a circle to get much higher. I’m just a faded icon, away
from the leisurely hub, hidden by newer buildings. A forgotten relic of another time,
passed by suits who barely glance as they hurry to work. I’m not entirely alone and I
know I shouldn’t grumble so much. Tourists and school parties frequent my viewing
platform (caged to prevent more of the suicides that haunt me still).

I’ll always maintain my position as the greatest column. Nelson (and some others)
may have his poncy square and a history of protest but the latter has been banned
and what is the point of a square if it cannot be viewed from above, along with the
other nice additions in his neighbourhood. “A waste of time and money,” I say (just
don’t mention the Berlin Victory Statue).

And Trajan (the best of the Rome brethren), let’s face it, was only built so people
could see an opulent (read pointless) bronze tiled roof. Though I hear the frieze is
nice.

I still long, though, for the heyday of youth before the big buildings came and buried
me.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (26) Scare Tactics

I was at work, staring across about ten metres of office space (square metres to whatever stiffs the bosses pay rent to) and out the window at the blue sky and whatever fun shapes the clouds were making that day, when I was pulled out of my reverie by the man I had previously, and briefly, considered roping in to help me chase my unicorn.

Lord only knows what he wanted.  I was already on auto-pilot before he even opened his mouth.  The surface was paying attention, ready to help him with whatever it was he wanted while I nestled deep within in a world of my own.

And while he was there and I was ultimately elsewhere, I remembered my plan to dress up as a unicorn and  I started right there and then to try and think of a way of resurrecting that plan, of overcoming the original problem.  I thought about building robotic hind quarters (robotic Lego, of course), of somehow using a disguised, and unfeasibly well-trained, horse, of other, non-sensical ideas (such as cloning a whole new unicorn) until I noticed the answer was staring me right in the face.

The man, the one talking to my outer shell, was wearing a badge on his lapel.  It was quite small but stood out because it was considerably lighter than his black jacket.  It was a little ghost - the same shape as the ones that featured in Pacman.

And that got me thinking.  My problem had been the need for hind legs, that I would need a second person.  But, as a ghost, I could get round this… Whatever I used for a hind I could just cover up with a sheet and, in the dark it might look like I was hovering.  Yes, all I would need would be a white sheet, some sort of built head, a false back and something to prop it up and allow it to move behind me.  Simple.  What a beauty of an idea.  And, if it worked, I could scare the unicorn into a panic and make her run out of the forest and into the van.  I would just have to approach from her usual exit and keep close enough to herd her in the right direction.  I’d seen this sort of thing on telly a million times and it always worked.

This realisation-come-eureka! moment came on a Wednesday afternoon.  I spent the Thursday and  Friday evenings making the suit.

I made the head out of papier mache.  It was your basic unicorn shape with horn and everything.  I painted the eye sockets black for the whole scary, empty effect.  The false back was also made from papier mache and was more or less just a rounded rectangle that I attached via the shoulders to the head that I was going to wear like a helmet so the unicorn would be a bit taller than me and therefore intimidating.  The back legs I would finish in the forest though I did attach a preparatory rod to the hind quarters.  I then draped over and stuck white sheets to the ‘back’ and to hang from the front of the head, making the ends all wavy and long enough to reach the ground.

On the Saturday afternoon I went to the forest to finish my ghost unicorn off by finding the remains of my motorcycle and freeing the front wheel and its staff and attaching them to the preparatory rod.  After a dinner of tinned curry and boiled rice, I drank a few beers for Dutch courage and entered the forest, dressed for success.

It was a lot less scary than I thought it might be and I made it to the clearing without incident.  Once there I got into position and waited.

At about midnight the unicorn appeared and I crept out making a slight “woooo” sound, hoping to build up to a crescendo of fear.  Instead the unicorn turned, walked up to me and tore off the front of my costume with her teeth, unfooled or fazed. 

I stood, shamed, a unicorn’s head and face above my own making my face look even redder, as she snorted to herself and walked away.  I’d forgotten that this plan was usually used in slapstick and the culprit was usually unmasked.  Half the time by Scooby-fucking-Doo.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (25) The Little Train

The trail of wool hadn't worked.  Somewhere along the line, the unicorn had got bored and wandered off.  I needed a way to stop this happening - to entertain her too in some way, as well as intrigue, and to entice with the oats.

At great expense I bought two trains, trucks for the goods and A LOT of track - blue plastic track that clipped together easily - really great stuff, actually, not at all fiddly - pretty decent, I should think, for little hands.  The loco itself had to be battery operated and the only system of that sort I could find was a Thomas one which was a little embarrassing to buy in such quantity.  Mainly ‘cause I looked like a father who spoiled their child way too much.  Boy did I get a funny look.  I wanted to get Thomas, really, but he came with Annie and Clarabel, as you might expect.  Instead I went for Lady and Henry as they came with two trucks each.

At the crack of dawn I started to lay down all this track, starting at the van with a ramp leading up into it where the train would end its long run in a shed where there was a clever little bit of track that would stop it.  I half buried this shed in a pile of oats that would keep any unicorn busy for quite some time.

Then I ran the line into the forest, being careful to keep the track level all the way by cutting a way for it, building embankments and the like, digging out earth from underneath tree roots (being careful not to cut them) and threading track under and through them.  I did my best to use as little track as possible as I was scared of running out of it.  Occasionally, though, I was forced to go around roots or plants and, of course, follow the path. 

Several hours later and I arrived at the clearing, a little trickle of blue having been formed that worked its way right back to the edge of the forest.  I took what track was left (only a few pieces - curves and straights - and the appropriate parts for a bridge) in my rucksack and trekked back to the van for lunch and to retrieve the train complete with its precious cargo.

By the traditional time of the football kick-off I had the double header set up with four little trucks filled to the top and beyond with little mounds of oatastic oats.  I had switched the engines on but placed a twig in front of them to ensure they went nowhere for now.  To this was tied a piece of string which led to a bush that served as my hiding place and, ultimately, my hand, ready to be pulled and start off a chain of planned events.

It was at this most traditional and holy of times that the Unicorn appeared but seemed to take little notice of the little train which I thought was a bit odd.  It stood out like a trail of piss in snow, to be frank, and so it was a little vexing after all the bother I had gone to.  The expense wasn't so annoying because it was something I had wanted to do, and it had been fun to build.  But to not get a reaction!  I was perturbed to say the least.

Annoyed, I pulled at the string and set the Flying Oatsman on its journey.  The noise of the little motor brought the unicorn round immediately.  She moved on with a lolloping gallop across the clearing, eyes fixed on the moving piles of oats quicker than you could say, "Unicorn’s bum," her tail twitching with excitement.

She caught up with it damn fast and I thought I was done for as her head lowered toward the trucks.  But all she did was take the occasional lick at the oats as she followed to see where the train would take her. 

Her underbelly hovered over the track as she followed Henry and Lady onward, stepping easily over roots, jumping ahead and to the side to watch them journey over bridges, or to the end of tunnels to see them come out the other side with a welcoming lick at the first truckload of oats.

It was about three quarters of the way back to the van that disaster struck.  The motley pair went under a particularly thick clump of roots that had protruded across the whole path and never came out again.  The unicorn whimpered, peering in from either end and trying vainly to get her tongue through the roots to the sweetness below.  Defeated, she turned and went back home, giving me a disdainful snort as she went by, flicking me with her tail.

I don't know what went wrong.  Maybe I had the ruler at a wonky angle or had forgotten to take account of the track but the funnel had snagged and the train was going nowhere and was out of reach, is still there for all I know.  Oh, what an idiot be me - and I had that bloody spare bridge too.

250 Words: Story stolen from a film (Guess the film?)

She was a love sub-plot waiting to happen. The most beautiful girl in the village
masquerading as the prettiest boy, meaning she wasn’t hidden like the others.

Caught picking flowers, a reprimand and a tussle revealed her true form and they got
to know one another. Meeting in the meadow or under shelters in the rain, a love
between them blossomed as the danger circled in.

Suspicion then knowledge grew amongst the others like a smile, letting them exist
despite the differences in class between them.

Eventually the outsiders came and the skirmishes began. Many were felled and
surrounded to be finished with spears. A day and a night passed, making her more
anxious for her love as every cry of pain seemed to come from him.

On that last evening they all heard of the final battle that was to come. The situation
became too much for her and in search of him she fled.

She was concerned because he could not guarantee they would see another sunset.
So they made love, desperate but sweet, in the barn.

Afterwards her father’s face when he saw them exiting the scene. She broke down
in the knowledge it had to come to an end.

Following the battle and the victory she ignored him, took her place in the paddy
field. It had been a wonderful affair but it was impossible for anything between them
to exist. She carried on as if it never happened and hoped he could do the same.

Myths of our Solar System (29): Haumea on becoming a mother

There is nothing I enjoy more than bringing new life into the world. Sure, sex is amazing
on its own, but it is all the better when filled with the hope of conception and even that falls
into insignificance compared with what follows.

That thrill in the discovery, when you first know for sure you are pregnant. When you can
stop holding your breath and start to take the first tentative steps toward planning. That
moment of unbridled joy is incredible.

From then you can sense he or she inside but it is only later that the ride truly begins as
you see he or she grow and give you that radiant shape that excites and brings joy to all
around you. Then, when you feel it move, pushing fear of disaster further from your mind
and he or she kicks, and you see tiny hands, feet and elbows appearing in your skin and
you start to get a feel for the character of the child inside you (or shape and size in my
case) and you almost hope for an early birth you want to see he or she RIGHT NOW!

Finally the birth arrives and it hurts, of course it does, and you’ve been through a fair bit
of shit through the pregnancy, despite all the joy and hope that comes with the bump,
but all that is so worth it. It is a sort of righteous pain because you know you are doing
the only worthwhile thing it is possible to do. So great that men try and rule everything in
sight to fill the hole left by what they have been denied. I wish men could do it too, that
we hadn’t been separated out. The world would be so different if couples went through
this simultaneously. There would be so much more understanding, so much less division.
Though we would surely become extinct when I think the idea through. Oh well. More fun
for me.

Yes, all the pain, discomfort and sickness is worth it the moment you see the tiny he or
she for the first time, see his or her eyes take you in for the first time, the first time he or
she wraps his or her tiny fingers around one of yours or reaches out with its paw or hoof to
touch you: his or her Mother.

And it is all worth it for that special connection you gain with the baby, from even
before birth, through infancy and beyond: that bond that men lack and have to build up
themselves, often destroying the world out of jealousy if they can’t.

I live to bring life into the world. Hence I will give birth to any species, and even disguise
myself in order to marry and procreate with my own children and grandchildren. I just can’t
get enough.

Myths of our Solar System (28): Haumea, keeper and user of animals

As a child Haumea had once snuck away from the chambers of her family and entered
the realms of the servants. There she saw the animals that were kept and used in various
ways and she fell in love with them as she watched and marvelled at them.

As she stared in wonder, Haumea was seen by a servant and in their shock at seeing
one of the higher-ups and in disgust at what they saw as a freak, as well as in seeing the
joy on her face and wishing to wipe it away, they showed her what happened to these
creatures, slitting the throat of a pig in front of her and processing it, telling her where each
part of the beast would end up in her diet.

This, rather than shocking the girl, actually impressed her somewhat and she carried the
memory of that day always in her mind.

When she rose to her feet, her eyes wide and her cheeks covered with dried mud,
Haumea rushed to the ruins of the servants’ realms to try and find any surviving animals
but found none. Instead she first helped Ceres bury the dead before exploring the New
World and bringing back to the First Settlement animals Mother Earth had created during
The Chaos to keep and domesticate, leaving those she was less sure of.

Haumea brought back cows, pigs, sheep and chickens (Makemake was only interested in
birds that flew) and showed people how to house and care for them and also what parts
could be used- expanding the menu that Ceres had created but also helping to clothe the
people’s bodies and feet as well as give them other items such as soap and blankets. She
also showed the people how to chop down trees and make fires out of them for cooking
and warmth.

Later she found horses, dogs and cats- animals that would serve other purposes. And
later still she would teach people to hunt and trap animals she felt should be used but left
free to wander.

And happily Haumea lived in This World, pleased Mother Earth had spoken to her and
enabled her to return to that early memory and live a life with This World’s creatures.

250 Words: Paranoid on Dover beach

The pebbles started to hurt my arse once my packed lunch was finished. I had had
to gobble down like a gannet because of a seagull flying silently overhead like it was
gathering reconnaissance. It landed a few times too. I always forget how fucking
huge those things are with their dead eyes and huge hooked beak ready to take my
sandwiches neatly cut and prepared that morning. Or to slash at my hands and face
and gouge out my eyes should I refuse. Horrid beasts.

The school children are making me nervous too. Can’t they keep quiet? And
shouldn’t they be at school at this time on a Wednesday? It’s the screaming I can’t
stand. Girls mainly, like some sort of frightful mating call. Some of the silly bints are
paddling, presumably to see who fancies them enough to push them in, or pretend to
at least. Nasty specimens. Though I wish I had been more involved at that age. Or
lived by the sea.

One of them looked at me as I pulled out my bright orange flask. I got terribly
worried they might try and take it. Then I remembered I am not that age anymore. I
shouldn’t be so worried now. But in this day and age even the smoke coming from
a ferry funnel gets me worried. Is there a fire onboard? Will it explode? Which part
will land on me if it does? Seagulls and school children should be the least of my
worries.

Attempts to Capture and Tame a Unicorn: (24) A Trail of Wool

The curiousness of the unicorn could not be denied.  She liked to investigate and try new things.  And, of course, there was always oats to help things along.  On the way home following the motorcycle and sidecar fiasco I began to think, running over ideas involving a pinch of mystery.  I decided that what I basically needed was a way to take advantage of this element of her nature without damaging the forest, and without causing any doubt in her mind.  But what exactly?

When I was a kid I loved Pob.  He was an audacious and precocious little chap with big, blown-out cheeks and a red and yellow hooped jumper.  He would caused interference on your television and took it over.  And he used to spit on the screen and write his name in it.  That's what I liked best; I thought that was fantastic.  In that, sort of, Roald Dahl anti-grown-up kind of a way.  It was wonderful, the sort of naughtiness I could only dream of.  Or watch on telly and read in books.  Anyway, he always had a special guest on the show - Spike Milligan, Roy Castle and Dick King-Smith to name a few - who would follow a trail of red and yellow wool that unravelled from his jumper to find clues, sometimes trick clues, to an eventual goal - often a gift or item, I think.  I felt it was better to avoid the tricks and the clues (mainly because I couldn’t be bothered) but a trail of wool on its own, I thought, could work very well.

The trail would start under a pile of oats and eventually lead into the back of the van.   Ultimately I was sure getting her closer to the van, or away from the clearing was a good idea.  After all, she hadn't faced me in any way on the Sudoku run and the forest had saved her on the motorcycle jaunt, not that I'd given her any real reason to try and escape, I suppose, before the pathway fought back.

So I went to the clearing and started the trail under a pile of oats to encourage her to the start (hopefully making her think there would be more at the other end, which she would be correct to assume) and I began to walk, unravelling the wool manually as I went, my left hand orbiting the ball, leaving behind a trail.  It was red wool, by the way, in case you were wondering.  I couldn't find wool that was alternately red and yellow.

I kept off my normal route, trailing the wool over bushes, and up and over branches - throwing the ball over them and following where it fell before continuing onwards.  Deviating mainly just to make it more fun and to entertain myself, maybe even find a new spot or plants and animals.

Once back at the van (parked on the grass verge at the edge of the forest, back to the forest, doors wide open), I trailed the wool into the van and set up a big pile of oats, planting a sign in the top.  It was in the shape of a downward pointing arrow and read, “Free Oats.”

And then I waited.  And waited.  Mid-afternoon came and went.  As did the football commentaries and the results before I thought I saw a movement among some bushes.  It seemed to move along the line of the wool but became erratic and moved away.  It was getting nearer, though, before it stopped altogether for a few minutes and went off in a completely different direction and disappeared in the distance. 

I waited for the unicorn until a little bit before dusk when I trekked to the clearing to find the oats had gone.  I guessed she must have started the trail but got bored at some point, possibly annoyingly close to the end, and wandered off.  Obviously I would need something more appealing or attention demanding.