Fantastic Metropolis

1

Early one morning the dead bodies in our boarding school cemetery flew to the moon. We had easy chairs with far too much breathing room squibs instead of the sake and blanched tiffin. I hate having to wait for the future Micetto explained during the occupation Kiljoy was here. When they landed a sunburnt young woman in a loose blouse and a Black eyed Susan led the travellers to the giant Boppy. She salaamed while two headless whifflers burst into tears. Punjaub gave me a nudge and whispered none of their dirty staring could undress her. Alas! mutineers are cutting free our tethered space carriages so she hurried out. This greatly displeased Boppy. More wonderful gloom fell on everybody. When the music passed away the dolls began to dance all round the fossilized creature with outstretched arms we dead were very frightened. Reading this afterwards however I couldn’t help laughing it was so ridiculous. See when you die in the 21st century your ghost is used as a cloud substitute. Above the falls millions of sluggish trout pollute the loch like tourists worked over by brass knuckles in June they woke from the long bad dream without remembering a smattering of parrot. Another plan to lower the world. Brock. Look carefully about for the hero of playground thirty seven. In a sortie through the barricaded line that amputation of a mind brought back a snowball from hell. Oh if I had only known where to begin. The writer now covered by sea anemones had lost one eye somewhere in the Greylands—it often washed ashore at night with a weather beaten wooden doll known as Miss Delamere. Listen to the waves hiss across the restless sand she is caught in the under tow. Many hours lived and died before the surf left her lodged head foremost in Mermaids rock. When two hermit crabs started pulling her pigtail she had to resort to the written word. Well you can hear what actually happened.

2

I can tell you are rather fond of water logged yarns. Ay said one. Ay ay! from the other.

The sea swept in extracted the old doll gave it a Mohawk and dropped it at the end of this sentence. However home spun this string of nonsense may appear it lives on—the loveliness of the lemonade dawn was lost upon Polyphemus now galloping by our HEROINE the stick. What can she do? Though half in and half out of the salt water framed in a tangle of seaweed a murdered nurse is in no position to save Miss D. Two coral harpies are dining.

That is true said the pretty one say grace. Sometimes—I—I gently call her by name. No! Yes I have wondered what you know what is the good of all this gluttony? Hush hush! The fact is dear we cannot help thinking.

At this moment a sea lion surprised them by springing from Davy Jones locker with a roar. It bounded down the shore and befell our friends thick and thin. Ten minutes of violent bleating soon chummed the deep water until the khaki sharks were at her service. A blizzard alighted and the body was taken away.

I may have to remain unseen for a century or two Miss Delamere reflected I must keep smiling.

3

Mute books littered the island thousands of them. Miss D— longed to talk to Boppy about the poet’s earthly ties! Happily the skull of a reader lying beside her had overheard the whole shaggy dog tale.