Chapter 6 – Private Parts

I felt like I might tomber on the florcuvva. ?Urfup. I had nevah slozerixed I could urfup tellment trestot. That meant the wholeship, seriom. But, Miley, I wasn’t pretta. ?Leave my trav, just like that. ?Bandon all my cuzmos. Still, there is nevah any choice, I savved that. At that litters flickofamint, I also realised everything was bout to change for me.

I was sturbed, partlon cause I savved that reallon it was Greenvressis him…herself who had sisted on mostof the changes that led to our termin design. Sure, I had sillitated, but the more I thort ont the more I realised that he, she had led that creative surge. I had just allowed his, her genius to exostep.

Wever, by that usk, I had been maticallon urfupped. My darsk throbled with newinf. ?Unbelievable, intit. I had gone from normynorm vailer having to trav all the hours Miley made, to a vlady of vlesher, as urfupped people onlon dip and flip ficiallon four hours a day.  I would be much plusher…. way more bits and likes to festidrong exo for voddies and vlatticubes. My vail would now notclude any plaiting, nor dying, reaming, vurling or vloming. All I would do now was design, problon on my ownioni, in some indicube in some massive Siety.

Darskinf montred me where I had to troe. Address onlon, no Sietyinf. The job was at Shwervemanshon, so not too reachy: a tenninit boo-ride. Shwervemanshon is a massive bloklok taining all the biggest trilly fashwerve houses.  I had to prettapare. I set my darsklarm for newusk, as I needed to just my moufleur to be as bangup as posslob. Lucklon I had practised loads. I set my slozerlok to strongtretch and uppiprugs on lo-dose (obvion you canti have hi-dose at home), as toolmond needs anintzibitov help on their first day at a nouvotrav.

I got out of my slozerlok quitehigh as I donti often do uppies. I had had multiple slozerixes during the night. Now it felt like I could overstand everything more clearlon.

I had a fokka peer in the mirruv, darskstraining with stration. ?What did I wanti look like. I decided not to self-refer too blatelon, like not all green, just two straglog thin referencing stripes mongst a mass of greyish-vlu vurls. I put in a largish propper, ooh, paynfullon shizzos that, just nough to create a mild Outpout, and vlossed my vlips a pale pink. I vurled my vressis all in the same rection, and gelled them there firm. As a termin touch, I put one silvastic clit-hancer through my clitpiercing. I sav clit-hancers are slightlon exoshwerve, but people sociate them with the totlon thirties when bissliss was so up and the trilly fashwerve dustry leaptexo as most portant of all. I wantied to look bislisslike and how I was prettado anything the nouvo vail could throwat me.

I left the partmo, exostept my bloklok and got strate on the boo. I doded ixes all the way but was too petriffob to zorb anything. I reached Shwervemanshon by eight. I had been told to straightdrong to the fifty-first vel. The sensor took me up. It was mirruved and I was lone so I got a chance to mire my moufleur. The Outpout and pinkened vlips exostood nicelon gainst the foncy-grey hardened vurls of flair.

The sensor rived at vel fifty-one. I steptexinto a pale urple riddor. Ixes rected me to a cubby to the right. I was mitted and taken to an urfupdarskfitting. Sitting there in the dark with a soothing zicstream, I thort bout things. ‘Urfupping your filters, colours, sound,’ they dixed.

I exostept, mazed at the trilly quality of my nouvo pikups.

A scurity tadarsed at the door. He had green vressis, and yes, you’ve guessed it, the vringe, vadderangle, vurls, all of it. He used his mote to tripflip his vadder as I troed throughinto a huge cavernub area full of state-of-thart indi-cubes.  High vaults bove us were hung with plushyplush velvy curving curtains. Moving lights played mongst the curtainfolds.

Bout ten dells were strutting on a fakie-red-carpet in frontov rows of seated media people. The dells all had the new green look. I darskooed for a mint, miring my creation. All gether in a glinting, groomed row like that, I could blep it reallon was a fokkadokka design. I felt proud.

A man troed ward to meet me. ‘Nerd to make your quaintessence,’ he said.

‘Nerd,’ I plied.

One man was tadarsing hind a tablon, pulling ixes ontosplay. He turned round to bleppat me. His vaddervanilli waved from side to side. He had not gone for the green, but had a spensive–blepping dark red sunray hanced by a flittaking bright pulse and long dishioned blond and orange vressis, sewn with silver threads, sweeping the floor. Hmm, his flairdresser was doing grooty trav.

‘So, Kedda,’ he murtered. He dronged wardme and allowed his vaddervanilli to brush gainst my moufurls politelon. ‘Gratulation on your urfupping. I am Iffer, Genital of Topinf.’

!Miley. I had heard of Topinf, a nucleus specialising in the mozzlon boundary-pushing shwervixes. ?Who hanti. !Topinf vailed for Miley herself.  !I would nevah in my follest slozerixes have spected I would be vailing for Topinf, !let alone Topinf’s Genital.

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Chapter 5.

I took the boo home. Fore I could even tube a cutty, Broze splaypeared. Asked if I’d had any tresting trav. Too right, I said. I told him bout Greenvressis, bout our developing design. ‘!Olk,’ he dixed. ‘Sounds wellfokka. Keep it up. Our doptive always said, with your skills, you would be in the elite one day, Ked.’

‘But, Broze,’ I said, ‘this chap is welleird…?I donti even tink he is a chap.’ I whispered: ‘He had a fakie.’

‘Yea well, Ked, takes all sorts. Life would be dullard if people were all the same. This Greenvressis chap, fakie or no fakie, is a fokka ting if he’s helping you do grooti designs.’

‘You’re right,’ I said.  Greenvressis and his siccideas were deflon fokka.

‘You mark my words, Ked,’ said my broze, ‘you’ll be vailing for Miley herself one of these days.’

It was wellierd he said that, because you would not believe how velochy things can change. The next day, three blokes were standing waiting at the salon door when I got to trav.  They all wantied xactly the same as Greenvressis, who I scuvered was called Pliny. They were after the same vressis, vadderay, zlicked vringe, mote and all.

‘We troobi dat Pliny,’ one said.

‘Yeah, we troobit,’ said another.  ‘Need it for this aftube’s topslot catwalk.’

‘The Pliny is the big shebang,’ dixed the third.

I siddered them. ‘!Oh my Cyrus, we gone and set off a nouvo fashwerve all by ourselves,’ I vlatted.

I travved all foretube. I vailed on one, telling the other two to drong off and get a cutty on the corner, but they dinti troe. Just sat there waiting their turn. The middle one had quiteamintive vaddervanilli. I told him if he zired to look the same as Greenvressis he would have to have some vuction and put on a lengthening cone at nights. He said he dinti mind, he just had to have the nouvo fashwerve.

Through sheer hard grind, I got through all three of them by bloffeetime.  They sferred me some likes and troed off. During my tenninit break, I lined Dunqui. ‘?You tubing,’ she asked.

‘Yes, velochy, hanti got a mint, got queues dronging on,’ I vlatted. ‘You wonti believe it, Dunq, I got a new thing troeing on with the trilly fashwerve.’

‘?What is it.’

‘Scalled a Pliny, it’s only, wait for it… H13 green vressis, split into stinct vlocks, with a suttle vringe xinches bove the gnangle.’

‘!Cloof’ she slaimed. ‘?Vadderangle.’

‘Obvion, since like three daysago, ninety.’

‘?Buvflair.’

I could hear Dunq pulling ixes exmogga and sembling them.

‘Lotsa, paler H13 green vurls peeking through a metallic vadderay, thin rays.’

‘Uuuw,’ she darsksighed. ‘Vice. You got your dij on that vulse, vlady!’

‘Tanky,’ I said. ‘I have been getting quiteafew plimentos raysamont.’

I sferred her an ix of the green vressis. Dunq bobbed and morflitted through her oftinf and vamped it all up a bit, hoiked the imix. She sent it out on vlogix within tenninits. By the aftube I had a new line of blokes waiting. ‘Oh Miley,’ I sclaimed, darskooing at them all. ‘Have to call inforsemints.’

I darskalled FaddyFalon Timps. Ordered four vailers just for the aftube, maybe for the next day too. I just had time to chuck a whole load of stentions into the last of my dye before the timps turned up. I straited the new neeks and, since the queue was throbling, we just troed at it: dying, vlombing, plaiting, cutting the vringes and then zlicking and snippisnipping into them to give them that natural look. Luckily FF Timps are always well-trained. They have nifty blingers and get what I’m montring them first time. We had to call Bowares to get a nother vat of that horbil H13green stuff in. I litters dinti even get time to tube a cutty, all aftube. Five of us were vailing flat out.  For blokes with short flair, it took even longer as we had to put in the prettadyed stentions first.

I flitted some likes to FaddyFalon, and sferred a centidge to MileyMuns too. Best to keep up with your Emmemms daily therwise they’ll be after you.

At home, I stepped into my blopak for a freshnub dryclenz. The kems and the wind did their vail. I felt better, but my blingers were still aching. I put on Killapayn prugbluvs to numb them up.

I had to troe exo. Needed some prugs. If you’ve litters vailed your blingers off all day, you need a good vlatt. Liza met up with me and we troed down Festivoy. Tubed three tripvoddies, ordered a retroverdose, which obv is only safeprugs as they would never let you realinfoverdose, got straight in a vlatticube and vlatted our vlips off for bout four hours. We were hauled out just after midnight and chucked exofest.

My darsk throbling with staddered newinf, I sloggered home at one in the morning. Someone splaypeared as I drapped in the door.

‘?Where you been, vlady,’ the person sclaimed.

?Was it Dunqui. It sounded like her, and she was surrounded by all her stuff, but it dinti look like her.  To be fair though I could hardlon bleppa her I was so stroyed.

‘?Dunqui…is that you,’ I slurred.

I tried to set my darsk to better saturation and contrast.  Difficult, as my blingers were still numdup from the prugbluvs. I fiddled drunklon with tilt and shift. That was better. !Oh. !Dunqui’s vapearlies had gone. !Her what-had-been-bangup-but-maybe-were-not-bangup-no-more silky stentions sewn with vlu lace had gone. !She had H13 green vressis. !Miley. I had nevah evah bleppaed Dunqui strutting one of my designs fore.

‘!You not just got your moufleur on the pulse, vlady,’ she sclaimed. ‘!You litters the big shebang.’

Yop! I couldn’t believe this. Maybe the prugs had put me in some sort of tastical slozerix. Had I reallon managed to chieve a bendgend fashwerve? I coudnti dix a thing, I was that moved, and still that stroyed from the vlatticube.

‘!Olk,’ said Dunq, pouring me ixes of bothsex slebs with the nouvo look, ‘you litters have done it, vlady. The bendgend. All the girls here are wantiing one. ?You know what this means, donti you.’

‘No…?I litters donti have a cluebo in hellion,’ I slurred.

‘It means….you going to urfup, vlady.’

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Chapter 4.

I climbed into my slozerloc and had wellierd slozerixes about red, open darskiddenflappas and bright vlu darskiddenbleppas looming at me exomist.  I woke up midnight darsgasping in panink. Thank Miley we’ve covered all that shizzos up and moved on. I donti tink private parts should be bleppaed or parled on. They are private. Like zactly. Private. And anyway, how on Mileyship would anyone get by without their darskinf?

This all vert-hurt my thortpac so lucklon next day it was the Kend. Thank Miley for the Kend. Two days of chilled times. I laxed, ported lotsix into my darsk and zorbed. I tubed healthy joococtions. I tretched in my tretching chamber, pulling zistant bands to the latest wobberrap my broze sent me. After thirty mints I frizzed my vressis, put in a quick double-colour streak with a simple orange and black stention and went out for a cutty with my friend from beauty school, Niella. She hearts to updress, and was looking fokkadokka with glittery diamond fakies bringing out her propped mouf. We tubed cakeycake, moving on to kol at about xoclock. We met up with Liza, who had tarted up her mouf with some rather exoshwerve plakkiplaits at least, thank Miley. We tubed trip voddies and became stantly runk. Obvion after that we flipped our liddergauze, tubehaled a quikpliffa each, had a good vlatt, and passed exo in a vlatticube gether. Fokka night.

Greenvressis turned up again trestot Monday. The colour was growing on me. The dye was spensive, and I realised that in the light it had a grooty urple gleam. As I was upvlombing his furls, he said, ‘It zires one last thing.’

‘Yeah….what?’

‘A mote.’

Onestlon, cuzmos get the zarrest ideas in their murky thortpacs sometimes. I don’t let on that they’re totallon bonksfest.  ‘A mote, !Sure.  !Siccathort. Might just set it all off…’

We fitted one just low the vadderbase. I put the controls in his bluv. He tried it out. !Olk, it was ackshallon fokkadokka. The mote made the vaddervanilli jump just slightlon, causing the vressis to flash their grooty gleam.

As I was waiting for Greenvressis’ likes to darskload, Talika said she was troeing exo to the corner jop. Greenvressis waited til she sappeared, then, exo nowhere, slipped a bluvved didge under his flairline and gave a sharp tug. I darsgasped as the whole flairy green area came away from his groyn. !Behind it were vlips. !Big vlips with brown flair and china flowery beads. I couldn’t believe it. I had not spected fakies. I certainly had not spected such a sophistokid fakie. ‘Shh,’ he…she whispered, ‘our time is coming. !Be pretta.’

‘!Pretta?’ I darskchoked. ‘Prettawhat?’

‘Prettarun.’ He…she put a didge to his vlips. ‘We’ll get you exo, Ked,’ he..she whispered, ‘don’t wuzzo.’

I wantied to dix that I dinti zire to be ‘got exo’, as I was fectly sicca where I was, and that I hadn’t been at all wuzzoed until he..she exoblew my napses…but I was too shonked to parle.

His likes had sferred to my darsk so he, she stuck his…her fakie back down and stood up, clipped it back to its bangup ninety-degree angle and troed off. I was so shonked I dinti even realise I problion should have pressed my fliplarm. Was he…she from the zistance?

It was hard to tell. I was afeared. Would his darsk not pick up even his whispers? Did he have a way of unabling darskinf? I had seen reports on my splay that some people had gone off-grid, with riculoso zults. Who would rush to help you, if you were ill, fureggs? Darsks send constant healthinf to dotters so they can monitor you. Now that’s sensible, and that’s normynorms.

Dammidams.  I had troobied vailing with Greenvressis. I dinti zire him…her to be zistance. I dinti zire the spambort van to come and take him…her screaming wayway.

I told myself I was wuzzoing for nothing and it was problion allsicca.  Fakies aren’t against the law. He…she had problion gone temps a bit loopiloop, right?

 

 

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Chapter 3.

After Katoline’s three vampoos for the magoline, my spiney ached. Tubed a killapayn. Early aftube I started vlombing and plaiting. I took over from Dalla on spamduty for an hour. I canti believe this diculous trav hasn’t been autommed. But tristlon, only humans can be proper spamspotters, as them infhackers are so sharpysharp. !Miley. !It’s demeaning.

A chap came in ziring a lengthening cone. We used to do them all the time, but that was before shorter vaddervanillis became all the shwerve. Then a striking vlady with thick pink-painted vlips and florlong black vurls turned up. She siddered me, darsktipping. ‘I troobi your beads and knots and pearls,’ she said.

‘I can easlion do beads and knots and pearls for you if you troobit.’

‘No, I’m… I’m after an Outpout.’

‘You do alpretta have an Outpout,’ I said, siddering her swollen vlips.

‘Yeah,’ she snapped, ‘but I zire a Dashpout.’

I was afeared. A Dashpout, the most streme form of the trilly fashwervable Outpout, is a throwback from the late thirties. A Dashrim, which creates the Dashpout, is more tensitens than the more normynorm tempy softproppers. Dashes are not easy to sert, nor to stract, so people keep them in for several months, or til they get fected. I have done Outpouts for vladies, course, but nevah a Dash. I did have to put one on a mannequin for my last xam at school. They’re riculoso, that’s the problet. It was Kitti-two, the last of the Kardashi dynasty, who made Dashes all the shwerve then promptlion deddered of fection from her tretchwounds.

Wever, who am I to argue? I’m just doing my trav. Gotta keep the cuzmo happihapps. I made the vlady send consent through to my darsk. I fetched a sterile Dashrim from the drawer. I jected the mons and vlips with killapayn, vlombed her thick vressis away from her whorl, wiped it with antisep and serted the metal spikes swinefully, twisting til they bit. Then I pumped up the rim. I litters would never do this to myself because once the killapayn has worn off, a Dashrim will ache. Must admit though, the way it forces the pout up and out is pressive. Even when you’re dronging up the street, people can litters see right into your whorl. You are montring your trueinf to the world. It’s the ultimate in confessional, which is bangup. Everyone is wantiing to know the real you, like deep inside you, but litters.

I sat exo on the bench with my moufleur in the smogga. It might be looted but at least it’s cool. You don’t want your make-up to run. You see ixes from the thirties where people’s vascara had run. They dinti know much then. And the fashwerve was so basic. ?Like vlipliner under your whorl. No one would do that now, unless they were carrying off retro trilly well. It’s all about the upper line now. A strong, fiddent upper line. And the way they used to put vanilliliner all the way round the vadderbase…it’s presk larious. Now, it’s more suttle, yet also more bold. Katoline is constlon banging on about bold. Some people just get it stinctively. I do. I was born with the knowledge. My doptive says the day I was louvered to her door, age one day, I was alpretta trilly sinnated by design. You just pick it up from all around you.

I had the vantage of growing up in my doptive cuddlecupple’s quiltigymna. A quiltigymna is more about the feel-fokka factor than normal gymnas. My doptive and her partner Rissa had thirty pummelcubes and ran a bar too, where you could hire safeprugspace or vlatticubes. Safeprugs came in after the monstrol Festideath. Not larious, ten thousand dedders in one night from looted prugs. Now of course, everything’s legal and better tested so you’re less likelon to dedder… less you’re hookton vlattivamp, course.

Vlattivamp makes you feel fokkadokka though. You rampit rough, you’re like wild or something, oozing fiddence. My friend Shadda, she got deddered on Vlattivamp. You can just litters fiddence yourself exolife. You have so much fiddence that you forget to have fear. And you take more and more, in one seshal, til you’re vlatting so hard your midden aches and your moufleur weeps. You dedder rough, real and wild, but… you dedder.

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Private Parts – Chapter 2

It was getting on for termins.  The flor was tablowed in snippyvressis so I moptup the streaks of dye and tivated the aftopull.

On the way homeyhome I tubed a cutty at the corner jop. Liza was still vailing as she needs the bits. Her vressis are so long they brush the flor. ‘They’ll be trippin you up,’ I dixed.

‘They are statement vressis, Kedda.’

‘Yeah, tever,’ I said. She donti bleppa that it acshi donti look that fokka having your vressis so long. Hers are quitegrooty though, with beads and shells and thin urple streaks all the way down. Her vinehous black nest trudes quitefar. It rather scures her naturellon pouty vlips, that’s the only thing. A bit of a waste.

She sat down side me exo on her bench for a mint. We darsk-sinked and zorbed the day’s catwalk freshtuff. Top dells from Ladvadd were strutting soft-vurled vressis. I spotted my broze, in a trilly-polished monokrom onsomb flecked with glitter and mirruvs. My bezzi Blokka from Beauty School was just behind him with a stravagant array of white feathuzz litup with pulse hancing his ninety-degree vadderangle. Not much gets past this man. You can always tell it’s Blokka, as he takes tiny steps, litters three inches at a time. Trip trippity trip, that’s Blokka, and he wonti be hurried.

Two zistance girls dronged past Liza and me, shouting ‘Fight! Fight! Donti put up with it!’ We dinti even mention them, as we’re so tired of it. All over, they are. Another came past and tripped up over our feet. ‘TRUEINF WILL OUT,’ she cried. She rolled over, her sal nodeccoed moufdreds spilling exo round a flappy nopout, picked herself up and troed off.

Our zorbstream had been trupted so we undarsk-sinked. ‘Bit of a shame, with that vine, how you canti sern your vlips,’ I dixed.

‘Yeah, but least I donti have to bother with vlitox, vlipstick, all that,’ she said, ‘and I couldn’t do without my vine.’ She patted it fondlon.

Someone must have bothered to call spambort on those zistance girls, as the van swooped past us.  I dinti say anything. I dinti like to tell Liza that her vine, any vine, looked tellment exoshwerve now.

I took the boo two stops home. The sensor took me up thirty vels. My splay was glittring. It was my bezzibez and topvizer Dunqui. I can tell when she’s zausted, as she props a cushol tween darskside and shoulder. ‘?Termined trav,’ she asked.

‘Yes, ?you.’

‘Only just.’ She pulled a vresstip across her whorl: ‘I’m tellment termined.’

‘?Articles.’

‘Litters all day.’

‘So ?what’s the latest trilly fash.’

‘Hmm…mod piercings mainlon.’

I know lotsinf on mod fashwerve, thank Miley, as I used to vail in a mod sessories jop. Obvion, tween vaddervanillis and moufleurs you gottaspect a wide range of constantlon vlopping modiffs.

‘?Also reretro vapearlies,’ dixed Dunqui.

‘!Vapearlies, ?who would’ve ixagined.’

Dunqui keeps me bangup. She savs what’s dronging on. Sometimes it’s me telling her though, it’s zarre: it’s like I’m on the flor, strugging away, while she’s just rubbing about it. Rubbing’s not hard, scooping ideas exof the smogga and popping them onsplay. She donti have to darskpeer all day at vadderangles like me.

But I have to have Dunqui, as she gives me fiddence, and you have to have fiddence in yourself and your topvizers to be a fokka fashwerver. Without Dunqui, I wouldn’t sav, I’d be guessing. And you canti reallon guess with the fashwerve. It’s just too random to believe and changes every couple of hours. Even with all the darskinf you can zorb, you canti dict it.

‘Eh,’ she dixed, ‘your mate Blokka.’

‘?Yeah. I just bleppaed him onsplay.’

‘?With the feathuzz.’

‘Yeah. Bit takkytak for him, I thort.’

‘That design… it is takkytak, cos it’s bitchybitch Yana’s.’

‘!No.’ I sclaimed. ‘?He vailing for Yana.’

‘Must be. He problion donti sav she’s a bitchybitch.’

Dunqui used to trav for Yana so if she says Yana is a bitchybitch, then that is trueinf. But Blokka donti care. He does anything to get ahead, and Yana designs for Miley: you canti get higher than that.

‘?You want the close-ups,’ asked Dunqui, snorting through her darsk. She sent me through a 360vidix of Blokka’s nuwlk. Showy for sure, fokka even… but not tasteful. The long, white feathuzz splayed out from his vadderbase, vurling round his hips. A pulse shuddered his neon-vattooed vaddervanilli every second. As the pulse litup, the neon flashed, staining the feathuzz with pale greens and pinks. Hmm, pressive though.

Spired by Blokka’s turnout, fore I troed to sloze that night, I threaded forty-six thin stentions into a red dyerod and forty-six into a black, darskpeering at them for an hour til the colour was just perfyperfs. Next morning, my slozerlok tipped me exo trestot. I straightened my vressis and tatched the newly-dyed stentions. Added beads, with quiteplicated knotting in coloured threads. Monsright: I stuck a new vapearlie with a mirruv effect, quitedgy. Monsleft: I stamped a grooty vattoo of a mithylephant. I was prettatrav.

That day my first cuzmo was Greenvressis again.  ‘These presk florlong vressis are noying,’ he dixed.

‘You ziring a vringe?’ I sudgered.

We decided on xinches bove the gnangle. I was zlicking into it when he set his voice on hibuzz :‘You know… you said that in a couple of weeks, everyone will have a vadderay?’

‘Yes,’ I plied, vlatting at the buzz. ‘I bet you it’s trueinf. I have a top fashwerver forming me.’

‘In less than a year,’ he tinued, quietlon, ‘get this, no one will have a darsk. They’re gonna be soso last year.’

Was he trying to petriff me? His voice was gentle, so I dinti sav, but I felt like I might be being slightlon rassed. Rassed in the trav-place. I tended I hadn’t heard. I dinti say anything. I just rinsed zlicks out of the vringe, and, vailing velochy, vluffed it exo with the smoggastream. I zired him exof my jop immedion.

Later, at homeyhome, during my freshnub dryclenz, I thort bout what he had dixed. I couldn’t help it. It had sown a petriffix in my heart. What had he meant? Can you even take off a darsk? Is it not raw bludders underneath? I have nevah bleppaed one what wasn’t on a darskiddenfront, and I have never bleppaed a darkiddenfront without a darsk. How would a person without a darsk be nected to Mileyhole? Would they just not be nected and how would that even be allowed? It was imposs, and daygolass. The very thort made me feel like I might tubemitt. I felt like I felt when I first got porned onsplay. I membered something horrolob what my old bezzi Tratta once told me. In his trav for the Pleese he had to watch OldNetInf. He said how, on there, litters no one has a darsk, but they troe round parling and meeting chuther yet suffocate their poor vaddervanillis and moufleurs under layers of terial. I asked if that was just mith but he said no, it was realinf.

It’s just horroblon porno. Petriffy. We have to protek chuther from it. You have to be prettapress your fliplarm.   Yet in all my months of studying shwervistory, no one evah mentioned OldNet. Most people donti even sav what it is. I have heard of it, but I’m still not sure: maybe Tratta got it wrong and it is just mith. But all what Tratta told me stayed with me and I couldn’t help thorting bout it sometimes. He dinti seem like a person who would parle falsinf.

I can’t magine not having my darsk though. It’s my skintelligence. It’s like magining all the terial and skin being peeled off your foot or your arm. My darsk is my tection, my curity from the morseless spam in this world. Without filters, you’d obvion be instantlon toowhelmed by ads, you’d be screaming in payn, on the flor. No one could handle that. Also, everyone savs that if your darsk comes off, you canti resp. The air got staddered in 2032 with the Big Nukeyflip. It’s all smogga now.  We all need sophistokid resping filters. Darsks matically sort out light vels too. When vues become paynfullon bright for your dk-bleppas, the darsk dulls them for you politelon.

Greenvressis had so shaken me up. I wantied clutch onto my darsk with both bluvs. I would feel so ked without it. So sposed. And also like I was being horroblon rude. I can hardlon parle bout porn.  I mean, I have heard of darskiddenbleppers being uncovered, upperblepperflair, lowerblepperflair and all, but darskiddenstrils? Reallon? Darskiddenflappers? Is that even possib? I’ve only evah bleppaed glimpses of dk-flappers on spamporn. If they were closed I could almost handle it. !But what if they were open? I think I might faint if I bleppaed a darskiddeneel.

I once caught a xidental spamflash of shiny whitish darskiddenscessors, which made me feel queamish but I’ve nevah, evah bleppaed a darskiddeneel, thank Miley, but Tratta told me on OldNet they’re all over, peeping exof darskiddenflappers, or even sometimes totalexo and waggling around. He even, to my sprise, splained that ‘what Miley did’ was cisely that. I donti believe it but parrently she sposed her darskiddeneel a lot. Too much. It freaped out the crowds, nukeyflipped their thortpacs and caused some kind of volt which led to the Big Festideath. This forced her to think up her trilly creative pollogy, which I donti have to splain, cos litters everyone learns bout it in fashwervistory as it is obvion the most trilly portant thing to have evah happened.  But anyway it zarrelion meant everyone suddlion savved who she was, which in turn led to life-hancing darsks and her being lected to run the universe.

Ugh though. !Those flappy darskideneels. Did people reallon use to have them exo? Vijible? Daygolass, that’s what I dix. Petriffy like a horrolob wet snake from mith.

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Private Parts: Chapter 1 cont…

‘?Who’s on spambort,’ shouted Talika.

‘Dalla,’ I dixed velochy.

‘She’s with a cuzmo.’

I darsksighed. This is why my trav is not fokka. I’m too sicca for sitting on spam for two hours. It’s payning. Infhackers get in all over. Every splay, every inf-lux point, wever lux it is, they know how to crack it.

Then, as happens every day, a zistance chap burst through our barriers. It’s become so normynorm it doesn’t even petriffy me any more, as they’re not violent, just trilly daygolass. This one had sal robes and a ragged darsk. He had no vadderdec at all, and no vadderangle what could be serned. ‘Be afeared!’ he screamed. ‘The nosing stards…feeding you falsinf. Don’t believe any mouthing spit they dix…’ I slipped to the back of the jop to squeeze my fliplarm. You’re nevah meant to touch zistance, it’s insanitary, because they live exo-exo and it’s not sprayed properion there. He threw himself into the street just before the spambort van came. They got him though, one with a Yolt and one with a bortgun. I held cushols over my darskiddensideflappas area, as bortgunscreams are quitenoying. We straightway put our florcuvva in the sinnerater and set the moppa to deepclense to kill the obvion crobes.

The whole flor would be awash with kems so I had a five mint break on the bench, enough time to spray sofner on my spikes. I vlombed them out and rearranged them around my whorl. I have really nice vressis as I always use trilly quality dishner. I watched people drong by. I troobi the rioty of styles.

A couple of men troed in, one wanting to try the new mote-trolled bouncing varectors and the other wantiing colour. I vised the first chap of the new ninety-degree vadderangle, and montred the other one the colour charts on the splay.

‘That one’s sampa,’ he said, bluvponting a dirty green on the H row.

I tried not to say anything. We are told not to question the cuzmo, but sometimes, honestlon, you have to clamp your moufleur. ‘?Have you seen this rather fokka vlu though.’

‘I troobi this H13 better. !Look. It’s got flash.’

‘Hmm, that’s why it’s more spensive,’ I said. Flash is overrated I think, but it is like you’re getting two or three colours in one.

I started mixing the H13green for him. Shame he dinti troobi the vlu, as it would have looked sicca as a frame for his handsome vaddervanilli. I put the long stentions into a tray of H13. I then painted extra green onto his vressis ligently, wrapping each flairlock in voil and tying up the odd thin strand, which we did in silver. He waited, fabling to his friend, who was trying vadderangles with different mote-trolled varectors. They troobied the new angle. ‘It was tellment exo, and now it’s tellment in,’ vlatted the friend, having a little strut and looking into the mirruv at his vanilli ponting straight out.

‘That’s the fashwerve for you,’ said Greenvressis.

‘You’re litters bangup to the mint,’ I said to his friend. ‘In a couple of weeks you wonti see anyone with an upright, they’re like tellment over.’

I started tatching all Greenvressis’ stentions. It took yons as it’s fiddly vail. I siddered the vanilli. ‘You know, these green vressis might go siccon with one of our new vadderays.’

Greenvressis gave a little thrust. ‘Worth a try,’ he dixed.

I vlatted. These two were quite grooty. I troobied their willingness to speriment.

We tried out vadderays. The seventh or eighth reallon hanced his vanilli, splaying exo siccon from its vadderbase, in dark metallic grey. The metal weirdlon flected the shunting colours in the flash of the green. ‘Stylish,’ I cluded.

‘Bang-up,’ agreed Greenvressis. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘Very now,’ dixed his friend. ‘Oh Miley, I’m gonna have to have one of them little mouthers.’

I vlatted, to be polite, even though I didn’t troobi him swearing. ‘Everyone’s gonna want one by the end of the week.’

I stood back and siddered Greenvressis. ‘They might even zire them green vressis too. That whole onsomb might litters be the big shebang.’

Lollos. Thinking back, I realise I had nidea. I was one naïve little scrap. ?Didn’t have a cluebo in hellion, did I. !Nugh. !Easynough to dix that now.

Anyway, Greenvressis’ friend chose a silver vadderay with yellow pulse to montrup gainst his normous dark vaddervanilli.

Talika came over for a darskpeer. She winked her mouflaps. I was pleased, because she doesn’t give much praise.

‘?You want bits, or likes,’ Greenvressis asked.

Bits is obvion more practical but I troobi likes better cos they come back at you more velochy. So Greenvressis and his mate, totally troobiflipped with their purchases, sferred me a dred-and-fifty likes but of course half of that straightdrongs to the salon and half of what’s left pays MileyMuns. So I was left with thirty seven likes. Not kak. Would pay the week’s rent on my partmo.

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Private Parts

Please remember, this is a work in progress!  Still evolving all the time.

If you zire a dictionary, I will supply one.  Thanks for reading!

 

Chapter 1.

My tretcher turned itself off. My slozerlok opened and tipped til I was standing. I climbed out and peered through my darsk into the mirruv. That moufleur needs a bit of teeyelsee, Kedda, I said to myself. Got in the blowpac for a freshnub dryclenz.

Fitted my lights first, as it’s hard getting them in evenly once the flair’s furled. Then I velochy vlomed and set the vressis into hard spiralling spikes. I don’t have long vressis. One needs to look bislisslike. I alternated a dark grey with a shiny vlu. My lights are simple white. I donti troobi being too flashy. You donti wanti upstage the cuzmos.

No time to tube anything, so I lokapped the partmo and, comdab, took the boo to vail. Two stops only. I’m lucky to live in the sentralzo, where all the trilly fashwerve houses are.

Got to the jop by eight. My first cuzmo was a man ziring a new varector. I montred him our new springy terial. It keeps your vaddervanilli as upright as you troobi, but you can obvion adjust cording to the fashwerve, which changes so fast that this is a portent sideration. Two weeks ago it was bangup to have your vanilli ponting slightly down. Who would have dixed it? Vanillis had always been ponting up til then. But there’s no accounting for fashwerve. This week one is only bangup if they are a ninety degree man.

Then I stood guard over the splays for an hour, pressing spambort. Someone has to, obvion, but why me? Talika often gives me crap travs. It noys me as I am fokka at design and shouldn’t have to waste my talent. One of the timps should do it.

I had a break. I rested on the bench exo. I darskchecked my ins, nothing much, mostly spam.

I vaxed and trimmed a vlady’s moufleur. She didn’t need stentions with her twenty centimetres of flair. I swinefully snipped off her bells, then showed her the dyes. She troobied a darkish pink, almost an urple, and a shiny silver, for vertical stripes. Stripes have been coming back in and why not? Reretro and striking. I tied the tiny bells back on again. They made a plezza tinkly noise as they clattened on chuther. She preciated my ferts.

Talika passed a vlady onto me for advice on her flappyflappy vlips. I had a look. The vlips were unusually large and loose, but were quite fokka in their own way. I said, ‘You know, they’re quite riginal. I wouldn’t wuzzo.’

‘Oh, no,’ she mitted a deep darskamped sigh. ‘They’re too zarre. It’s darskturning. People are stoggaing in the street to darskoo.’

‘Well, you could use vlitox or get them glued; I have some exslish glue. Or, obvion, as a last zort, there’s vergery.’

She went for vlitox. She’d had glue before on her rimeum. It hadn’t lasted and the whole idea of vergery made her want to tubemitt.

For lunch I tubed a berrycoction. Set my timer for teninnits so I could still stroll round the block. I saw Katoline in the street. You can tell Katoline from a long way off from the mess what is her moufleur. Her vressis were tousled, not in a fokka way, and the colour had gone. ‘Come in for some product,’ I said. ‘Sort out those vressis.’

‘Not got no likes, Kedda,’ she plied. ‘Need to be paid. Maybe next week.’

‘?How’s trav,’ I asked.

‘Hard.’

Katoline manages fifty dells. They trav to hectic deadlines, often being called out with litters teninnits warning.

‘?You had a coction,’ she asked.

‘Yeah, had it,’ I said. ‘Might get a choca though.’

‘Mozapan I’ll send you in three of our fleurs for vampoo-up-vlomb.’

‘?Vressis,’ I asked.

‘Not that long. Xinchis.’

‘Send them early or I won’t have time.’

‘?Share a vlatticube at the kend,’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ I plied. ‘Despo for a fokka vlatt.’

I sferred ten likes to Liza at the corner jop for a chocacoction. She’s still got that big vinehous scuring her vlips. Not sicca. I should tell her.

Dronged back, tubed my chocacoction velochy, and started trav again. A girl of sixteen wanting vattoos. She sent an ix through to my darsk. Arbrus, flars. ‘Don’t want stamps though, zire a riginal,’ she said.

‘No problet,’ I said, jected her with killapayn and started darsketching. Lucklon for her, I am fokka at vart. Some salons donti have a cluebo in hellion.

While she tubed her bloffee I sent her through some quixes. She pulled out her tube, and like snorted through her darsk. ‘?What the blonk,’ she cried. ‘?Have you nevah seen an arbru.’

‘Course I have.’

‘A real one I mean.’

‘?Real.’ I thought ont. ‘No, obvion not a real one. Only ixes.’

‘Yeh, well, that’s obvion. ?You never been exo.’

‘Course. I go exo every day,’ I torted.

‘Exo-exo,’ she said. ‘Properion exo.’

‘No. I’m…too busy.’ It’s trueinf. I am busy. Exo-exo is far, and ricoloso, so I don’t wanti go there anyway.

She lay back down to darsketch what she troobied. Really good ixes of arbrus.

‘OK, no problet,’ I said. We must never answer back. You just have to do your best to get the likes off of cuzmos.

‘?Where you zire thix,’ I asked.

‘Whorledges,’ she dixed, ‘and monsright.’

The vlady’s moufleur was alpretta quitablowed in vattoos. I pulled her left leg xinchis to the left and her right leg xinshis to the right.

‘?You want the arbrus on top of the dolfins,’ I asked.

‘Yes, just go over them. I’m tellment over dolfins.’

I started to vattoo her ix. She screamed a bit, but it were fake. You can’t feel anything on killapayn. It nums you totally. She thought she was feeling payn, but she was just feeling presha.

She troobied the zults though, sferred me some likes, and troed off.

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Pearly: Chapter 6

 

Chapter 6.

Shelley the cello gave a great gusty sigh. ‘Well, Obi was quite a good oboe in his youth…’

‘Hunh, quite?!’ spluttered Obi. ‘Don’t listen to her: I was top-notch, kid, top-notch.’

‘…and, new, he was bought by a top conductor, a wonderful musician, for his talented grandson, Gabriel. Gabriel and Obi played together for many years. When the boy was sixteen, they reached the final of Young Musician of the Year. Unfortunately Obi’s reed caught on Gabriel’s jumper, splitting just as they were to go on stage. The boy grabbed his spare, which was not properly broken in. Despite this, Obi managed well. The piece went wonderfully…until a high E flat, which came out a disastrous squeak.’

‘Oh,’ I murmured in sympathy.

‘Things went from bad to worse,’ said Obi. ‘Gabriel, of course, had forgotten to clean me, so there was water under one of my keys. Every time he tried to play a C, it came out as a B. Not a thing in the world I could do about it. The piece was in B flat, so it sounded particularly bad….wincingly bad.’

‘On coming off stage,’ said Shelley, ‘Gabriel entered the Green Room, yanked Obi’s three pieces apart, pulled his arm back, and threw them at the wall, one at a time, with all his strength. He then just left him there, crumpled and smashed on the floor.’

I don’t quite know how I did this, but with superflutan effort I managed to pull air from the room to let out a small but gruesome howl. I couldn’t bear this story.

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said Obi quickly. ‘He didn’t mean to do it..lovely lad..’

Gosh, was he extremely forgiving… or was he blind? In a flash, I wondered if I too had been blinded… about Lucy. When she had left me out, had it been that she felt too lazy to put me away? When she had left me at school, in a cold locker, for more than a week, had it been on purpose, to avoid practice?  Yes, yes, I saw that it was true.  I had cared about her a lot more than she had cared about me.  As I realised these things, I felt all the light of my soul seeping out into the darkness around me.

‘Eventually another contestant gathered Obi up, wrapped his broken body in cloth, and took him to a repair shop.’

‘They, they managed, in the end….’ creaked Obi.

‘…They managed to patch him up, so he’d be fine for beginners, is what he’s trying to say.’

‘Yeah, so when I was taken out of my case, which was not often, I had to play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’, and ‘Old MacDonald’, you know…’

We sighed. We did know.

‘….badly.…from playing Albinoni and Cimarosa.’ Obi sobbed. ‘Oh, how are the mighty fallen.’

Eventually we slept. The next day the flute-mender hummed tunes as he replaced my pads. I recognised one. Silvia and Madame had played it to us once. It was ‘L’Après-midi d’un Faune,’ by Debussy. I liked it so much I couldn’t help sparkling a little in time with his humming. When the mender had replaced all my pads he started to play. It was without warning and, not being ready, I squeaked nervously into harmonics. ‘Ooh, steady on, old thing,’ he said. He started playing the faun.

Oh, I can scarcely tell you what it felt like.  The peace that suddenly envelops you.  It’s instant and it’s out of this world. I had heard a nightingale sometimes outside Lucy’s window. It sounds like that. Or like the calm pools of water I had heard about as Lucy read aloud from Greek myths. Cool, limpid runs of notes tumble and fall. It feels like your mind is being stroked by an angel, which allows you to be full of wonder at the whole of creation.

The flute-mender stopped playing. ‘Hmm, you’re not so bad,’ he said. I tried to glint again at him. He picked up a silver cloth and gave me a polish. I heard a scratchy noise. He was writing something on card. ‘£250,’ he said. ‘Someone should buy you for that.’ He put me in the window on a stand. At least it was light. I could shine a tiny bit and glint at the world.

I stood there all day. The other flutes were mostly all new. Sweet babies, they knew nothing. They had not even played their first tune.  I told them stories, of music and love and life, Yankee Doodle, Molly Malone, Morning has Broken, all of which I had learnt from the pieces I had played with Lucy. They sighed and longed for life.

For the night, I was taken out of the window and placed back on the workbench alongside other instruments.  ‘Obi,’ I called.

He answered with a groan.

‘Do you know ‘L’Après-midi d’un Faune?’ ‘ I whispered.

He sighed. ‘Pearly, my dear! You are asking an OBOE! How could an OBOE not know the faun? I’ve played it with an orchestra, several times.’

‘But…it’s for flute, isn’t it?’ I asked.

‘The flute starts off,’ he answered, ‘but after a little while the flute hands over to the oboe…they share the melody.’

‘Can you…? Do you know…? Why is it so…wonderful?’ I asked him.

He sighed. ‘I’m getting you, lass….I know it’s special, but… nobody really knows.’

‘Is it..maybe…magic?’ I asked. I was scared he would laugh at me, but he didn’t.

‘That particular mixture and blend of notes sets the atoms buzzing at a frequency which activates something special in humans and in this world…’

‘But what is it, that special thing?’

‘It’s to do with ancient memories, the soul, freshness, childhood, perfection…the fact we all came from a star, something timeless and beyond us all….’

We all came from a star? Was that why I could bend light? ‘So…the faun…taps into all that, does it?’

‘The faun takes us back to before there was time. I think the composer managed to transcend, do you understand the word?.. transcend this world during the writing of it…Maybe he ate some dodgy mushrooms or something…. Ravel’s the best for that, makes the humans’ hearts soar…that’s one you should play.’ He hummed a snatch of it. ‘That’s the Daphnis and Chloe, have you tried that?’

‘I would, if only somebody could take me there,’ I said.

‘One day, somebody will,’ he promised. ‘Flute players can’t keep away from it. Not half of them can actually play it properly, mind…’

We talked about harmonics, resonance, tone, deep into the night, softly as the youngsters wanted rest.

The next day, I became aware of a new presence in the mender’s shop. All of us felt it. Dusk fell. We waited, straining our senses into the silence. ‘So…who are you?’ we whispered finally.

A low voice came through the darkness. ‘I am Alto…the story-teller.’ She sounded bigger than us, deeper and older. That night, all night, draughts whistled through her. She told stories of tunes: powerful melodies that change the world, that transfix and brainwash people. She told us of orchestral works, enormous concerts held in huge echoey spaces, the wonder of being an essential part of such creations of genius. As the night grew colder and darker, one of the older flutes beside me snatched at a passing current of air and managed to flutter, ‘Aaaltooo, teeell us about the Ooold Maaan’s Caaave.’

A shudder ran through the flutes. Everyone had heard vague rumours of the Old Man’s Cave. ‘Don’t even go there,’ groaned Obi.  ‘Honest, you don’t want to know.’

‘Ohh….the Old Man’s Cave,’ murmured Alto, ignoring him. ‘I had a poor battered friend, a piccolo…tiny scrap of a thing, called Pixie. He’d been left for a couple of years, damp, in a mildewed case… finally got chucked to the Salvation Army. An old codger bought him for four pounds fifty. Then…this old man…’ Alto coughed and her voice dropped even lower, ‘… took my friend, took Pixie into this room, this…dungeon…’, we all strained to hear, ‘…full of the corpses of old instruments, all mutilated, deformed. He put Pixie into a vice, twisted him into a spiral, attached fishing wire and hung him off the ceiling….he had become a mobile.’

We gasped in horror, ‘A mobile?’ If I could have hidden my head under my cleaning cloth, I would have.

‘Too scary, too scary,’ snorted the trumpets.

‘Why do you torment yourselves so?’ hummed Obi. ‘Forget about the Old Man’s Cave. It’s just a story…only half true. Or not even slightly true.’

We moaned softly, traumatised to the core. The rising moon glanced through dusty panes. Alto was getting into her stride: ‘There, Pixie told me, hang flutes of all ages. Spinning grotesquely around in the half-light, they are forever split into head, foot, body. They no longer speak, no longer sing. Dying musical instruments fill the ceiling space. Floating head joints, foot joints, swinging piano keys, spinning mouth organs, deformed trombones, cracked OBOES!’

Obi, despite himself, gasped in fright.

‘Dented cymbals, tangled triangles, ripped bongoes….and the silence….the silence is appalling…’

Alto fell silent. We all held our breath, imagining the quietness of this grey world. ‘But why?’ squeaked a baby trumpet. ‘Why would he be so cruel?’

‘He doesn’t know it’s cruel. He’s an artist. He is making art out of redundant objects.’

We finally slept as dawn was feeling its way through the windows. After that night, I tuned out and tried to sleep when Alto was telling her horror stories, as they made me unhappy.

A week later a raspy-voiced fellow came in, in a bit of a hurry. ‘I just need a flute. Any flute.’

‘What do you want it for?’ asked our mender.

‘Oh, ensemble, improv, knockin around. Doesn’t have to be great.’

The flute-mender’s hand hovered over several flutes. I could just tell he was going to pick me. As his hand pulled me through the air I whistled, ‘See you again, Obi!’

‘Best, kid,’ said Obi from the window, glinting sunshine at me from his keys. ‘Bach sonatas every morning: it’s the best workout.’

‘Bye friends!’ I shrieked as I was pulled apart, put into my case and handed over. My life was about to change: I was to become a working flute.

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Wantababy: Last Chapter!

Sally-Anne, thats me.

 

Chapter 21.

LittelBaby and LittelBrudda had looked up from there werk. Neether of them cried owt. May be thay had known we were on borowed time. Suddernly the copper biside me let go my arm and dropt to his nees. I thort that was odd. Then he let go of my hand cuffs and fell flat on to his fase, his hare in the edgis of the streme. I looked up the streme. LittelBrudda had anuther large flat stowne in his hand and was bringing his arm back. Thwack! The stowne hit the humungus thug what was sitting on Duncan, on the side of his hed. I saw it all in slo moshun as LittelBrudda aimed again and down fell a massiv police woman, who topperled side weys, mowth opern in mid showt. The larst man, a mussly skinny chap not in uniform, ducked but not farst enugh. LittelBaby had parsed LittelBrudda anuther rock, wich sored owt of his hand and thuded hard in to skinnys cheke. Down he went.

There was a silence. Jus the gergling of the streme and the tweating of berds.

LittelBaby clapped her hands. ‘Oo good atta trow de stownes!’ she said.

‘Yeh,’ said Duncan faintly. ‘Not bad, LittelBrudda!’

A car dor slammed bihind us. Three more men stood there, with guns, glaring at us thrugh goggels. The guns went kuh chi kuh, kuh chi kuh, like geting redy to fiyer. You often here that sownd in the moovies but not often in rele life. LittelBrudda had anuther stowne in his hands. ‘Dont, LittelBrudda!’ scremed Duncan.

It was such a high screme that I wantid to showt ‘Your a gerl, your a gerl,’ but I realised it wasent the moment. Quite often I have to kerb my inpulsis.

‘We give are selvs up!’ I showtid. ‘Plese dont shoot.’

There was a crack of a gun. Three cracks. I thort ‘oh shit, have I bene shot?’ But I dident fiyul eny pane. I looked at Duncan. He was still standing. I looked at the babies. They were still standing in the streme. The three men buckeled at the nees. One of there guns went of, but in to the trees. Who had brogt them down? It was a mistery. The leves jus shimmered in the silence.

Then there was a cracking of twigs. Some one walked owt of the bushis. It was CrazyStranger with a gun in his hand. ‘What…?’ I croked. He terns up all over the plase.

‘Iyum sorry, Sally-Anne,’ he said, ‘that I apere to be following you arownd all over the plase.’

‘Well, it is a bit weerd,’ I said, ‘but thank you, eny wey.’ I noddid at the three flatterned blokes.

‘There not ded,’ he said. ‘Its salt. Theyull come rownd in a bit, we shoud move.’ He put owt his hand. I shook it. ‘Iyuv bene looking owt for you for a long time, Sally-Anne,’ he said.

There was more crackling of under growth bihind him and a dumpy lady with a rownd red fase was standing there. I thort I was having one of my vishuns. ‘Mum?’ I wispered.

‘Well, Yes, and No, Sally-Anne, my love,’ she said.

She all weys has been a bit odd, so I jus ignored that strange rip lie. ‘What are you doing here?’ I arsked, not berlieving my eyes.

‘Me and Prefeser Snow go back a long wey,’ she said. ‘To nine munths bifore you were born, Sally-Anne.’

‘Weyull explane in a minit. Get in your car and follow us,’ said CrazyStranger.

We quickly swept up are blankits, tent and food and rammed it in to are crappy car. We followed CrazyStranger along a windy root for abowt forty minits. All the time, I was saying to Duncan, ‘What? What is that? Why woud Mum know CrazyStranger all this time?’ We went owt of the woods and on to a bigger rode, along anuther windy lane, thrugh a cupel of villigis, thrugh a ford, parst a farm and we parked bihind a pub where there was a littel play grownd and got owt and let the babies play in the swings.

CrazyStranger sat on the botterm of the slide. He sihged. He lookt quite old and tiyerd. ‘Your muther was the surogut for my very ferst, originle, succes full attempt to bring a neyanderthal being in to the werld, Sally-Anne.’

‘What?’ I was gob smacked. ‘Was she? Why did I never mete that neander thingy then? Did it ever live at are howse?’

Duncan garsped. He was looking at me. ‘Oh my god,’ he said, ‘Sally-Anne, its you!’

I stared back at him. ‘Am I a speri mint?’

‘Yes, you are,’ he said.

‘Wow,’ I said. Lucky it dont still mene chewing gum then.

‘Well, it dont make no diffrence,’ I said, ‘seeing as how I dont evern get properly what one is!’

‘Thats why your dad left,’ said my Mum, ‘He coudent cope with you being so…diffrent. Thogh Iyud only agreed to do it for him! To pay of his dets, the un grate full….’

‘Is that why Iyum a freek? And why pepol dont make eny sense…?’

‘Your not a freek,’ said CrazyStranger staring at me with….love, I think it was, ‘you are a wonder, and thats also why you were chosern to bring LittelBaby into the werld. The sientists had tried again and again but the babies were all weys miscarried or still born. They figered you were the only one who coud do it.’

I thort back to how it all startid. ‘So Jess was pade to get me to Wantababy….’

LittelBaby was in the swing, going ‘Weeee! Weeee!’ My mum was pushing her. It made me nerely die of happy ness wotching them, so I coud hardly consentrate on all this stupid speri mint stuff.

‘Oh, yes…thay pade Jess, thay pade Wantababy, thay pade Frances…it was a teme effert.’

‘You were manipulatid,’ said Duncan. ‘It menes cuntrolled,’ he addid, ‘like a puppit.’

Ooh, it made me feyul weerd that pepol had been wotching me, and plotting me like that. And oh shit, Frances was NarstyLady….Still, I was glad she wasent LittelBabys rele mum…who was LittelBabys rele mum then?

‘Who is LittelBabys rele mum then?’ I arsked CrazyStranger.

‘Her rele mum? Her rele mum….and your rele mum…two different wimin, lived sixty thowsand yeres ago, in a cave in Romania, in a big famly group of Neyanderthal. But you, and the babies, you are cloned….’

‘Cloned menes like copied, Sally-Anne,’ said Duncan.

‘…yes, like copied, from three of the children of those two wimin. There remanes were fownd in a beautifle cave on a hill side. It was luvley, tidy, all the speres lined up, pichers on the walls and a harth, or fiyer, in side.’

I knew that. I had sene the cave, I had sene the piols of fer, the fiyer, the brambels at the entrunse, the view. I had smelt the smoke, the animuls, the children, the love. In those vishuns I must of been seeing memries parsed on from my rele, aynchent muther and farther, or memries parsed on from my oridginle self. Was it like I was getting eccows of her feelings? Iyum not clever enugh to know.

‘Does that mene I have lived bifore?’

‘Not quite. Some boddy pritty much ixactly the same as you lived bifore.’

‘Why did you help us get away from the laboratry?’ I arked. ‘Do you…not like,’ I coudent really say Bludshoteyes, ….’ that Procter Docter man what kept the babies in cagis?’

‘I dont like them precisely bicause they kepe babies in cagis,’ he ansered. ‘Docter Procter wantid to kepe you in a cage, for your hole life, Sally-Anne. ‘

My hart clenched with horrer. If I coudent be owt side and fiyul the brease on my fase evry day, I think I woud die. He continewed: ‘I had a massiv falling owt with Procter and his stupid son, with me insisting on having you broght up by your suragut and having your freedum. But I never dremed they were hatching a plan to get you to be the surogut for a new generashun of battery caged neanderthal. They were one step ahed of me there.’

‘So you fownd owt I was pregnunt…’

‘And I vowed to help you kepe your baby owt of the cagis….’

‘But I woudent lisen…I thort you were crazy!’

‘I dont blame you for that,’ he laughed, ‘but I all weys had watched you from afar, taking notes and injoying the fact you were loving the owt dors, loving to darnse. You are a true oridginle, Sally-Anne. No boddy else sees things the wey you do.’

Who else had said that to me? It rang a bell. It was the lady who gave me the book to write in. This book. ‘The lady…’ I said, ‘The lady who gave me the book…’

‘Yes,’ said Prefeser Snow. ‘My wife, Cecilia. We were really hoping you might rite some of your advenchers down, as it woud be a fasinating rede.’

‘Shes going to,’ said Duncan.

I dident even know then that I really coud rite it all down. But see, I nearly have, and Iyum nearly at the end of the story so far. My hand akes fit to bust I hope you know.

I lookt over at my mum pushing the babies in the swings. ‘I have one more queschun,’ I said, wispering. ‘Why did you choose my mum/not mum? Like, shes not…..’

‘Bicause ferstly, she agreed to do it. You dont find meny who are brave enugh. Also, she had a high persentige of neyanderthal genes,’ said Snow. ‘Her blud test rejistered highist in the like leehood stakes of being abel to bring you in to the werld.’

Duncan carried on talking to CrazyStranger. It was to sientific for me so I went over to the swings. My mum was laughing. I dident think Iyud sene her laugh in yeres. ‘Look, Sally-Anne!’ she said. As the babies came for werd in the swing she was hi fiving there littel swinging fete. ‘Hi five! Hi five!’ Thay were screming with dilight.

‘Mum…do you want to buy them littel rabits?’ I arsked her, with teres prickeling bihind my eyes.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, blinking rapidley like she had jus wokern up, ‘I do! I want to buy them rabits, and books, and ice cremes. I just had to come with the Prefeser, and see my grand childrun, and say good bye, cos….your going of… for a time?’

‘Yeh, were of to an ilund,’ I said.

I hugged my mum/not mum good bye. She felt wunderfley sollid and warm. ‘Dont eat too meny donuts and thanks…for being brave enugh to bring me in to the werld,’ I said.

‘Your a very speshul gerl, Sally-Anne,’ she said, ‘and dont you ferget it.’

‘I carnt ferget it, Mum,’ I said. ‘Its jus part of being speshul, you dont ever get to ferget it!’

On the way up to the top of Scot Land we terned up the radio and sang along lowdly. We sang ‘I want to brake free-hee!’ and ‘Were all Going on a Sunny Holiday!’ Are crappy car was back firing and fucked up but we trundeled along happiley, and sloley.

‘We can get up the top this time for shure, Sally-Anne,’ he said.

‘To the Orknees?’ I said. We had talkt abowt this a lot.

‘Yes, the Orknees.’

As we drove, I streched in to the back and held LittelBabys hand often. And LittelBruddas. I wantid to explane to them that we woud for ever be in danger but I thort may be thay all redy knew. Thay are so clever. Thay know things. More things than I do.

‘You know, Sally-Anne,’ said Duncan.

‘What Duncan?’

‘You dont have to wurry eny more abowt NarstyLady. There not going to be arfter us no more.’

‘How come? I thort thay woud be arfter us for ever.’

‘CrazyStranger, he said that as soon as we were of, he was going to hand his self in.’

‘Hand his self in?’

‘Yes, he said hes eighty two now and he dusent mind being in prison for NarstyLady if it menes that his speri mint, thats you, and the babies, can be wiold and free.’

I startid to cry with gratty chood. What a gift. I realised that if CrazyStranger loved us that much then it ment I was kind of his dorter.

Duncan startid laughing. ‘He arsked me what he shoud say if thay arsk him why he set light to her hare.’

‘What did you tell him?’ I arsked.

‘I said, ‘just say you gave her a fag so she coud have a larst smoke on her wey down the river.’

We coudent help it but we chuckeled and chuckeled abowt NarstyLady and her por berning hed all the way up to the top.

We stopt in a wood to camp, the night bifore are crossing on the erly morning ferry. When ever the babies were in naycher to gether, its like we coudent kepe are eyes of them. Thay had a beautifle bright grene shimmering light arownd them. You coud see spex of dust darncing in this light. It was like enerjy, like as if I was seeing enerjy. It moved in curves, like waves. I was addictid to wotching the babies.

LittleBrudda had soft gowldern hare all over his boddy. It was soft and moved in the wind, like the wind was brushing it. He gazed up at the sky, up at the moon. He only moved when abserlutely necisery. He charntid softly, like ‘oom, gana, wana, gana, oola moona noooog.’ He coud clime trees really well. I dident see no harm in it. I let him clime. Theres no sense taking some one owt of a cage and puting them in to anuther one, bisides wich, he was making up for lost time. ‘You go as high as you can, LittelBrudda!’ I called. So up he went, hand over hand, foot over foot. Duncan came back from finding wood for the fiyer and he looked arownd and saw LittelBaby sitting in a littel nut tree picking cob nuts. ‘Where is LittelBrudda?’ he arsked.

I pointid up in to an inormus beech tree. ‘Sally-Anne,’ said Duncan. ‘You are completley barmy! He is a baby!’

I saw that LittelBrudda was right at the top. Oops, it was bit high. ‘He might be a baby,’ I said, ‘but he is very strong and very good at climing. Bisides wich, I know what he nedes bicause I am a neander thingy and so is he.’

‘LittelBrudda!’ showtid Duncan. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Me or righ Dung Dung!’ the baby charntid back, swinging from a brarnch, miols abuv us. ‘Me high, me high, wid di berdies, no wurri!’

Duncan startid climing up. LittelBrudda showtid down to me: ‘Sally-Anne! Sally-Anne! No wurri, me hi five di toptop leves fo oo, Sally-Anne!’

Duncan went up as high as he coud to help LittelBrudda get down, but Iyum telling you, pepol like LittelBrudda…. not that there are eny, as he is uneke…. dont nede no help. He was a jenius climer, a proper legend.

We realised that night that it was LittelBabys, and there for LittelBruddas, ferst berth day, the 31st of Octoba, 2023. We lit a fiyer and sang ‘Oh dragen fly with your wings so blue,’ and ‘I….have bicome…comfterbly num,’ and ‘Happy Berth Day to you hoo.’

Next morning at dawn, porpusis lept all arownd are bowt. Slanting sun light berst thrugh clowds to glint on the dark cherning waves. Seles poked there heds owt of the water to wotch us go by and uther sele famerlies viewed us from rocks. LittelBaby was fasinatid. ‘Ooh, ooh, LittelBrudda!’ she said again and again. ‘Sele for oo. Sele for oo. Baby sele dere!’

The bowt stopt a cuple of times at rimote, wind brushed ilunds but we did not get of. We were heding as far awey as possibel from the sivel eyes ayshun. ‘Vanish, LittelBaby,’ I said, ‘thats what we nede to do, even if that CrazyStranger Snow is hanging owt in prison for us.’ I squezed her. We had a sete on the deck. She kissed my cheke and cuddeled in side my red puffa what I got from Oxfam. I looked at my luvley famerly. Duncan was in his big grene jumper with moth holes in it. LittelBaby was waring her hat with the fer lining, grene flowerey dungarees, and wellies. LittelBrudda was waring red trowsies what Duncan fownd in Sue Ryder for him, a brown fleese and a tartan hat with furrey ear flaps. They were all so gorjus I wantid to hug them tight to me for ever.

LittelBrudda was clutching on to the rales, wotching the fome bihind the bowt and the gulls weeling over the sparkeling sea. He had that far awey look in his eyes. He crooned on a mono tone: ‘Goo nana wolla noo noo….Flana gonoo omma wooooo.’

‘Spirit is evry thing,’ translaytid LittelBaby, popping her hed owt of my puffa, ‘life is a fract chured sperience, but in the end, we are all one.’

‘Duncan?’

‘Yes, Sally-Anne?’

‘Whats fract chured?’ we said together. We laughed.

‘It menes brokern,’ Duncan said.

Its lucky that I can under stand Duncan, and Duncan can under stand LittelBaby, and LittelBaby can under stand LittelBrudda, uther wise in are famly there woud be a bit of a langwidge baryer.

The End

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Wantababy: Chapter 20

Oh Duncan, stoppit! I jus  want to go on my fase book!

Chapter 20.

Are tires squeled as Steve had to yank the van rownd in a cercle rarther than crash in to the gates. A littel car was roaring along biside us. I wotched as it drove right up clowse to the men shutting the gates.  An arm came owt the windo and sprayed some thing at them. Thay recoiled in pane, screming. A skinny old man, oh my god it was CrazyStranger, how dus he get in on evry thing, then lept owt of the car and heved on the metel gates to opern them for us. We saled thrugh and Steve stepped on it. I strapped LittelBaby in to her sete and kept LittelBrudda on my nees. I operned the fridge and got owt some donuts as I coud tell the por babies had been pritty much starved in that horribel lab.

Arfter less than a minit, Zoe showtid from the frunt. ‘Weve got cumpny!’

Duncan looked owt the windo. ‘Shit, there trying to ram us in the arse,’ he said.

I looked at the sticky donut in my hand. I had a good idear. Some times I am jus brillyunt like that. I have really good idears like owt of no where.

The Dunkin Donuts van is very cool as you can serve donuts owt the side and coffees owt the back. Still clutching on to LittelBrudda, I flipped the hook on the cownter at the back and it dropped down. We were ram paging along back werds, looking straight at BludShotEyes and Monobrow who were  driving like the clappers and looking right in to my eyes. I picked up a nice sticky creme filled donut and threw it with all my strenth at there wind screne. Sadley, I missed by abowt a miol and hit a por man riding a long on his bisickle. I always was shit at throwing.

LittelBrudda lent side weys from my arms and swiped a donut. I thort he must be hungry. ‘Yeh, you go ahed and eat one, LittelBrudda,’ I said. He jus looked at me like I was crazy and threw the donut smack into BludShotEyes wind screne. He picked up two more in each hand. Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack evry donut hit its targit and berst its jucy in sides, custerd or jam, all over the glars. I handid LittelBrudda a cupel more custerd filled ones. Bulls eye, bulls eye dispite BludShotEyes car swerving abowt like mad. Oh, yes, he had a good eye, that baby.

‘Good skillz, LittelBrudda,’ yelled Duncan who had sene evry thing in his mirrers. The wind screne of the car bihind was smery custardy yello with red jammy splogis. Thay put there wind screne wipers on wich dident help, as it jus made the hole wind screne yello and red mixed, so a sort of disgusting browny goo. BludShotEyes wownd down his windo and stuck his hed owt of it in a desprit bid to see where he was going. LittelBrudda was redy for him with a jammy one square in the fase. That was the larst straw and thay veered of the rode in to the ditch.

I lent back and rilaxed. I strapt LittelBrudda in next to LittelBaby. He was looking less ugley to me by the secund. ‘Whats your rele name? WunderBoy?’ I arsked him.

‘He LittelBrudda!’ cried LittelBaby, dis mayed again (she all weys sownds dis mayed) at the thort he might have anuther name.

‘Me One Nine Tree,’ he said. ‘But now me LittelBrudda me tink.’ Wow, his fase when he smiold was jus extrordinry.

We stopped at a super markit car park. Steves friend was there with a car. Zoe and Steve helped us piol the babies in. I still thort it was weerd that Zoe was Steves sister. Zoe said ‘Hey Sally-Anne. I can see why you wantid to kepe your baby. Shes imminensly cool, thats why.’

‘Thank you, Zoe,’ I said. ‘Thank you for helping us get the babies owt.’

‘Iyum sorry,’ she said, hugging me, ‘that I forsed you in to all this.’

‘Zoe,’ I said, ‘if you hadent, LittelBaby woudent be in the werld, and LittelBrudda woud be in a cage for the rest of his life, wich woud be a massiv tradgerdy.’

We waved them of. I got in the frunt next to Duncan. The car was quite crappy but more nippy than the van at least. I got a crick in my neck staring rownd at LittelBrudda. He was abserlutely captivating. Gorjuss. Intellijence radiatid owt of his eyes. The babies fell aslepe all most at the same instunt, as we got onto the M6. The car was ratterling and banging, but thay dident care. I saw there hands creeping over to wards each uther in there slepe. The next time I looked rownd, thay were clutching each uthers hands.

Duncan was looking in the mirrer. ‘Some ones following us,’ he said. ‘Look,’ and he pulled owt past a red Toyota with a granny driving it, and pulled in again arfter. The car bihind us followed us smoothly. It was uncomfertably close bihind us. I peped over my sete.

‘Two pepol,’ I riported. ‘Looks like two men.’

‘Shit,’ said Duncan, ‘Shit, shit, shit, how did the wankers find us?’

‘You can get awey from them,’ I said. ‘You are clever and strong and brave.’

He looked at me. ‘Sally-Anne,’ he said, ‘you only think I am clever and strong and brave bicause in relashun to you I am.’

‘Your not my relashun,’ I said. ‘You are jus my boy friend.’

Duncan pulled owt into the therd lane. ‘What you doing?’ I said.

‘Wotch this,’ said Duncan. He continewed in the therd lane, crusing to the right of a grene minni in the secund lane. The car following us came quite clowse bihind us in the therd lane too. ‘Hold tight,’ said Duncan. ‘Theres an exit, Sally-Anne, what Iyum gonna take, but, right now, Iyum prertending Iyum not gonna take it, OK?’

The next secund he had yanked the stereing weel to the left and zipped in frunt of the minni what beeped, then cut across the ferst lane in frunt of a lorry what honked and zoomed left up one of those lanes that you are not ment to go on un less you are an imergency. The car following us had not had time to do all that and was stuck on the moter way.

‘Oh, your so clever, Duncan!’ I brethed in admirashun. He is a grate boy friend aksholy.

We kept driving as farst as we coud. It felt grate to have two babies insted of one. I kept looking rownd at LittelBrudda. He was so intreaging. We were still heding North. This time we woud get the bowt to the far ilands.

‘Thayull be arfter us, Sally-Anne,’ he kept saying, checking the mirrers, ‘we carnt stop.’

‘Who is thay?’ I arsked.

‘Who knows?’ he ansered. ‘But the police for one. Bicause of you know who.’ We dident like talking abowt NarstyLady, so we tried not to menshun her name. ‘And then, sientists from LittelBruddas lab. You carnt jus waltz in, grab some ones clone speri mint and not ixpect reeper cushons.’

‘Duncan?’ I said.

‘Yes, Sally-Anne,’ he said.

‘Whats reeper cushons?’ we said to gether.

I laughed bicause Duncan all weys knows what I am going to say.

‘Its like when something happerns bicause of what you did,’ he said.

‘But evry thing happerns bicause of what some boddy did,’ I said.

He smiold. ‘I guess thats true,’ he said.

So dus that mene evry thing is a reeper cushon then? So insted of saying ‘Hows things?’ you woud say ‘Hows reeper cushons?’ Onistley, why pepol have to go using really long werds to explane some thing really quite simpel I will never know.

I looked owt of the car windo at the grars vergis going by. Sheep, and horsis, probly with werms in there lungs, and fiyulds. Littel towns, rows of howsis. I wundered what evry one was doing in those howsis, in the towns, in the werld. Can eny one ever know what goes on in pepols howsis? No, is the anser. Thay carnt. I wundered if pepols thorts all kind of add up and make one big wall of muddel and wether we can may be change things with are thorts.

‘Duncan?’ I said.

‘Yes, Sally-Anne,’ he said, pulling owt parst a lorry and changing into fith gear and squeezing my leg like all at once.

‘Can we change things with are thorts?’ I arsked.

He was quiert for a bit. Sometimes my queschuns are so hard that even Duncan carnt anser them.

‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Some times. Uther times, no.’

I looked at him. He nodded in to the back setes at LittelBrudda. ‘See, are thorts got him owt. We magined how it woud be and we thort it thrugh and then we did it.’

I laughed. ‘I dident magine it quite like that thogh. I never thort Iyud get to have a go on that chare on weels.’

‘When we have a howse,’ said Duncan, ‘Iyull buy you a chare on weels like that.’

‘Thay are quite hard to get owt of,’ I tolled him. ‘If I hadent come up against the wall ivensholy, I woud still be going back werds and trying to get up.’

‘Iyull get you one with a brake,’ he said.

We picked up some rolls, cheese, termartoes and lettis at an MnS, left the A rode arfter abowt an awer and took a winding lane thrugh a forist. Ortum was in full flud arownd us, gowld and yello and red leves tumberling down. We stopt by a river. We had to, to let the babies have a wee. They hardley needid nappies as they liked to wee owt in naycher. We had a pick nick. I jumped up and down and did a bit of darnsing cos I was stiff from siting in the van so long. LittelBaby stomped up to the streme. LittelBrudda followed her. ‘LittelBrudda!’ said LittelBaby, pointing at the streme. ‘Ook. Big big iver.’

‘Ooh,’ said Brudda, ‘Wotta dat?’ stufing cheese in his mowth like he hadent eaten for a munth. Thay padeled in the streme. Thay splashed each uther. Thay dident seem to fiyul the cold. Thay picked up pebbels. LittelBrudda terned his fase up to the sun and looked at the shimmering leves in wunder.

We drove on. We had joined up with the M6 again. It felt like are hole life was going to be spent on this rode.. Are next stop was of the moter wey. We went along side a fiyuld with cows and stopped by a ford. LittelBrudda woke up and blinked at the sun light. ‘Oh, oh,’ he said when he spottid the cows.

LittelBaby looked at him. ‘Cow,’ she said.

‘Cow,’ said LittelBrudda. ‘Oo, big dat.’

LittelBabys eyes filled with teres. ‘LittelBrudda never seed a cow bifore,’ she exclamed. ‘Por LittelBrudda. Mama we gotta showshow LittelBrudda evry ting. All de hole werld.’ She took LittelBrudda by the hand. Thay toddeled of to gether. ‘You knowknow de rose hip?’ LittelBaby picked a rose hip and gave it to LittelBrudda. You knowknow de blatt berris?’ She picked a black berry for him. She picked up a pebble. ‘Peddel,’ she said and parsed it to him.

‘Peddel,’ he said.

‘Ha ha,’ said Duncan, weeping with the funny ness of it. ‘Pebbel, pebbel, LittelBrudda.’

We had to let them have a rest. We had been driving for awers. We were nere the border. I sat by the streme on a rock. I put my toes in the water and wotched LittelBaby and LittelBrudda picking up pebbels and throwing them plop into the streme. It was like perfict. We were a proper famly. I wantid these moments to larst for ever. I wantid to kepe LittelBrudda and LittelBaby safe. Bu I under stood suddernly that these moments are so preshus bicause there are not aloud for there to be too meny of them. I was scared. ‘Duncan?’ I said.

‘Yes, Sally-Anne,’ he said. He was lying on a bank in the long tangerled grars and daysies and moss, hands bihind his hed, his eyes clowsed.

‘How can we kepe things like this, Duncan? How can we hold on to LittelBaby and LittelBrudda?’

There was a pause. All I coud here was the rushing of the water in the streme and the squeles of dilight of the babies. ‘Sally-Anne,’ he said.

‘Yes?’ I said.

‘Im not shure we can,’ he said. ‘I think thay are some pepol very cross abowt us having LittelBrudda. Thay are angry with us. Crazy angry probly and trying to find us.’

I felt teres going down my chekes, farster and farster, plopping and plopping on to the erth. ‘I know,’ I said, ‘I know, Duncan.’

I went over to him on the bank and lay biside him. I put my hed on his arm pit. We held each uther tight and warm. Duncan was kind. Its like he coud fiyul my down hartidness. We wotched LittelBaby and LittelBrudda padeling in the streme thrugh harf shut eye lids. My teres made evry thing split into rane bows. Big arcs of meny culours sored across my vishun. LittelBaby and LittelBrudda were un bareabley beautifle suddernly. My boddy gave a sob. Duncans arms hugged me harder. ‘Dont be sad, Sally-Anne,’ he said, ‘Whatever happerns, no one can take this awey from us, what weyuv had all redy.’

‘But LittelBaby and LittelBrudda nede us,’ I sobbed, ‘and thay nede each uther.’

Arfter anuther four awers driving we put up the tent in a cops near Inverness. We were of the rode in thrugh a mass of brambels in a real thickit. No boddy coud of spottid us even if thay were looking.

The babies were talking to gether in there own non sencicol langwidge. ‘A gogo gotta peddle for youyou.’

‘For meme! Peddel! Tank oo.’

‘Me trow dat peddel farfar wayway.’

Thay waddeled abowt with there littel nakid boddys in the dapply evening sun. I went in to kind of a trance with the beauty of it. The berds were signing, the grarses were softly sweying and the erth semed to be brething. The light was pulsating softley. The babies ate more bred, sardines, appels and black berris. Then thay crawled in to the tent and fell aslepe with there arms arownd each uther. I crept in biside them. LittelBaby opernd her eyes and looked at me. ‘Mudda,’ she said, ‘I lub LittelBrudda. I lub hib so much.’

‘I love LittelBrudda too, LittelBaby,’ I said, ‘and I love you too, very very much.’

She nuzeled in to my arm and fell aslepe.

Next day, we left at five in the morning and drove and drove. ‘LittelBaby,’ I said. ‘The truth is, the pepol who had LittelBrudda in the cage will want him back. Thay are looking for us.’

‘I know dat, Mudda,’ she said, solemley. ‘But I tell dem, dey can not hab de LittelBrudda. He my Brudda. I need hib.’

I cried again, looking at her and how luvley she was. How coud I tell her that her needs had nuthing to do with it? How coud I tell her how evil the werld was?

‘Mudda,’ she said. ‘LittelBrudda made me fiyul bedda. I fiyul hole proper. I fiyul me. I am me.’ She gazed at LittelBrudda with love. He looked at her owt of his massiv black eyes. When thay looked at each uther there was like a flash, a spark of elexrisaty. You coud see it.

We all weys tried to stop at farst flowing rivers as they loved water so much. At abowt eleven in the morning, we stopped nere Aberdene, and wotched them in growing wunder as thay played to gether. Thay were scooping up the sandy mud from the botterm of the streme and slopping it into piols on the rocks. ‘Me make an ‘owse,’ said LittelBaby. She piold sticks and pebbels on to it and scooped owt the middel. She stuck things in the top. LittelBrudda did the same. He smoothed the big piol of wet mud with his hand. He fetched water in a big flat lefe and pored it over the top to make it smooth. He cuvered the owt side with leves. He made a dor. He was so abzorbed in his tarsk and we were so abzorbed wotching him, even LittelBaby, who was fetching piols of leves and grars, that we dident see them approche. We dident here a thing until we were sarowndid by and hand cuffs snaked rownd my rist and clicked. I exclamed and looked rownd. Duncan had been pinned to the grownd by a humungus uniformed thug.

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