Episode 4

Episode 4: Spanich Cludding

It wasn't long before the long or short of it became too long for now, at least for now. In between and around these times, seeping over and under the wafer thin fabrics of causality was the Spanich. But again, at least for now, this was all for now.

EXT. DAY, ROAD

Fisherman and Fishman have taken a wagon to French Onion. All roads lead to French Onion which makes it rather easy to get there. They are sitting in the back while Jim Jub sits at the front, next to the wagon driver. The wagon driver is humming a jaunty tune. His name is Fymens Ave. Breaking from his jaunty tune, Fymen half turns to ask Fisherman and Fishman a question, "What number mate?"

"Make it a low scoring match thanks, kind sir." replies Fishman.

"Appreciable." mutters Fisherman. He's in a mood. He crawled inside of it earlier on and got caught willy in it's zipper.

So Fymen recounts to them a low scoring soccer match using wild gestures and precise finger movements to convey the action. It's okay, it's a horse and cart so he doesn't really need to use his hands. They know to follow the road and failing that to just follow the onion scent.

The cart hit a bump in the road and the carrots flew over the side. They landed in the ditch on the side of the road, then rolled down the gentle slope until they hit the river at the bottom. The river hit them right back because it was the Standup River, and it always stood up for itself. Egos bruised, the carrots limped back wounded to their village to live out the rest of their lives as simple firemen.

The day powered on as is it's want, and dusk soon crept up on it like a roamer in the night. They needed to retire somewhere safe for the night, for it was out in the dark of the night that the Non-Euclideans came out. They were usually fairly harmless, however Fishman found their peculiarities nauseating and sometimes this manifested itself as vomits out of his mouth. Being a fish, his vomits often came out with alot of heaps big force because they were forced out of that silly "O" mouth.

Angler fish obviously didn't suffer from these problems. Turtles always look happy. When you think about it, so do crocodiles. Maybe that's saying something about the human condition, you know. Why...stop smiling...when you have the strongest jaws on the planet? Which you don't but you could, if science lifted it's game.

There was a little diner on the side of the road on the way down to the direction they were headed, and a motel next to it with rooms you could hire to sleep in. This is what they did, but first they went to buy and eat some food inside of their mouths at the diner.

They sat in a little booth in the back corner of the diner, so no one could ambush them or surprise them and make them a little bit scared. Fishman had ordered a plate of nauchies, Fisherman went with the meat plant, and Jim Jub ordered fried eggs, sunny side up, because he was still an Aztec Jaguar warrior and he worshipped a sun god. Also he needed the protein.

Glancing down the length of the diner, Jim Jub made brief eye contact with someone. The someone was about 300 mil tall, and very white. They had an open and almost hostile stare and only blinked very rarely. Jim Jub couldn't help but shake the idea that this person was in fact not a person, but a chicken.

It dawned on Jim Jub that he was eating eggs...

With a pained screech, the chicken leapt up on to the counter and began sprinting down its length at Jim Jub. His newfound Jaguar warrior instincts kicking in, Jim Jub leapt on to the booth table and screamed at the sky. The sky screamed back, and the roof of the diner caved in. The sky immediately regretted this but what can you do, hey? Crawling out of the wreckage of the diner, the trio of friends were now stranded out in the dark.

A dark filled with Non-Euclideans...

Panicking at the very thought, Fishman began a mad dash for the safety of the motel. It wasn't the first time he had run somewhere, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Startled by the suddeninity of a collasing structure and the wild eyed Fishman sprinting from the wreckage, the Non-Euclideans panicked too. A stampede of unsettled Non-Euclideans can be a dangerous thing and doubly so for someone like Fishman that can only barely handle them when they are moving slowly and in fairly straight lines. The rushed and whirred in every direction, their distorted shapes blurred by the speed of their passing only causing Fishman to become even more nauseated. His eyes flicked left and right and up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B then A and he dry retched a little bit. He could feel it building up deep within his inside of himself and it was something he wished he could just ignore. But he couldn't, because it is puke and it wants to be heard.

Some distance back, Jim Jub and Fisherman were trying to catch up to Fishman in order to help him get through the herd of Non-Euclideans. Seeing him slow down, they increased their pace for fear that Fishman had injured himself. As they neared Fishman they saw his chest and head heaving in unison, like some sort of dubstep dancing fused with spinal column damage. It was like during the breakdown in a dubstep song, and after the breakdown usually comes...

Fisherman dug his heel in to the dirt and spun on it in a furious one hundred and eight degree turn. Jim Jub performed two backflips and one of those mid air spirals that leave you facing the opposite direction to what you were facing before. Now they were both facing away from Fishman they proceeded to sprint fearfully away. Glancing over his shoulder Fisherman watched as Fishman gave one last heave. The world around them all seemed to slow down and grow still.

Then came the laser light show.

Night turned to day as Fishman arced his spine back and spewed a stream of luminous green into the sky. The clouds rushed out of its path before it even had time to shake their hand. Startled again, the Non-Euclideans rushed away in any direction that was away from Fishman. The stream began to waver and developed more of a sine curve before stopping entirely. Sagging a little from the effort, Fishman bent a little in relief before shuddering rapidly again and letting forth another sine wave of pulsating light out, this time aimed at the ground a few meters away. The light this time was purple, occasionally flashing white, yellow, and somehow black. Black light is strange.

Being a Jaguar warrior, Jim Jub could see some way into the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums, and what he saw was beyond what any of you with your mundane vision can comprehend. Describing it would be really hard, so I won't. Just know that most insects would have an easier time understanding than you or I would, if they could only understand english.

This stream was maintained longer, and as it petered out over the course of abuot a dozen seconds the sine waves became more pronounced. Eventually they broke and the peak of each wave shot out as the beam of light vomit disippitated. The ground didn't fare so well against this assault, but it's a big boy so no one really cares.

As the world appeared to stop rippling and the after-image faded from their eyes, Fisherman and Jim Jub approached Fishmans still body as he lay prone on the ground. Crouching down, Fisherman touched Fishman lightly on what Fishman attempted to pass off as a shoulder.

"Fishman, ye' blubbery salt dog. I'll never understand how yer be fittin' all that light up inside yer..."

Fishman carefully rolled over to face up at Fisherman and gave a pained smile, "I coil it up tightly, chap. Ever so tightly."

Supported between his best of friends Jim Jub and Fisherman as they made their way back to the rubble of the diner, Fishman thought to himself, "I really am blessed to be doing clambake with friends."


----------------------EPILOGUE----------------------


Seated in shoddily reconstructed stalls set haphazardly amidst the rubble of the diner, Jim Jub, Fishman, Fisherman and the chicken are lined up along the wreckage of the counter.
"Bgrrrrrk!", says the chicken.

Jim Jub smiles sheepishly, "I know, I can find my protein elsewhere and there are plenty of other ways to worship bloodthirsty sun gods."

"Yar should be rethinkin' yer worship o' the sun, Jubby boy, it be seemin' there be a sun inside of Fishman here and that gets me thinkin' that thar it not can be innit a whole LOT of sun in all to thinkin' it be special for worship."

"Oh not so, chap!" chimes in Fishman, who is feeling significantly refreshed, "Truth be told all of our most base elements are sourced from the very same place the sun is, in essence making all of us like small suns ourselves, minus the constant nuclear explosions."

"Bgkaaaaark."

"Oh rightly so my flightless avian friend, rightly so!" replied Fishman.

And they all toasted to the chickens wisdom.

UNDER THE WAFER THIN FABRICS OF CAUSALITY, MIDDAY

Long before the now and under the short of it watching for too long for now in between and around the time, the Spanich stirred. Again roused for now at least by the sines and the light, rippling in and under it's continuity, it's attention turned on Fishman and the light he held within...




   THE END  (????)