Saturday, December 11, 2010

The Book of All Things New

I am happy with the elves and cherubs. Some of them call me 'mother' and that comforts me. I love them. They are pure souls wrapped up in a reality they do not understand. We play games, Candy Land, Monopoly (with the older ones). I braid and style the girls' hair and judge the outcome of elfin wrestling matches, which often occupy all three dimensions. Albion and Marrianne (the eldest girl) bring back things from the market and we prepare meals for our human room mates. I hope they like them. I still remember human food, but the little ones find it puzzling and confounding. I do my best to keep things on a even keel. We're not trying to make anyone sick here. But the enchanted children view these comestibles as ingredients for mud pies and tend to create offerings based on color and shape rather that taste or nutrition. Our wilkravitz tries to be a good sport about it all. It seems he was never much of a cook himself. Yet I can't help but notice his dissappointment when confronted with yet another platter of jellied, boiled chicken in peanut sause, or liquified tuna fish (we have a blender) and cold, peppered dough balls. Sometimes Marrianne brings back a frozen pizza. Thank God for that. Things are fairly quiet and snug in our woodland/park retreat. Two gentleman from the park service discovered our presence, but a quick and timely gift of two or three blood vials (guaranteed to cure what ails you) did the trick. Now they are among our most devoted protectors. Tomas, Baylah and Edith are trying to learn more about our enemy. We really don't know his strength. Is he a universal entity capable of destroying great swathes of creation, or is he merely some disgruntled soul out to vandalize a few celestial mailboxes so to speak. And Tomas' neck itches. He says that's a sign that the Old Woman is near. God knows what that could mean. Annie still acts the part of a demonic Gilly (you know, that bad, little girl on Satuday Night Live). The press never covers her handiwork. Who would believe it? It would be tantamount to professing belief in alien encounters, another thing the bovine masses are wont to admit. Edith takes part in thought nets with the other Piney's and Red Paint types. They've spread out over the whole area. They pick up everything. The C.I.A. should be half as good. We've all been sneaking out to do a little culling. The police are beginning to detect a marked decrease in crime. Even the hospitals have noticed a drop in the death rate (those blood vials and blood kisses). Too bad they're still stealing all the credit and sending out those extortionist bills. Oh god, I have to go. I have to go scrape some diced turkey franks cooked in apple sause off the walls. Lovely. Then maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to relax with a good, old, black and white movie on AMC or something.

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