Worms of disturbance


Uemori-san went through the door, out of her room. That would be the last time she would go out that way. Sure, she could use the window; but she had been developing strong feelings that there were other ways. Her shoulders rubbed against the smooth concrete curves of the narrow spiral staircase, as she went downwards. The greeting tune from the convenience store was calling her. Bing ban boom bam boon ban bondy bongy boo! Jagged-edged circles of wet were seeping into the dark blood-red, paving blockwork, on the ground. She skipped joyfully over them. Three feathers from a bird’s wing, held together, by a chunk of flesh and sinew, at the end, caught her attention. She stopped and stared at it, arms hanging flat by her sides.

She made a mental note to herself – Not. Quite. Right.

Oh! How pleasant to find a creature, so Shisa-like, sitting there upon that mailbox, glowing pink, picking something out from between its jagged fangs with its crystal-sharp claws. It noticed her skipping by, placed its paw delicately down onto the mailbox, smiled ever-so-slightly, and hopped-off, to follow her. She looked down at it, padding along at her heel. Its eyes were huge; giant green irises undulating, rippling, sparkling like a fluid emerald; whisps of gold swimming through their waters; glistening worms of disturbance.

Come! Come! – she sang, as she patted on her thigh – I shall call you Muburokku-chan! Will you come with me?

Muburokku-chan stopped, sat down, grinned, scratched its shell-like ear with its back paw, then nodded an almost imperceptible nod.

The Whizperman

Alain Boulgtain was excited. So excited he was, to the point of bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had seen him, and so urgently wanted to go, right now, and tell about it. It had been up in the western part of town; that ever so grotty district, in the bar where they had screwed all the furniture to the floor, that he first heard of the Whizperman. There had been all sorts of fabulous myths and tall tales. Alain had listened, and nodded in acknowledgement, and let it drift, lazily out of his consciousness. But! There! Just gone by, he had just seen him; his pristine loafers, made of woven paper, his un-patterned,  turquoise, silk shirt fluttering, as light as air, and the yellowed ends of his long beard grasped by a fat gold ring, encrusted with an enormous, glowing ruby, that all swung assuredly, in rhythm with his gait.