Jim’s Question was Impossible to Answer
Boy, have I got something amazing to show you.- and then a stream of bubbles
- as thick as their thighs
- A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove
- all traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains
Tune in next time part 341 Click Here for Earlier Installments
Jim’s question was impossible to answer because not only did I not know which ocean we were currently flying over, I had no idea where I might want to go. I couldn’t remember the last time I was in charge of my own destiny, without intrigue and my family dictating my actions. Where would I go if the choice were completely up to me? And would I take any of the people in the zeppelin with me?
Jim interrupted my musings with a brash, “Boy, have I got something amazing to show you.” He was staring through the window down at the flotilla of garbage scows.
With a sigh I put my dreams of freedom away and moved to get a better view. The number of barges was about half of what it had been, and it was immediately apparent why. Glass panels were sliding into place, enclosing the boats entirely. One by one they submerged and then a stream of bubbles was all that was left to denote their passage. The final boat above water was the one with the flabby film festival hopefuls. I imagined that the stench inside their glass enclosure was as thick as their thighs. Probably thicker. And then they too slipped from view leaving behind an enormous flock of disappointed and confused gulls.
“I remember hearing about this,” Fleur said, still bouncing our infants. “It’s a way of thinning the seagull population. They lure them out into the deep ocean and strand them.”
“Then why did you say we should follow the gulls?” I asked.
Fleur looked at me with her amused blue eyes. “I was high as fuck when I said that.”
“The birds are swarming the zeppelin,” Isolde cried in dismay. “What could be attracting them?”
I looked around the sumptuously appointed gondola and spotted a likely reason. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove stood prominently atop the baby grand piano, and in the Contrarian fashion it was an automaton. Its polished wings flapped and glinted in the sunlight. The gulls were flinging themselves against the windows and the zeppelin’s silvery hide in an attempt to reach it.
“We should get rid of the bird lamp,” I said, pointing. “Toss it overboard.”
“That lamp is precious!” Isolde complained.
Fleur was at a loss for words. In a fury she stuck her tongue out at me. All traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains, the ritualistic golden tattoos that matched my own and commemorated the birth of our first children.
bonus points for using them in order