Sunday, June 7, 2009

Transportation of Love -- Part Three (conclusion)

"aren't you going to smite me?" asked the gnome.

he sucked hard on his latte. "no, gnome. i shall not smite thee."

the gnome looked frightened, even at this.

"you know, when i smite, i am really, actually, smiting myself. you see, gnome," he said, touching it to give comfort, "i have found something new. a new - vista - shall we say."

"but - but - i have failed!"

"no, gnome. you have succeeded. you are actually a very sweet gnome. here, uncover thy hat, that i may rub thy baldness."

the gnome uncovered his hat to reveal the shining mollusc of his pate.

"how nice it is!" he said. the gnome started dancing in front of him for his pleasure, as he rubbed its baldness.

"i must admit," said the gnome, "that i am rather verging on paranoia from your new turn. look, my knees are still shaking." the gnome displayed its shaking, dancing knees.

"it gets verbose too!" he wailed, laughing. "what happens when you press the baldness of the head?" he raised a finger to press it.

"ah ah ah" said the gnome, shaking a finger. "that's the covert smite button. and, if you remember, we said we're not smiting."

he released his finger from its poised position. "yes ...", he said, "... we. i like that ... we ... and not just me." he sucked hard again on his latte, aiming for the bits remaining between the ice.


they were sitting next to each other, as equals. the gnome was illustrating its ability to fish.

"what is this place?" he asked the gnome, looking around the serene plateau, lavished with green bundles and the occasional sprinkling of color. a red here. a yellow there. sometimes they liked to smear themselves in their positions, creating variations of opacity over their backgrounds. "it's pleasing on certain levels."

"you just sit, you see," said the gnome, "and you can get fish."

"can you touch the opacities?" he asked.

the gnome shook his head. "no, just leave them alone."

"but i would like to finger the beauty!" he wailed.

the gnome took a biscuit from their tin, and gave it to him. "no fingering, dude. but you can marvel."

he took offense to this. "i don't marvel, gnome. i am marveled at."

"mmm. who was it told you to stop smiting, anyway?" asked the gnome, munching a biscuit from the tin.

he took the gnome's hat off and rubbed its baldness. "twas my soft rubber toy. back at home."

the gnome nodded. it liked the soft rubber toy. sometimes, when the winter was harsh and they had to burn their beards for warmth, the soft rubber toy used to give them cookies. the soft kind, with melted chocolate chips.

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