Missing

Am stopped outside by Slopes Trainee, and asked if part of the cast issue. Rightfully deny fully, note equal concern. Apparently, Fa La's used my name and claimed the mold prep was mine when confronted prior to our Propaganda Session. It is not. He had asked m,e to help but when it was evident where they were going, just quickly pulled out. Not my style.

There is a Barmyton North Rap WashOut involved though. Nothing can be done with requests for Grizzlies help with him involved. They say it all belongs to him. As if Barmyton owns the lot of us. Barmy! We disagree, but of course he's soothed them. Might as well be fungus around us now. We're stuck with it.

Weeks later they host an unveiling. It is well attended by Outsiders and Grizzlies. None of the Peeps go. Some Should-Be-Siblings go. Of course. Nothing can be done with them either. They're just here trying to learn who they are. They were born who they are, but they don't know that. Think coming here will give them something they don't already have inside. It ain't happening, but they think it does. This idea frees them to be who they are already in some strange way. Who knows. Meanwhile, they step on us like we are dusty ground. Leave us no dignity. Most of the time work hard at taking apart anything we muster as well as mocking us during the process. Truly. This is the way it goes.

Fa La has an accomplice or two. He's way out of line. Nothing can be done about it. Nothing can be done. He's started posting meetings to get m,e. He's a Divider Outsider. Blood without consciousness. Looking for some of those that Should-Be-Siblings and Grizzleds to back him up, do some damage to m,e. They make a big plan. Wait until time to carry it through. Walking by while they conspire, it sounds like buzzing and ringing in my ear. Sounds disgusting and piercing at the same time. Makes m,e sneeze.

Confession 4:

Small groups confuse me. Not as badly as crowds, though ‘ve no understanding of small talk and no one wants to converse more solidly unless it is to lodge complaints, it seems. We're all guilty. There's too much evident in close quarters, cannot keep myself from noting. No one typically brings these things to bear, so they resist the intrusive annotations, feel it invasive, prying, or gossip. Despite opinion and subjective essences, soon they become bitter with m,e, simply for noting, close down, and in their fuming put away any additional clarity, until they're swaddled in steam of their own delivery and cannot ignore it either. That's why, at times, just don't speak. Fear of myself noting something they're unaware of, do not intend, or think they're covering and in so much they'll let loose on me, believe gossips been about. Disgrace themselves and m,e. Perhaps slug me. No, it's not necessary. Quiet's best.

Scallion

It's almost break so, for no good reason, we dive over to Scallion. Mob hang while the Purpose sleeps. Chugs, Washouts, Bays and Nearlies all slamming one down.

"How come you're so shy?" they tease.
Let my hair fall over half my face, turn it away.
"How come you're so quiet all the time."
"Yeah, unless we're in session. Why don't you talk?"
"know why she's quiet, ‘cause she needs some of this," while pouring a glass from the pitcher.
Turn my head. Shake it slightly.
"Ah, you're too good for us, huh?
"Yeah, she's too good."

"No, she's just quiet. Leave her." Says the disabled Bay beside m,e. He's almost as quiet as m,e here. Sometimes wondering what happened to him makes m,e worry. Don't want to know, really. The Breakdown gets everyone it seems. Though the stories are usually good, it's hard to know when you're face to face.

They proceed past slaver through the various gulps until their eyes glaze fully and they fascinate themselves with the idea of driving out to the Jumble Dance Grounds. The No-One-Knows-Who-Started-This-Dance, or Jumble Dance, the after dance following the formal socials, when all the elders and youngsters have cattled out and the dating-aged folly fixates, has been going on since gulps turned Upstandings to Cross-Hair Targets. In the day, Upstandings took in Tale and gave away everything once they put away the day. In the current, maybe half of the Cross-Hair Targets imbibe gulp in the zones and coming home. The boots push them to it. Grizzlies.

"You a Cross-Hair Target?" Whispering low to the disabled one.

"‘m a Smoke Jumper!" He lightens up, "My whole family jumps. Did you know most Smoke Jumpers are N8s?" He asks the whole table. None of who heard m,e ask the first question. By now it's open and they get going on a current Upstanding Tale about our friend here. This takes all the pressure off m,e, but silently confuses us all as to how he can do the work in his condition. Already he amazes most of us. His huge landscapes from Sweetgrass Pampas draw us all into Dead Pres., for viewing, at some point in the term, now finally over.

For them, the night is young. For me, it's time to slip out and head back to my littles, get away from the grizzly circus for a bit. They'll probably chance the roadway blind. Head out to the Jumble Grounds, supposed site of future Purpose, in the days long from here. Or, so they say.

Looking back in to the Smoke Jump, wondering what else is there, my hope sinks. He seems too thoughtful for the Chug he's becoming. The next day, as we're leaving Purpose, a friend of his says he's not supposed to gulp with his scrips. Stop by to speak to him about it. He says they're just saying that to control him. See a hint of otherside and don't want to know him, so head out with a bit of hope left there and get back to my hibbit life for the sleep there.

__________Shaggy Murder Title here

Someone-We-Knew had an ex over in Yellow There. We'd left our two cats and good dog Shaggy there with him while we were in Coral Slopes all year. Visited them during the winter break, but didn't plan to pick them up until now. We're all happy there are pups now. It's Break, we're ready to collect them up, bring them to Trailer Town. We arrive at Someone-We-Knew 's place to find out someone else has poisoned all of our pets.

It went this way:

Unexpectedly the ex lost his starter to a heart attack. While he was attending her wake, someone poisoned all his pets. He came home to find dead bodies and missing ones he never did find. Shaggy had just raised a slew of pups to giveaway size. They were all gone. We are heartbroken. We don't know what to say. To boot he's lost his starter so the injury is deepened.

Shaggy had taken up with us while we lived in Rap. She'd come when double pneumonia had m,e under. Stayed with the littles until Cliff Swallow came to take m,e in to Ex TB Sanctuary. It was awful. Now our friend, our rescuer, our progeny tender when {} was out cold, is gone. Her puppies as well and the two cats. Innocents. This is a terrible mess. Ex's pets all gone as well. It is a tragedy.

We hear this tale from the ex, who is obviously crushed. Who would do this? Squatters? Jealous One?

Do not want to be here anymore.

Wasn't even in on any of that ex mess. Now all our pets are dead. That's what it's like now. This. That's what it comes to in the midst of Barmyton. They did it while the ex was sending his starter off. That's bad. Cold to kill a person's beloved animals while he is burying his own starter. Cold to us, too. Just when we made it back to pick them up. Don't want to stay now.

Someone-We-Knew is still dating Someone Jealous. Someone Jealous shows up with a puppy for Someone-We-Knew's progeny. Looks like Shaggy. Maybe he's the culprit. Maybe he spared one just to signify. Someone Jealous knows Shaggy and the cats were mine. Someone Jealous is ridding Someone-We-Knew of exes, friends, companions, and ties. Someone Jealous broke some other laws and is going away for a while anyway, so we just bide. Eventually, Someone Jealous goes back to the Keep and Someone-We-Knew plays weekend wife in Rap. It's pretty ridiculous, but we show teeth. Mostly, we hang other places now, check in here when we're needed, for time's sake only. Otherwise, we sing and see this break through much as we can with all our pets murdered. ‘m thinking we won't come back again after this, but Someone-We-Knew cries and throws fits when we mention maybe not coming back.

My kids and m,e promise one another we'll get our belongings out of here before snow.

‘ve lots to do before we go regardless. Finally, we head up to Rap. Pay my storage. Take out all we can fit into the shell for this next haul. The prices are better here than in Little Fay, so stocking up before leaving is also a good idea. We're shopping in Rap with Someone-We-Knew when the two Chugs come along that make m,e woozy in passing. She tells m,e they take the nips from mares they rape to mark them as ones they've ruined. Guess this was scope. Felt it before each time they passed m,e. Guess it was this way. Sometimes the Recall Echo simply gives clearer insight. Sometimes the pain there cuts through dimensions physical. Sometimes just shears them open like bass bellies. Portals.

We take her back to Root, spend one night, then head back to Little Fay far earlier than expected. Sleep never a certain thing. Cut short this time. Soon afterward hear the news of another trainee death. Apparently, a trainee field excursion to Irons ended in fatality of a Real We Are. Keys were taken from the sleeping watch of Peep Lead. This horrific thus seals a new declaration now forbidding trainees from driving Purpose vehicles. Owls surround the Dead Pres barracks. Kinships wind their way across the lower southern tier until her physical remains are carried home. The victim was one of the sweetest Peeps in training here. Her best friend the accidental cause as imbibed driver.

This is one of many losses, but one that truly took some innocence from the lot of us with the loss of one. Death and undead all around us. Time to move.