[NetBehaviour] Honeycomb For piglets

Simon Mclennan mclennanfilm at gmail.com
Mon Oct 26 04:15:20 CET 2020

The trouble with souls is they’re all exactly the same -

Link to drawing https://www.instagram.com/p/CGyo8ZjHEeF/?igshid=layd1zajpfxq

‘Anyway so I had this vision’, L looked over at Bron who was arranging herself on the saddle of the small white Arab horse she was astride. Dressed in full armour with  shield, broadsword, daggers, great fishtail armoured shoes and a bucket helmet with white ponytail hanging out the back and flipping about on her shoulder plates, she certainly looked the part, if not a little exotic. She raised her visor and raised an eyebrow.

‘Oh yeah?’, She drawled in response.

‘Yess, a vision in which I could see people’s souls. The souls of each person, in the vision. They all had different types of souls’.

‘Souls?’, she repeated, and patted the mare’s elegant neck.

‘Yeah, some had souls that looked like dead fish, one chap, whose soul was creeping out of his body, well, it looked like an ‘orrible bag of pus, it slithered across the floor. Another one’s soul looked like a sort of tiny reindeer, it pranced about and made a whinnying sound. Yet another looked like a rusty anvil, it rolled awkwardly on the floor.’

They were riding through a small valley, on a winding path past a small overhanging cliff with creepers and vines, with shrubs and cypress trees opposite.

‘I like the anvil soul! But the slithery one doesn’t sound so hot. And I can think of a few people with souls like that... probably ’.

They came to a shallow stream which they began to ford. The swirling current caromed off the hocks of the horses.

‘Soul food, lemon soul, gumbo..! I’m hungry’, remarked Bron, and she pulled a great honey sandwich out of a saddle bag and began to bite through the golden crust and the soft, white loaf to the delicious honey and butter within.

‘Jimmy Mack!’ She cried, ‘remember that flipping flyer you made that time. The one with the massive beehive and ants nest? What a disaster. Barely got off the ground, and when it did, it looped about and jittered liken unto a barrel in a flippin thunderstorm on the ocean by golly. 

‘Honey was leaking out and the bees getting all noisy and sounding a bit alarming. Then the Saracens appeared and started to fire up at us with their bone and larch bows, but they only got stuck in the honey, under the craft. And then we lurched on and had to sort of crash land further along the side of the mountain, narrowly missing those swineherds. Then the gorgeous boar, sows and a great raft of piglets couldn’t believe what just landed - with a squelch - a great mass of Knights all dripping with honey - honey glugging out in Demi-johns - they got their snouts right in there  without even a shadow of a pause. Piglets 

In honey heaven!’

Bron laughed riotously at the recollection, as did Leo.

‘And the great thing was’, chipped in L, ‘the bees formed a great phalanx and swarmed right down on the Saracens, with the soldier ants riding on the bees backs. Seems like in their fury they struck up a truce, and just decided to vent their anger on the old Turks! Ha ha!’ 

They both laughed as they finished crossing the bright stream. Then rose up the bank and disappeared into the woods. 

Two jackdaws nearby signalled one another and flapped off. ‘Let’s go over to the other wood’, one said. The other replied ‘yes, I agree, there’s better food over there... probably’. The probably was a sort of raised semi-tone at the end of the little cry.

The sun began to set and cast a sort of rosy tint on the tail of Bron’s mare, and even on her own pony tail,  which was flipping about on her great, silvery-blue chased armour shoulders.

Her eyelids drooped and she thought of anvils.


Sent from my spyphone 
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