“You don’t fit the criteria,” the Captain retorts, “unless you’re acquainted with the Syck Monkey.”

“There are shadows and shadows,” Jimmy continues, “the shadows we live amongst are for our protection.  We feed them and they protect us.”

“You feed them?”

“The shadows here are malevolent and intent on catching you unaware, seeing, observing how you dream, think and act.  They work on their own evil agenda, enticing you to fall until you can fall no further and become own of their own.”

“I fell.”

“That wasn’t a fall, a mere introduction to falling.  Your friend, Chloroph, he—

“—Not my friend, not any friend.”

“He needs help.  You know he means no harm.”

“He invented these hooks, he—“

“—He’s only trying to improve worlds.  He’s a seeker, an inventor, a genius who could get there.”

“Meanwhile, the shadows derive their fun from observing creatures’ falls and their reactions?”

“You’re over-sensitive,” Jimmy says as he swerves abruptly, stirring the driving wheel hard.  The bus takes a dive.

“Hold on tight!” he yells.  The bus slowly begins to turn sideways and before they know it, tumbling and rolling several times upon itself before settling on its roof, in the empty space, on top of the invisible road.

“Fuck!” the Captain screams.  “What do you think you’re—“


“Don’t you hush me, you—“


It takes one look for the Captain to understand what is at stake as he stares where Jimmy’s finger is pointing.

Outside the windows, dreams of the never-never of all shapes, colours and intensity float about, suspended and seeking hosts of all kinds.

Jimmy brings his forefinger to his lips, begging for silence, a strong fearful and disapproving frown lining his forehead.

To be continued…


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