“You’re mine, bird.  I’m your new Master, get used to it!  Forget about being dropped and dying!”

“What do you want from me?” Labaguette whispers, emerging from his stupor and coming back to life in surroundings made of lemon green hills and caverns, orange mist and colourful, fluorescent policemen.

“Why is everything so bright here?”


“I’m wingless, legless and brainless.  I couldn’t adapt even if I tried.”

“Wanna fly again?  Think about it, Labaguette, I could give you back your flight ability.”

“You can fix my wings?”

“Can do.”

“Name your dodgy deal.”

“A fresh set of brand new mechanical wings, newly bred, mixed and melted into your own.”


“No pain, no gain.”

“Then WHAT?”

“Guaranteed ‘NO FALLS’, EVER, no matter what the circumstances or the pressure you’ll find yourself under.  You could fall asleep, you—“

“—there’s a fall, —”

‘—you could pass out and your new wings would sense danger and deploy all by themselves to lift and carry you anywhere safe and secure within the nearest vicinity.”

Labaguette’s eyes light up.

“Fall and fail proof, huh?”

“These wings will take you anywhere you like.”

“A sense direction?”

“Inbuilt GPS.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Global Positioning Scheme.”


“Ye of little faith: you’ll know your way home and from anywhere.”

“Too good to be true.”

“Of course, you must give something back in return, the ‘deal’ as you so well put it.”

“Being your lifelong prisoner and confident is enough, non?”

“Tut, tut, tut.  Who spoke of prison?  You’ll be free to fly anywhere on my planet and beyond.”

“I’ll fly home.”

“So long as your home is RythmaRymosthesis, there won’t be any obstacles to your wills and wants.  Your wings won’t take you anywhere else unless allowed and regulated to do so.”

To be continued…


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