fyn gula remember with me, please, the battle in the sky between the portuguese rescue squad and boffden's bees swarmarmy. how all but the leadership perished as the bees stung and then encountered the protective shield clothing of the birds.

and of course, the history making conversation between boffden and jamjar buzznudder, setting into well-oiled motion the fullfillment of the age-old prophecy, in which the chosen bee stings the one true select who has crossed the bridge between worlds and continues the self destructive process that will ultimately unite the disparate worlds of kemulya and rynomari.

perhaps it is a lot to comprehend, but very crucial if we are to go on.

when jamjar accepted his destiny, deciding after years of preparation, study, and practice to say yes in support of boffden's cause for the eternal acquisition of the marox pass and sacrifice his life for the revolution that will not be televised, it was in the heat of battle.

is this not when we see most clearly?

the rescue squad were on their way to help feignez pull the wooden cart to proina's lair, and so jamjar knew the time had come.

he followed, zipping off and away like underdog, in the wake of flapping wings northward to the bianca strada near prokendaria.

and if timing could be any more exact, jamjar arrived at the precise moment the birds did. however, instead of stopping a short distance from the unexpected tragedy of feignez's wing extraction as the rescue squad did, jamjar, committed to his monumental task, flew straight at his intended target:


because of a mixture of blood rushing adrenaline and unavoidable anxiety, his course was somewhat erratic, but his miniscule size afforded him cover to buzz about unnoticed. he hovered, watching first, as saumboo violently yanked feignez's right wing like a farmer's perfunctory removal of an ear of corn from its yielding stalk.

jamjar cringed and breathed in the zombie-like air of disbelief that puppertwinkle and the rescue squad were exhaling. blood, bright red and reflecting the setting sun, dripped from feignez's instant wound like a leaking faucet that cannot be stopped no matter how hard you turn the knob. seconds later, jamjar watched as frau werzenwozen tore off the left wing and the bird dropped to the ground.

stunned by the raw, barbaric nature of what he just witnessed, jamjar felt emotionally paralyzed. he listened to feignez's screams of misery, a primal sound that turned his soul inside out. he heard her disparaging blasphemies and knew they were the utterances of one devastated by out of control circumstance and could possibly be the final words she ever spoke.

what will be the last words you say?

and yet, as saumboo knelt down and blindly felt for feignez, gathering her bloody body into his black hands, jamjar regained his sanguine sense of purpose.
half out of anger for saumboo's merciless atrocity and half out of obligation and duty to boffden, jamjar made a, pardon the pun, beeline to saumboo.

"this revolution will not be televised!" jamjar shouted, but the volume of his voice was too low to be heard along with feignez's maoning.
"long live rynomari!"

just as feignez struck out at saumboo in a final, desperate attempt at retaliation, driving her razor sharp beak into the palm of his right hand, jamjar descended like an aerial missle and thrust his quivering stinger into the exposed and vulnerable skin of his left hand.
phil today 020729
what's it to you?
who go