affame_le_geant_sentinel_to_himself fyn gula with the sugar girl in hot pursuit, puppertwinkle absconded, but was losing ground faster than a steep hill in a torrential downpour. "it's these fucking saddlebags!" he cursed. "i knew i shouldn't have packed so much unnecessary shit!" in a last ditch effort to elude his imminent capture, puppertwinle dashed into a stand of dried goldenrod and queen anne's lace to hide. it seemed to work. he watched the sugar girl swoosh past him in a blur of eager intention. puppertwinkle sighed deeply and took in a sharp gasp of breath. his heart was beating visibly through his skin. his ears were straight up like antennae, twitching, listening for the sugar girl's movements. he stayed that way for a long time, paralyzed with paranoia. every sound a threat until it was defined as harmless. every motion an intimidation until it was prescibed innocuous. every smell dangerous until declared innocent. his mind raced, more rapid than the pulse of time, and so the day yawned and slept while he was sentinel to his own freedom and the cause of which he was sent. an only hope to the revolution that will not be televised. night arrived with the beating of owls wings and puppertwinkle's fear was magnified. the shadows of trees became the grasping arms of the sugar girl, the yelp of a nearby coyote was her call for his blood. the scream of a trapped rabbit was his own desperate cry to live. the dawn surprised him for he feared the night was endless, and so he decided to cautiously step out of his concealment and check the status of his safety. one step. two. three. he sniffed. listened. looked. there was nothing. no sign of the sugar girl. trembling, he entered the bianca strada once more and continued east in search of help. 021124 what's it to you? who go blather from