marox_pass_the_puppet_play fyn gula "the dog bite felt around the world..." maylay said, half to himself, half out loud. "i've heard that before, but where?" he searched his brain like one who looks for something very special in a drawer of very special things. it's the story of fyn gula after the fall," (fucking gravity) nabiscus said, taking a bite of popcorn nimbia offered him. he knew it would give him a headache later, but the smell of warm butter was hell to resist. one of the children from the parade was selling it for a sous, but nimbia gave him ten francs. the boy bit it on the side he had teeth and seemed genuinely pleased. "fyn gula," maylay said. he recited the name as if it was a memory suddenly rebirthed, something from his childhood he needn't be afraid of, the sound of a dusty record, the fragrance of the distant past. "i met fyn in rynomari three years ago. he was running away from something but he wouldn't tell me, something about a girl, a word, a dog fight..." "shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" nylem exclaimed, his index finger with the long, black painted nail pressed angrily against the ball piercing under his lip. "shut the fuck up. can't you see the show is starting?!" and it was. a 3'x4' video screen appeared in the opening of the theatre with rolling footage of a california surfing contest. the peeling, snapping waves were cranking consistently at seven to eight,(right on) and the rides were tight. the camera panned the large beach crowd, occasionaly stopping at surfer girls we dream of and know are real. and then it zoomed in on one particular young man, rusty wetsuit hanging at the waist. he was skinny, but broad-shouldered from years of paddling. his hair was long to the shoulder, wet but drying in the santa ana heat, revealing streaks of blond on top of brown. he had a small mole on his back that he thought could be skin cancer, but he treated it holistically, as best as he could and rejoiced when it shrunk to almost nothing. his heat was over, he had done well and was currently in first place, but as he stood at the shoreline it was not his fellow competitors he was gazing at. he, like the camera, was spanning the crowd, desperately pining for someone who was obviously not there but supposed to be. his blue eyes, narrowed from this worry, and much more from the past, looked past his pinocchhio nose, longing, but failing. it was now his face, common, if not mildly appealing,(couldn't we all come down from the screen?) that filled the space and the audience could read his lips when he said, "where the fuck is she?" a little girl in the front row with thick brown hair in two braids yelled out, "he said, 'fuck!" as the face slowly faded out and the screen descended out of view from where it came, it was replaced by a puppet that most everyone figured was the girl who was absent from the surfing contest. she was dressed in vintage, her hair bleached blond dreds, her face cute as hell. if she was real, she'd be a kick ass hottie. "this is more like it," nylem said. "i thought this was a puppet show." 010707 ... log burning fire i haven't eaten popcorn for at least five years. 060312 what's it to you? who go blather from