I Dreamed He Never Came Back

Midnight. The temperature drops. Rain has stopped falling.

But still it drips from the trees.

It drips down the back of the neck of Arthur Rimbaud.

It drips down the back of the neck of Sweezus.

They huddle closer together.

Terence wriggles his way in between.

Guess what! says Terence

This sucks, says Sweezus.

No, says Terence. This is the best fun in ages. But guess what? It's snowing.

Sweezus sticks his hand out.

Yes, it is snowing.

That does it! says Sweezus. Get up, Arthur.

Arthur gets up, and goes to prod Gaius, asleep in his Kathmandu jacket.

Aaaark kruk kruk kruk! says Gaius, still deep in oblivion.

Wah! Where is it? says Gaius, after he has been prodded.

He means the frog, whispers Terence. He's been dreaming. I was dreaming too. I dreamed the cicada went digging and NEVER CAME BACK.

Impossible, says the Elegant Parrot. You can't dream someone never came back.

Sweezus thinks about that for a minute.

Yeah, you'd be dreaming for ever, says Sweezus.

I WAS, says Terence. Oh help! Ow! A drop toilet!

There is a deep narrow hole in the ground. Terence has stepped in it.

Yuck! He steps out quickly.

Mud oozes into the space where his foot was, leaving a muddle.

Several feet below, the Green Grocer Cicada has not noticed his hole has closed over.

He is burrowing down.

Before him, glowing like an icon, floats his Honourable Mention, with its red wax seal and tantalising tassel.

Drip.

He is burrowing down.

The earth is friable, and threaded with tiny white filaments.

He senses a break through.

Suddenly, an opening. A dark figure lies sleeping.

Dark brown with light patches, her skin has bumps and ridges, including a large parotid gland running from her eye to her shoulder.

He taps her. She wakens.

Hello.