Jammed By Shorts

Arthur and Pierre-louis eat the Kit Kats.

Give us the paper napkin, says the knowlesi.

You won't need it now you've got your poem back, says Pierre-louis.

What about the other one? says the knowlesi.

What other one? asks Pierre-louis. 

The other one, says Quiet-tartus. Not the cat one.

The one I gave back to Arthur wasn't a cat one, says Victor. 

Give it to me, says Quiet-tartus.

He unfolds it, and shows it to Arthur.

This is the lizard one, says Arthur. You never had the cat one.

The rana kept the cat one, says Pierre-louis. But if you remember, I took a copy.

That reminds me, says Arthur. I have to send it to Belle.

I'll do it, says Pierre-louis.

He already has her number. He sends it to Belle.

....

Buzz! In Saint Malo Belle gets a message.

It's 3 am, but she is awake, thanks to Terence, who is balancing on the window sill in preparation for his pony ride tomorrow.

She looks at her message.

Oh, how sweet. It's a poem from Pierre-louis.

Are my frogs in it? asks Terence.

Yes they are, at the end, says Belle. 'Everything remains normal until these three frogs'.

That's a really good poem, says Terence. 

Be careful! says Belle. You don't want to fall out of the window. That would be the end of your pony ride tomorrow.

You mean the beginning, says Terence.

The beginning of no pony ride, says Belle. If you broke something.

Like the window? says Terence. I can't break it, it's already open.

Crumbs! says Belle, getting up quickly to close the window before Terence falls out.

Terence leans back to avoid her interference.

But does not fall out.

She has grabbed his cement ankles.

Now she closes the window behind him, jamming his shorts in the process.

I'm stuck, says Terence.

That's a good thing, says Belle. You can stay there till morning.

She goes back to bed, to re-read the poem.

Arthur must love you, says Terence.

This poem is from Pierre-louis, says Belle.

He must love you, says Terence. He stole it from Arthur.

It doesn't sound like Arthur's sort of poem, says Belle.

It's a waiter, says Terence. Arthur told me.

AHA! says Belle. The waiter's poem. Arthur wants me to to use it as ID. 

Like a spy, says Terence. 

Yes, says Belle. When I show it to the waiter, he'll know I'm there to pick up Arthur's bike.

You could just tell him, says Terence.

But I could be anyone, says Belle. 

She turns over and goes back to sleep.

Terence remains stuck on the window sill, jammed by his shorts. He can't even see out of the window, which is behind him.

Belle is mean. 

And stupid. 

And she couldn't be anyone.