Remember Me But O!

Alexander-Yellowsun swallows another mouthful of toxic water and continues to  think about science.

How satisfying it is to be part of an important experiment.

And be the one to die first.

Her head swims. Woo.

It occurs to her that her last thoughts might be of interest to science.

Alex! Come closer.

Alexander-Red-Hook can only come closer if she leaves the control bowl.

Gaius has gone to check on the male crabs.

Kierkegaard is opening the fridge, looking for pickles.

Terence is elsewhere.

Alexander-Red-Hook climbs out of the control bowl and peers into the toxic solution in which her friend lies.

You came! says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I came, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Is the end near?

I think so, says Alexander-Yellowsun. I'm having my last thoughts. Listen.

Alexander-Red-Hook weeps.

Don't weep, says Alexander-Yellowsun. You'll alter the salt concentration.

Will that matter? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Of course it will, says Alexander-Yellowsun. Although not to me personally. Draw closer.

Yes, dear, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

She draws closer. Her friend speaks:

my last thoughts~~~~~a hole in the sands of life so comfy poor alexander times roman cracked in two useless i go in name of science remember me remember me, but o! ~~~~~~

Isn't that from Dido and Aeneas? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Isn't what? says Alexander-Yellowsun faintly.

O! says her best friend. Remember me but O! She kills herself as he sails away.

Who does? asks Alexander Yellowsun even more faintly.

Never mind, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It's lovely.

Cough!

Alexander Yellowsun coughs up a small piece of microplastic and dies shortly thereafter.

O! cries Alexander-Red-Hook.

Kierkegaard, having found a pickle jar containing only one pickle, comes over to see what has happened.

The Nibble Incident

Now the five crabs are in their proper containers, with the correct concentrations of microplastics, according to Gaius's calulations.

Kierkegaard emerges from the bathroom, his knee plastered.

All going well? asks Kierkegaard.

Yes, says Gaius. There was nearly an upset, but I have rectified the situation.

What happened? asks Kierkegaard.

A change of position, says Gaius. The control crab is no longer nearest the window. Her friend is.

Ah, the one with the shortest future, says Kierkegaard. That is kind.

Yes, I thought so, says Gaius. It was Terence who moved them.

Me, says Terence. I moved them. They asked me first.

Kierkegaard peers into the breakfast bowl nearest the window.

She looks well, says Kierkegaard.

I am well, says Alexander-Yellowsun. It's nice near the window.

Yes, more light, says Kierkegaard. Comforting, when you know death is near.

You could not know that, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I could, says Kierkegaard. I live in fear of dying prematurely, due to the curse of my father.

A curse? says Alexander-Yellowsun. Bollocks. A curse is very different from immersion in a high concentration of microplastics, where a premature death is a foregone conclusion.

I agree, says Kierkegaard. It makes me wonder why you agreed to cooperate.

Since Terence told us what happened to Frog, says Alexander-Yellowsun, I am even more determined to do it.

Why, what happened to Frog? asks Kierkegaard.

Ask Terence, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Kierkegaard looks at Terence,

What? says Terence.

What happened to Frog? asks Kierkegaard.

Splattered, says Terence. He fell out of the window. Ageless was watching.

A frog should have landed on its feet, says Kierkegaard.

Frog didn't have feet, says Terence. Just a head.

Yes, says Gaius. A head full of  questions about science. I remember we took him to a science talk at the Science Exchange, in the days before it went digital. There were nibbles afterwards and a chance to talk science. Frog was most disappointed.

Why was that? asks Kierkegaard.

He was mistaken for a nibble, says Gaius. Of course, I saved him from being eaten, but he was shaken.

What fool would mistake a frog for a nibble? asks Kierkegaard.

Frog was a tomato, says Gaius, which does partly explain it, but it was evident he had an intelligent facial expression.

Alexander-Yellowsun was previously unaware of the nibble incident.

But it only serves to confirm what she knows already.

Life is uncertain. Death isn't.

She swallows a mouthful of microplastic rich seawater, and turns her face to the window.

Light streams in, as she thinks about science........

It Might Seem That They're Lying

There, says Terence. Now your bowl is next to the window. Don't forget that.

I won't, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Is it better to die next to a window? asks Terence.

O yes, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Why? asks Terence.

Because of the light, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Terence thinks about friends that have died.

Most recently, Alexander-Times-Roman, who Terence stepped on.

Saint Roley's brother, who floated out to sea on a cardboard.

Frog, who fell out of a window.

Gaius returns with the water.

At last! says Gaius. It took me forever to find Kierkegaard a plaster. Now whose bowl is which?

The crabs don't answer, in case it might seem that they're lying.

Never mind, I remember, says Gaius. The control bowl is nearest the window.

He tips fifty millilitres of normal seawater into the bowl nearest the window.

Alexander-Yellowsun starts to climb in.

Wait! says Gaius. You are not the control crab!

But I was in this bowl before, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

You were? says Gaius. Then there's been a mix up.

No, there hasn't, says Terence. I swapped the bowls after they got out, so she could be nearest the window.

Why ever did you think she should be nearest the window? asks Gaius.

For the light when she dies, says Terence.

A poetic concept, says Gaius, but it has resulted in the inadvertent dilution of her microplastic-rich water.

Just add more microplastics, says Alexander-Yellowsun. I can handle it.

You do look quite chipper, says Gaius. I expected you to be wilting.

My number of viable eggs has decreased, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

That was due to mishandling, says Gaius. Nothing to do with the microplastic concentration.

They want a photo, says Terence.

No time for that now, says Gaius. I must do some quick calculations.

He goes off to find paper and pencil in order to work out exactly what proportion of microplastic mixture he should add to the non control bowl, to make everything right again.

Terence has stayed with the crabs.

Frog fell out of a window, says Terence. He fell onto the paving bricks and died. All his seeds were spread out in a pattern.

Frogs have seeds? says Alexander-Red-Hook. You surprise me.

Terence explains that Frog was a withered tomato.

Water Is Water

What happens in forty five minutes? asks Gaius.

Nothing, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Let me rephrase that, says Gaius. What happens when the forty five minutes is up?

You don't want to know, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I do, if it's related to the experiment, says Gaius. Is it? Yes or no?

Yes or no, says Terence. Do you know what that means?

Of course they do, says Gaius.

They might not, says Terence. They forget things.

What did we forget? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

You wanted a photo, says Terence.

Oh yes, says Gaius. What was that for?

I remembered, says Terence. But they didn't. And they didn't answer my question.

We did, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Not the one about seawater, says Terence.

You didn't ask, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Will you accept an extra dash of seawater? asks Gaius.

The two sand crabs look at one another.

This might be a chance to cover their deception.

Yes. If we can stay out of the breakfast bowls while you do it, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

I don't see why not, says Gaius. I'll fetch the seawater.

Help! cries Kierkegaard, from the laundry. I'm hemmed in by cleaning devices.The door won't open.

So Gaius is diverted towards the laundry. He forces the laundry door open.

Kierkegaard is wedged into an alcove, behind a vacuum cleaner and a long cobweb sweeper. His right knee is bleeding.

Ha ha! laughs Gaius.

It's no laughing matter, snaps Kierkegaard. What an untidy and dangerous laundry!

Apologies, says Gaius. But you reminded me of Arthur. He always has a grazed knee. And you're wearing his shorts....... I'm sorry, would you like a plaster?

Kierkegaard would like a plaster. So now Gaius must go to the bathroom to look for a plaster.

This will give Alexander-Red-Hook and Alexander-Yellowsun a chance to swap breakfast bowls while Gaius isn't looking.

They hop out.

But Terence is looking.

And there's another thing. Their names on their carapaces, in distinctive fonts.

They need to swap the breakfast bowls, and they need Terence to do it.

Terence, says Alexander-Red-Hook, will it make any difference to the experiment if our bowls swap places?

Terence thinks about this. Pumpkins are not speedboats. Bowls are not crabs. But water is water.

No, says Terence. Why do you want them to?

I want dear Alex to be nearer the window, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Because she will die first.

Terence needs no more persuasion.

He swaps the breakfast bowls, before Gaius has even opened a third drawer in the bathroom and failed to find a plaster.

The Joke Is What?

There is nothing in the bedroom with which to prop up a mattress.

Kierkegaard decides to have a look in the laundry. He remembers observing a broom handle there.

He is passing through the kitchen on his way to the laundry when he hears Gaius enunciating loudly: DIS-TIN-GUISH-ING FEAT-URES!

And Terence saying: Yes! DINKY SQUISH FEATURES! It's nearly the SAME!

And then Kierkegaard enters the laundry, missing the rest of the conversation, which continues.

Gaius: Now what's this about pumpkins in forty five minutes?

Alexander Red-Hook: A joke.

Gaius: I enjoy a good joke. What is it?

Alexander Red-Hook: Do you know the story of Cinderella?

Gaius: No.

Terence: Me either

Alexander-Red-Hook: No wonder you didn't think my pumpkin joke was funny.

Terence: I would think it was funny if you weren't in our experiment.

Gaius: Terence is right. We can't allow you to turn into a pumpkin. But go on, continue.

Alexander-Red-Hook: Once upon a time.....

Alexander-Yellowsun: O I love this story!

Gaius: Do keep it short though. I hear Kierkegaard banging about in the laundry. Sometimes when you move one thing, everything collapses.

Kierkegaard (faintly, from the laundry): Ouch! Drat and damnation!

Alexander Red-Hook: I'll just tell the part about the pumpkin.

Terence: Yay!

Alexander-Yellowsun: It won't make sense if you don't explain why Cinderella gets into a pumpkin.

Alexander-Red-Hook: Don't worry. I will. But it isn't a pumpkin when she gets into it.

Gaius: Could you begin please?

Alexander-Red-Hook: Okay. There was once a beautiful sand crab called Cinderella who had to live with a mean crab family who made her do chores.

Terence: What are chores?

Alexander-Red-Hook:  Sweeping and dishes. And she had two ugly crab sisters who didn't have to do any chores, but went to crab-dancing classes.

Terence: In a pumpkin?

Alexander Yellowsun: No. Wait and see.

Alexander Red Hook: Well, no. She was crying at home because she couldn't go to the crab-dancing classes and a Sweet-Crab-Mother appeared with a pumpkin. and said would you like me to turn it into a speedboat, you can go to crab-dancing classes in it, because I can do that. Yes please said Cinderella, so she did and she went to the crab-dancing classes and forgot that if she didn't get home in forty five minutes the speed boat would turn back into a pumpkin.

Gaius: I see. And the joke is what exactly?

Alexander-Red-Hook: In a similar situation, one can say one must get home before one turns into a pumpkin.

Gaius: But she didn't know it would happen.

Alexander-Red-Hook: She did, but she forgot. I left out that part.

Alexander-Yellowsun: You could easily guess it.

Gaius: You had no such constraints put on you. Unless....is it something to do with the forty five minutes?

Thus Gaius edges closer to discovering the truth of the matter.

Dinky-Squish Features

Did you spoil the brides' dresses? asks Alexander-Yellowsun.

No, we usually missed, says Terence. We were pretty high up. But sometimes we got a bulls eye.

Red spots on white dresses, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Couldn't be worse, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

But you LIKE red spots, says Terence. You've got two on your back.

No, I haven't, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Of course you have, dear, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We all do. Have you forgotten?

They look like red eyes, says Terence. That's what I thought they were but Gaius said they were dinky-squish features.

Dinky-squish features! says Alexander-Red-Hook. Gaius would never say that.

I'd totally forgotten, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

They're on your behind, says Terence. Want a photo?

She doesn't need a photo, says Alexander-Red-Hook. She can see mine.

Alexander-Red-Hook turns around in her breakfast bowl, but it makes little difference.

I can't see your red dots, Alex, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I'll get out of the bowl, then you'll see them, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Don't do that! says Alexander-Yellowsun. Wait till the forty five minutes is over.

What happens then? asks Terence.

We turn into pumpkins, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Alexander-Yellowsun laughs.

But you don't make a lighthearted remark like that to Terence.

Terence runs over to Gaius.

Will they accept extra sea water? asks Gaius.

I didn't ask yet, says Terence.

What's the hold up? asks Gaius.

They want a photo of their dinky-squish features, says Terence. And they're going to turn into pumpkins in forty five minutes.

This piques Gaius's curiosity.

I'll have to to sort this out, says Gaius.

Fine, says Kierkegaard. Just tell me quickly how to best press my trousers.

Simply lift up my mattress, says Gaius, and slide them under.

Kierkegaard can't picture this working. He knows Gaius's mattress. It's heavy. It would press the trousers all right, but one man couldn't lift it, insert the trousers and smooth them out all on his own.

He goes into the bedroom to see if there is something he can use to prop up the mattress, although a more practical man would first try the laundry.

Red Spitball Wedding

Kierkegaard makes up three different solutions.

Gaius transfers the three male sand crabs to the salad bowls.

Terence asks if he can pour in the water.

Better not, says Gaius. We'll let Kierkegaard do it.

What can I do? asks Terence.

Go and ask Alexander-Red-Hook and Alexander-Yellowsun if they're content in the breakfast bowls, says Gaius. And don't mention an alternative.

Shouldn't he ask if they'd like extra seawater? asks Kierkegaard.

Yes, ask them, says Gaius, but don't take no for an answer.

I never do, says Terence.

He goes over to where the two female crabs are relaxing in breakfast bowls and speaking of romance.

They could even get married, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

But what would he wear? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Who cares what HE wears? says Alexander-Yellowsun. What would SHE wear?

O, says Alexander-Red-Hook, I think HE ought to wear something that suits the occasion. It goes without saying that SHE would.

He might not have anything but those damp purple shorts with the skulls on, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Hee-hee, laughs Alexander-Red-Hook. But no, he does have some trousers. I think Gaius intends to press them under his mattress.

That's ingenious, says Alexander-Yellow-Sun.

As long as the base doesn't have wooden slats, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Both crabs laugh, picturing Kierkegaard's neatly ridged trousers.

They are about to turn their attention to the more fascinating question of what Belle would wear, when Terence appears, with his question.

I have a question, says Terence.

I hope it's not about which bowls we're in, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

(Remember, they swapped bowls for forty five minutes).

It sort of is, says Terence.

Oops, says Alexander-Yellowsun. We'll be swapping back soon.

Does that mean you're not happy? says Terence.

We're very happy, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We're talking about weddings. Have you ever been to a wedding?

No, says Terence. Not TO one, but I've been OVER hundreds.

Over hundreds? says Alexander-Red-Hook. What on earth are  you talking about?

I used to live over the front door of a palace, says Terence.

How glorious! Tell us about the brides' dresses, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

We used to drop red spitballs down onto them, says Terence. Me and my parrot.

Not quite what the crabs were expecting.