THE BUTTERFLY ARTEFACT
Colin gathered his thoughts that were spread out before him like an aftertaste.
“There wasn’t many who could’ve pulled that off,’ he thought to himself, before puffing his cheeks out at the enormity of what had just happened. “Fewer still who could have tried,” he continued, holding his breath to a whole new meaning.
The way Colin saw it is that it was better to be blind than smell a rose with a broken nose. Not that he knew any roses with broken noses. But what it all boiled down to when the penny finally hit the slot was this:
KARMA DIDN’T SUTRA!
There had been rumblings from the foreign office for a long time but nothing on the scale that presented itself now. And if Trump was ever to follow through then we would all be in the shit, complained the silent minority. Luckily for planet earth the President was on 400 milligrams of Imodium a day. Enough to bung up even the biggest asshole three times over.
That said.
Colin didn’t consider himself religious in any way at all, but he did admire Jesus for being one of the boys. In fact, “I’m Spartacus!” was one of his favourite quotes, second only to “get your tits out for the lads!” And it is in the Lords footsteps that Colin had just put his faith.
A small crowd had gathered around the village pond, waiting patiently for Colin to resurface. It was one thing practicing walking on water on dry land and another thing actually doing it for real over the village pond Colin had found out, much to his annoyance. He was stuck eight feet below the feet of his adoring fans, stuck solid in the silty sludge and fast running out of faith as well as the ability to hold his breath.
Meanwhile…
Brenda Badflaps trumped nervously beside the water’s edge, hardly able to contain her excitement before turning to her best friend, Maureen Tippett who was still waving, though tentatively now, a plastic union jack flag with a picture of Colin’s face stuck in the centre of it and quipped.
“I don’t know about you, Maureen but I’ve got butterflies in my tummy.”
“You’ve probably got that butterfly artefact,” said Maureen, knowingly. “My Herbert had that once. All he did was pass wind on the number 28 bus and next thing you know we’re at war with the Germans.”
It was then another small ripple of Brenda’s cosmic energy suddenly shot out from somewhere underneath her skirt and went flying off into the universe…
THE END
Comments