One of the leading characters in this minor little play I
call my life had to be killed off today. Since I’m not only the star of the
production, but also, ultimately, the author, I’m entitled to turn the other
cheek only so many times.
Now all I have to do is exorcise the ghost, and then the red
cheomsang can be locked away in a trunk until I die. At that point I’ll need to
find a way of materialising one back in the mundane world, and I’m hoping there’ll
be somebody in the Between who can show me how. Fun, eh? And cryptic. I do so
love being cryptic, but the underlying principle should be transparent enough.
Mr Crappo Feedjit is either failing or feeling selective
today. Another of the leading characters has apparently missed a cue. But how
can one tell?
Meanwhile, back in the precincts of Avalon, somebody is
killing a lot of birds. I hate the sound of gunfire with a passion these days.
And this was uncomfortably close.
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