Big grey or light green metal tanks covered with guns sticking out went rolling back and forth, rolling tracks making patterns in the broken things, across somebody’s garden and through the fence and over the car and breaking the lamppost. Mud poured out of them. All the vegetables were mushed up with mud and could not be eaten. Flowers lying in mud, like in a dried flower book, but wet, instead of upwards. Fences pushed over, road all lumpy instead of smooth. Sticking out guns spitting smoke and spitting deadly things about. Everyone hiding away, looking out of cracks of light to see the danger coming. No, no, no.
This was very sad for all concerned. Except someone far away who needed to express his or her power and paranoia and of course the drivers of the tanks who were terrified to stop.
When Sheba, the Sphinx and the woman with a goat and the short end of a stick showed up, there was a lot of explosions and guns firing. The Sphinx, who quite enjoyed this sort of thing, stood in front and the shells and bullets went ping and schwang and thump into her stoney flanks.
Attention la tete! called the Sphinx to Sheba and the woman with the goat and the short end of a stick, There is a war going on, keep your head down.
Sheba adjusted the Bright Hammer to setting 58.23 and pointed its top at an towards coming tank.
The tank shivered and paused in track, the air about it went wavy like that effect used on TV to denote dream time or flash back or time travel. The shell that it fired turned into a fluttering Hoopoe bird and flew away. When the waviness subsided, there stood a tractor of shining paint with a man, unshaven and wearing a woolly hat, sitting high upon the tractor seat, thinking about fields of wheat.
Success! Said happy Sheba, all is changed, only one thousand tanks to go.
Well done, said the Sphinx, perhaps changes more, as bullets into lipstick, rifles into table legs, machine guns into salad dressing and grenades into fashion accessories.
All excellent suggestions my love, said Sheba, But I’m thinking we need some method of bulk changes as this way is way too slowly.
If this is invented by the person the maybe he/she can invent a change all things machine, to confound the errors of warfare, like all guns into fish and zebras and all explosives into vegetable soup. Let us view his address and follow to it.
They saw the address words saying number 4, Rutherford Close, Reigate, Surrey, UK, nowhere near Europe at all. The name above said Derek Sandhurst.
Away again.
The Guardians of the Cave 