You wish that it were so.
I lay in the shallows, tiny wavelets playing mini tsunamis with my toes. There is a quiet before the storm, as well as the one on Sunday, because some gods like a lie in. If not, the storm would be eternal and we would all be washed away, again.
The birds had hunkered, during the storm, in their inner sanctums, whilst the wind rampaged about looking for something to bend. Palm trees were its favourite. The birds eventually came out and looked around for some lively hoods.
I considered my options; option One; have another cocktail, option Two; sneak into the palace of the Tyrant and listen in to the machinations of his hench people Three, retire to the countryside and raise chickens onto a pedestal.
The Thread, now leading me on by the nose once more, like a bull in a shop, pulled me in the direction of the dark palace up by the hill. The Hench people three were laughing at the supper table. Barbarians, I thought, and glued my ear to the wall that I might overhear the guard’s schedule for the evening patrols. There were only three of them, so I should be able to sneak between the bushes, stone pedestals and temporary outbuildings when the sweeping search light ovals had paused and passed on. I put dark shapes on my face to disguise my fear.
I had tied the Thread to a tree beyond the outer defences, to guard against tripping hazards, where it set to nibbling at the fresh herbs on the bank at the roadside. Now, leaving my false ear glued to the wall, I made my way, dancing and spinning from shadow to shadow, towards the palace back door. The spotlight ovals, sweeping across the gravel, pretended not to notice and continued their stately dance.
I hoped that the tyrant would be sleeping, as it was already half past nine and I was feeling a little weary myself. I sat down in a darkened corner whilst the guards were passing each other cigarettes from another era and waited for the changing of the guard. I went there with Alice.
I must have fallen, because I awoke with a beginning and watched with horror as a pool of searchlight oval crept up towards the tips of my commando boots.
Picking up a large garden ornament disguised as a rock, I lobbed it as far as I could in the general direction of the green house, where a satisfying crash ensued. The spotlight oval paused, rippling like a living creature and then changed course and zipped across the parking area to the vegetable patch, where it split into a scintillating light show upon the glass shards.
In the hiatus which followed, I slid, I hoped undetected, through the tradespersons entrance and dashed through several subterranean corridors until I found the board room and hid under the table, which was the size of a small county. I did not notice that a spotlight oval had slipped inside behind me and was following my every, looking over my shoulder and peering unto the gloomy corners.
There were snipers on the roof, but I didn’t care. There was a bear trap in the undergrowth, gaping with vicious teeth. There were trip wires on the perimeter and jangly cans on a string. Somewhere in the castle, boiling oil was being prepared to repel all borders and deep fry the whitebait. A cannon was rolled into position next to the sharpened stakes and a heffalump trap was planned, I didn’t care. The mission lay in front of me and was my only focus, like the smoking dot of light that is made by a magnifying glass or a hole in the ozone layer.
The tyrant came into the boardroom in his pyjamas, without turning on the main chandelier, having left his glasses on the table. I instantly sprang out and unstoppering my flask, I sploshed hogwash straight in his face. The spotlight, turned its full force upon the tyrant, that all his sins and cupboard skellingtons were laid bare, he could not hide behind his orange barrier.
He spluttered and flapped his hands, the orange residue slumped down like melting, and his face was revealed all white and wrinkly. The spotlight circled the boardroom never losing its focus upon him.
I just wanted to be loved, said the Tyrant, I was wanted everyone to say that I was a clever guy who could do no wrong.
We, the pool of light and I, left the Tyrant wallowing in his own sorry disappointment and left the castle whose gaming lawns were already under a sea of salt due to the effects of climate alteration.
Collecting the Thread from its perch by the flowered bank, we made our way to a nearby coffee shop where we might plan out our next.
Tell me, I said.
Not much to report, said the Pool of Light, I was switched on some while ago in a black out, my mother of Sunlight made and my father The Light of my Life. I grew stronger when solar panels came along and eventually got a job as a follow spot in the theatre. It was there that I began to appreciate the merits of the dance and began to express myself on stage with the other lights of the lighting rig when the audience had gone home. We formed a dance troupe called The Mysterons Synchronised Dance Team and set out to show the world our wonders. But unfortunately, we could not make ends meet, as energy cost had risen due to the unnecessary wars and I had to take a job as a search light. But now I find myself once more unemployed.
Why not join your oath to mine, said the Blue Knight, Together we can follow the Thread and shine a light on all the injustice and inequality that lie hidden, unreported, in the shadows.
A worthy cause indeed, said the Pool, It’s a deal.
The Guardians of the Cave 