The Soap Bubble - Episodes 4 & 5... the story continues

Okay, you’re in a room. There’s only one doorway and one small window, outside the door stands the remorseless killing machine Jo ‘No Clothes’ O’Brien , like the terminator only not as cuddly. The question has got to be, how the hell do you get out? Jump out the window… third floor, and the ground is a leg breaking long way down. Do the It’s behind you trick… well that only works in pantomime (oh no it doesn’t, oh yes it does). I know hide under the bed, because she won’t look there! Quick, quick the handle’s turning, she’s coming. Noooo! There is, however, one alternative that has not been mentioned to date and that is the use of the Flibble dimension .
What you need is a special picture frame and nerves of steel. The door was just opening as I dove into the picture, fortunately for me Flibble was off getting a cup of tea at the time so there was no danger of arms and legs getting everywhere.
For those of you who don’t know, Flibble is unstable to say the least quite clearly he is on the wrong dosage of dried frog pills and is best described as a sandwich or two short of a picnic , to tell you the truth I really need to pick the people I hang about with slightly better. Thankfully it had enabled me to escape from the mistress of mayhem.

The Flibble dimension is not the same as elsewhere in the Bubble, Things happen here that really shouldn’t. Writer’s block is dangerous and domestic appliances roam the halls looking for the young or weak to attack. It is not the kind of place I would recommend you bring the family for a weekend. It’s filled with strange half-solid ideas and a fearsome breed of giant kittens . Whilst the likelihood of instant death had decreased as No Clothes did not appear to be following, my escape was far from safe or complete. Creeping between the giant balls of wool yarn I couldn’t decide which way was out but felt better about putting distance between myself and my entry point. Suddenly I heard the sound of running feet and the high pitched cry of ‘nonononononononono’ this was followed by the mewing roar from one of the Giant kittens that inhabit this strange playpen, obviously occupied with another traveller who saw this way as a handy shortcut across the bubble. Sensing that this was probably the best time to make a break for it I ran towards the jumble of junk that identified itself as one of the entries into this dimension. Rather than the distance shortening to the exit I got the feeling of being sucked down a drain, the shluuuurp sound definitely contributed to this feeling! Had I been caught by a rampaging piece of domestic hardware? I had not heard the drone of its approach, in the blink of an eye the scenery changed from the jumble of junk that made Flibble’s dimension , a bright white plain stretched in all directions, the landscape was devoid of any clear landmarks. To coin a well used phrase, I sure wasn’t in Kansas any more… or anywhere in the Bubble that I had been before….

Part 5

Where the hell was I, it sure didn’t look like anywhere in the bubble that I had visited, or heard of! I scanned the horizon, nothing 360 degrees of nothing… hold on, wait a minute, yes over there a tiny black speck in the barren white landscape. Well with nowhere else to head for I guess that has to be the only way to go. Starting to walk was so odd, my footsteps produced no sound, there was no wind, sun or other landmark to reference how far I had traveled. I walked for what felt like a long time; my legs began to ache but the black dot I was walking towards appeared no closer. Just as I began to believe that I would never reach that damn black spot I was there next to it. Curiously it was the size of a monopoly house but completely black. As I stood there confused about what was going on I became aware of tinny music emanating from the toy house, lying down to hear the tinny music clearer the feeling of rapid movement came over me again and the music became deafening. The Toy house was no longer there, in front of me towered a giant black house, the house did not fit the surroundings, it appeared like a cut out in the whiteness, and strangely there were no windows or doors to this building yet the music pounded from it. Approaching the black house the music seemed to reduce in volume until I stood next to it with the music just a faint whisper. This certainly did not make sense, I reached out to touch the house, fool me because as I reached out the house grabbed hold of my hand, the blackness swarmed up my hand and arm as I struggled to break free. The warm black ooze that made up the house rapidly consumes me. Surely letting No Clothes break every bone in my body (including the small ones in my ears) would have been better than this! The blackness consumes me and then just as suddenly as it happens it has gone.

I opened my eyes expecting there to be no difference from the black that had enveloped me. I was truly shocked to find myself sat in a high backed chair in a very comfortable library, bookshelves towered around me. I was certain that I had been on my own yet all of a sudden there was an old man sat opposite me, whilst he appeared to be the oldest man I had ever met his eyes glittered as though lit from an inner light source. Between us sat on a low table was a map of the whole Bubble, as I looked at the map images of artists flashed into my head and I found it hard to focus, strangely I knew who all the artists and photographers on the bubble were and what they looked like, this was no ordinary map. Looking back at the old man I realised that his face remained unknown to me, I knew the face of everyone in the bubble but this old man was not one of them. A smile played at the corners of his lips, I didn’t want to look back at the map, it made my head hurt, “what do you expect that’s pure information” he said, well I guess he said it the information had formed in my head, I sure as hell hadn’t thought it, but I do know that his lips hadn’t moved. What is this place? I asked this old fart, he just winked! Well that’s no help I thought to myself. The words “sure it is” formed in my head, once again the old mans lips hadn’t moved, either he was a really good ventriloquist or something screwy was going on here.

As I sat staring at the old man words started to form in my head; “there has always been a struggle between the various groups of artists, the sculptors used to spit on the oil painters who in turn looked down their noses at those who used watercolours and all saw the cartoonist a peasant, well until photography was invented and now they all see the photographer as lower than a snakes ass. With this ‘Red Bubble’ art is fracturing further and the various groups are beginning to fight each other in the forlorn hope that theirs is the true art. Getting you here to the centre of the Bubble and into my home was not easy, there are other forces at work within the Bubble, some good some bad but they are all in it for the money. As for me… well I won’t spoil that one for you just yet although I do have a task for you and your soap bubble. I want you to bring peace to the groups, this won’t be easy and to do so you will need all your wits about you. To start with you need to contact the Red Bubble apostles and the muses. Now I can see you sitting there going huh? Trust me that is exactly what I did. The old mans eyes glanced down at the map and involuntarily my eyes followed, the image of the twelve apostles came to the front of my mind quickly followed by the images of 13 muses. I blinked again and found myself sitting on my bed with the contents of my room scattered around my feet, my priceless Flibble picture frame shattered on the floor and the door swinging twisted in its frame. My journey to save the Bubble was just beginning…


The Soap Bubble - Episodes 4 & 5... the story continues

Drew Walker

Joined July 2007

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