Wednesday, February 20, 2019

3. The Wabbit in the Under the Beach Bar

Behind the wall was a bar and behind the bar was Skratch the Cat. The Wabbit put a paw into the blue. It merged with the blue and tingled. "What will you have?" asked Skratch. "What have you got?" replied the Wabbit. "You can anything you want as long as it's blue," said Skratch. His voice sounded blue. "I'll have a Curaçao," shrugged the Wabbit. "Just as well," said Skratch, "that's all we have." He offered the Wabbit a blue glass with a blue liquid. "What is this place? Why are we here?" asked the Wabbit. Skratch polished a glass. "This is the Blue Bar, where everything is safe and secure. Do you feel safe and secure?" The Wabbit grimaced. "Not particularly. I find it dreary." "Do you?" asked Skratch. He paused. "This is where I go in recurring dreams. I'm running a beach bar. People come in and go out. In between I serve them blue drinks." The Wabbit thought about it, because there seemed to be nothing else to do. "If this is your recurring dream, Skratch - do I visit?" "Never seen you in here before," smiled Skratch, He began to hum a blues tune. The Wabbit backed away slowly and dragged his paw out of the blue. It stopped tingling. He blinked. There was nothing there. No bar, no Skratch, no blue glass. He was back in the corridor...

Monday, February 18, 2019

2. The Wabbit Under the Beach

The sands shifted and the Wabbit found himself sinking. Time passed and the sand went on and on. Then things went blue. He was in a corridor surrounded by a torpid, azure atmosphere. He put up a paw and pressed. The blue gave way. He pushed forward but it was like heavy oil. He inhaled with a normal breath. "Tastes of blue," he muttered. He tried to spit it out, but it lingered in this mouth. "Phwag!" he scowled. He pushed forward along the corridor but no matter what he did, it was always the same. He tried going the other way. There was no difference. He dropped to the floor and wriggled along on his tummy but nothing changed. He plucked a hair from his fur, made it wet and stuck it on the wall. Then he tried the corridor again. Within a few seconds he was back where he'd started. The Wabbit made a joke to himself. "Hair today, here tomorrow." There was no-one around to laugh so he did it himself. His laughter echoed down the corridor and came up behind him. He turned round and quickly back as if he could catch the corridor out - all to no avail. It was infuriating. The Wabbit was running out of ideas. He kicked the wall in fury. Something rattled. He tried again. There was a vicious crack. He gripped the rail and pulled. It came away in his paw, leaving a crevice in the wall. He took several hops back and with a mighty lunge, he kicked it with all his might. The wall crumbled into blue fragments...

Friday, February 15, 2019

1. The Wabbit and things on the Beach

The Wabbit was between missions and that was always a boring time. So he decided he'd walk along the beach from Fregene to the airport. It was further than he thought and he became impatient with the beach and complained to it. Nothing happened and he continued. But after a while, he heard the sound of voices. Without warning, groups of people appeared and assembled themselves by the sea. This wasn't what the Wabbit had in mind. The people pointed in many different directions. But there was certainly no plane in the air and not a vessel could be seen in the water. The Wabbit ignored them. "I expect better," he murmured. A post sticking from the sand caught his eye. The Wabbit shrugged, because there had been the usual storms and it was the time of year when the beach was always different. Then he heard a crackle. He stared at the post. Ice formed on the top. The Wabbit shivered although it was warm in the sun. It was as if he had opened a freezer door. He heard voices fade as the people walked into the distance. He could feel sun on his fur and warmth as the temperature rose. The ice melted into water and became mere moisture. Then that too vanished. He touched the post. It was a dry as a bone and wood flaked off on the sand. But the sand seemed to shift. "What occurs?" asked the Wabbit ...

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

The Wabbit at his Adventure Caffè

The team gathered at a new Adventure Caffè. The Wabbit headed off to locate a suitable table while the others chattered, but he turned when Skratch appeared. "Well Skratch. What was that for a sort of Adventure we just had?" Skratch raised a paw in greeting. "Wabbit, there are many types of adventures involving doubles, all quite different." Lapinette pirouetted and waved. "That doesn't answer the question."  Wabsworth had been reading. "It could be said to be a reflection double rather than a narrative double." "Where did you find that argument, Wabsworth?" asked the Wabbit. "On the Internet," smiled Wabsworth. Everyone groaned long and hard, including Wabsworth. "The mythic twin is as old as Zoroaster," said Lapinette. "Good and evil locked in endless battle," agreed Skratch. "So how old is Zoroaster?" asked the Wabbit. "No one can agree," grinned Lapinette. Skratch ignored this distraction and meowed. "The mythic twin is normally predicated upon a basic antinomy, but in this case we must look - not to Zoroaster - but to Lacan." The Wabbit was relieved because now he was on familiar territory. "In relations between the imaginary and symbolic, the double hollows out the real." "The absence of the other," added Lapinette with a nod. "Unspoken and unseen," shrugged Wabsworth.
[The double as the unseen of culture. Towards a definition of the Doppelganger. Milica Zivkovic.]

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

11. The Wabbit and the Big Goodbye

The Wabbit couldn't resist looking out and back down the line. The figure was waving at him. The train hurtled through the night but the figure stayed exactly the same distance away. An eastbound express flashed past and smashed over the figure - but when it had gone, the figure was still standing. He could hear it shouting "You got me, Wabbit. But there's always next time." Its edged weapon glowed red in the night. Lapinette tried to pull the Wabbit inside but it was all too fascinating. The Wabbit stared and stared. "The more you look," said Lapinette, "the more powerful his hold over you becomes." So the Wabbit ducked inside and let it be. "I doubt we've seen the last of him." "He's your doppelganger," said Wabsworth. "Well I don't like him," muttered the Wabbit, "he's thoroughly unpleasant." "Is the game finished now?" sighed Lapinette. Wabsworth grinned just like the Wabbit. "No game is ever quite finished." Lapinette grimaced. "I want my edged weapon back." Wabsworth pointed. "It's exactly where you left it." Lapinette fished in her frock and produced it. The Wabbit ferreted in his fur and found his very own automatic with the missing safety catch. Wabsworth took out two walkie talkies. The train rattled across points and through dark stations. Skratch's voice crackled over the loudspeakers. "Where would you like the next stop of this train?" "Home," said the Wabbit. "Just take us home."

Friday, February 08, 2019

10. The Wabbit and the Exit Strategy

The Wabbit saw Lapinette kick the figure and it lurched towards the door. But it bounced back and swirled the edged weapon round and round. She kicked it again, but it kept coming. He heard a hiss as Skratch opened the doors. Outside the night blurred past. The figure swayed and grabbed a rail. Whatever the figure was it had to leave of its own accord or the game would continue forever. The Wabbit pulled out the automatic but he held back. Killing it wouldn't help. He fired a shot at its ear. Blood spattered the compartment. The thing hit the door and nearly fell out. Its feet slithered on the floor. "I'm still here!" The shout was triumphant. The slipstream tugged at its fur. Its teeth chattered. The train slammed through a tunnel and the draught sucked the thing half out. Brickwork scraped its back. Its yell was frantic. "I'm not leaving!" It had one foot inside and another out. Lapinette gave it another push and shouted, "Give up!" "Never!" yelled the thing. It clawed his way back on the footplate. "Whoooo," said a voice that seemed to come from the wind. The thing turned -  and just for a moment, lost its grip.  It stared at the Wabbit with what looked like despair. Its hold loosened. With paws raised in surrender it fell to the track. The Wabbit grinned as he watched Wabsworth climb into the compartment. The doors hissed shut. "Ticket?" smiled the Wabbit.

Tuesday, February 05, 2019

9. The Wabbit and the Platform Standoff

The Wabbit waited on the platform. It smelled of metal and bad gas and something else, something unnatural. A freight train blurred fast and sent a shower of gravel into his face. The Wabbit didn't blink. Another train drew into the station at a leisurely pace - a commuter train with no passengers. He slid the safety catch off his automatic and racked it twice for luck. He blew along the barrel. His breath hung in the cold air. The train screeched to a standstill. Standing alongside was the figure that looked like him. The Wabbit could see him reflected in his glasses, waving a blood spattered edged weapon. The figure drew a door open and yelled. "You're leaving the game, get on the train." Still, the Wabbit did not turn. The figure felt the muzzle of an automatic pressing just under his ear. "It's you that's leaving," said Lapinette. With her other paw she dragged him on board. The weapon clattered on the platform. The door closed. As the train began to move, the Wabbit leaped across the platform and clung to a footplate of a far compartment. The train gathered speed. It wasn't hard to lever a door and just as the train hit a bend in the track, the Wabbit tumbled into a compartment. He could hear a commotion and he ran down the train towards it. The intercom crackled with Skratch's voice. "This is the End Game Express, have your tickets ready." The Wabbit grabbed a rail as the train chattered across points and through red lights and he sang, "This train don't carry no hustlers, this train..."

Friday, February 01, 2019

8. The Wabbit and a Cat's Surprise

The Wabbit had no intention of leaving, so they hopped through the back streets in search of answers. But there was no sign of the figure and still, nothing looked right. "This looks like Milan," said Lapinette. The Wabbit shook his head and grumbled. "Pssst!" said a voice. The Wabbit shrugged and murmured, "No more surprises." Followed by Lapinette, he continued on his way - but Wabsworth hung back. A branch cracked above him. Something dropped from a tree, landed with considerable grace and purred gently. "What's going down?" meaowed Skratch. "You are," grinned Wabsworth. He beckoned the others. "What are you doing here, Skratch?" "Instinct," replied Skratch, "I felt impelled to travel here." "We seem to be caught in a game," explained Wabsworth. "Ah, said Skratch, "then what I saw was a player. It looked a bit like you, Wabbit." "Our adversary," said Lapinette. The Wabbit hopped up to Skratch. "How do we get out of the game?" Skratch purred gently. "We win the game! Let's get him." The Wabbit wasn't happy. He prodded Wabsworth. "What are our strategic options?" Wabsworth's circuits whirred. "We force our opponent to leave the game. Where did you see him?" "The railway station," said Skratch. "Perfect," said Wabsworth, "He doesn't have to go far ..."