Herring Aid

The desk you lie is cold. It might be a nice place to rest, if the people in the room would stop talking. A mirror opposite reflects the bruises and cuts on your face. The man is bald, and nearly bursting out of his shirt. The lady has her legs crossed, and writes everything he says on a yellow legal pad. 'The problem with these Chickenheads,' the man says, 'is that they don't think of the long-term effects. Sure, it is fun for the first five hours, but how about after that? In the short term-' He points a chubby finger at you. 'You get that. In the long term...who knows?' 'Can they hear us?' The woman asks. She underlines something on her pad. Of course you can hear them. You need to let them know this. [[Banana]] [[Sewing Machine]]

The man laughs. 'Where are you? Where do you think a f t e r your behaviour tonight? You are with the rest of the Chickenheads.' This man needs a decent meal. His cheek and collarbones poke out his freckled skin. And why is the lady standing up? Her microphone will barely pick up anything he is saying from here. The walls are made of soap, and in the rain are vanishing already. You puff on your cigar, and think. What next? [[Sailor Tattoo]] [[12341177]]

Herring Aid By Dylan Spicer This story is designed as a piece of flash fiction, and forms part of a larger narrative in the digital fiction piece The Butter Mouse. The full story can be found for free at thebuttermouse.tumblr.com [[Five Hours Later...]]

You were always a fan of books and music, and here the two are combined. You have a cup of tea in your hand served in patterned bone china, and rows of bookshelves stretch on forever. The music is classical and totally dominant. The pages of the books rustle, though it is impossible to tell what they are trying to communicate. Perhaps there is the faintest whisper of the word 'mouse.' Where next? [[Floor Knuckle]] [[12341177]]

Ah loook c, they iz fading allreadie,' the lady sayz. Spears of ice tear through the wall, and rip through the man and woman like the canvas of a painting. Then the world is gone, and the ice room begins. They are all back. The people from earlier, dressed in the yellow suits and rubber beaks. The music makes the very air vibrate. The cotton buds are six feet tall, their buds canary yellow. You join the crowd of partygoers, and get back into the dance. Every once in a while an icicle falls from the ceiling, and rakes open a wound on your face. You do not care. You are lost in the dance. The beats goes on. A member of the crowd, a beautiful girl with sparkling blue feathers, hands you a cotton bud. You will not have to go back quite yet.

Things are very bad for about thirty seconds, and there is nothing but screaming mouths. But the women nod and you have them back on your side. The floor is awash with sea creature from the darkest depths of the ocean. 'Well, that is one way to put it. It is exciting that we have discoverd how easy it is to travel to deeefierent wordls. Which is whi we ran this test in the fur st place. But the dangers, the way it affects your own concept of reality, is far too dangerous to deal with. You under under under stand why we have to be so kare fiil not to pok them in your eer?' You nod. That does seem reasonable. The lobsters snap their clows in approval, but the cotton bud is still tempting. What should you do? [[The Butter Mouse]] [[12341177]]

The bicycle race is underway. You are somewhere in the French Alps, the mountains capped with fresh snow. No matter how much you pedal, the man and woman keep pace with your bike. 'It's all in the ears, you see,' the man says, changing into a higher gear. 'Only now do we realise what a big part they played in keeping the world in balance. You just swish it around, and here we are.' The woman puffs and nods. There are two paths ahead. Which one will get you away from them quickest? [[Buffet Cart]] [[12341177]]

And there it is, that mouse you saw in the ice room, sitting on the table, sniffing the air. Everything else blurs to a smear. The Butter Mouse stares at you with wise eyes like a newborn baby. And you know you don't need the cotton bud. You need to get out of this room. A blink, and The Butter Mouse is gone. Now you are not so sure. Is it time to calm down? [[Herring Aid]] [[12341177]]

It is definitely the right decision to ask for the hearing aid. Now you have seen the Butter Mouse, you know this. The two men are stading over the desk, pointing their fingers in your face, and slamming their fists on the table. They are speaking what you think is Chinese, but regard llllesss you cannot undndndnerstand a single world of it. The dragon stirs his noodles in the background. Their questions no longer make sense, so all you can do is shout 'hearing aid, hearing aid.' One eventually sighs, and his tongue rolls around and around. But he takes something from his pocket, and clips something on your eye. Sorry, your ear. [[It's OK]]

The handcuffs fade from your wrist. The windows in the garden facing room are large, and the sun is out. 'We'll leave you for a little while to gather your thoughts,' the man says, and smiles. He is thin, balding, with little round glasses. He taps his companion on the shoulder, a friendly looking older lady with curly ginger hair. 'Don't worry, your hearing will be back to normal soon.' You sit back in the wicker chair, and make sure the ear support is firmly attached. There is a pitcher of water on the table next to you. You fill a tall glass, and drain it in one. Your ears still ring with the beat of the drum and the scampering of paws. But they will stop. You hope they will stop.

very cosy, and I am sure if you wanted to you could bounce between them forever. The faces of a man and a woman are reflected on the ceiling. 'The bud is too far in,' the man says. 'They will be staying a little longer' [[Buffet Cart]] [[12341177]]

And it is a strange room this one, definitely not the place you were below, and it seems to be split into two sections. One is red stone, the other blue carpet. It is [[Floor Knuckle]] [[12341177]]

'Let you go?' The woman laughs. The man notes this down. 'We are going to keep you in for a good few days yet Chickenhead.' Only now do you notice the handcuff on your wrists, the bright yellow cotton bud in a sealed plastic bag. Pressure builds behind your nose and eyes. 'But..but how does it work?' the man asks nervously. The woman rolls her eyes, and nods to you. 'Maybe you should tell him.' What do you tell him? [[Podcast]] [[Glass Jug]]