Crying Out For Natural Justice

Forget any part of any kind of belief that any other living being has put to you - especially Humans. This is just between You, and Me. If you have it in you to speak your own words from your own mind then by all means - you may read my words, as I would love to share them with you. However, I fear my words are not really meant for you, for this is a potential wake-up call to the few who matter, and a warning to those who don't. Either way - it's just a little something to sleep on!


3. Combined Forces

Now, this next bit could be a bit sketchy. Because all of a sudden - I was in a 'woods' sort o' place - and it was dark . . . and I was only a babby - this I knew because my hands were tiny, podgy, and a bit closer than when I last saw them. "Not quite up-right", my gran would cheerily chirp - with an obligatory rattle of her teacup and saucer choreographed so as to mask the squeezing of one off.


My mother - bless her boils and bunions, got fed up full of fretfulness with me. For although just a baby - I'd simply wander off at the merest opportunity. Her remedy to this - her problem . . . was to tie one end of a washing line about my waist, and the other end to a cast-iron down-spout in our back garden. Now, I had not a clue about knots - nor any other ropey type stuff, I only knew I didn't like it, and try as I might - and I really, really did try - nothing shook this thing off me.


I clawed at it . . . I tore at it . . . I raged and ranted at it . . . I cursed and cried at it. Then, a sort o' feralmentation occurred within . . . and I became calm and quiet - as the answer finally dawned upon me. It had worked once before as I recall - when Philly Fosters' ferret invaded my pram, and here I am - once again . . . calling upon the Ancients Ones from Within. And so - after shuffling a stone from under my bum . . . I set to it, and didn't stop until I'd chewed through it. Much gnawing and nibbling was done, until eventually - 'one' became 'two' - one of which seemed rather attached to me, so, we were off like a scalded cat. Loose once again . . . and that’s how I ended up in the woods in the dark.


I found myself a cosy little nook under a giant Tree Monster who was fast asleep, softly sighing and swaying in song and dance with the dewy breeze. I scampered into my nice little nifty nook, and was about to fall asleep myself - when the biggest, blackest shadow I had ever seen took away my sight, as it loomed over my very existence, filling my delicate little snifter with the fetid stench of something that very nearly made me follow-through.


Oh - the depth of . . . ignominity - not to mention the lumps and bumps - as tiny little sensitive me was rolled, and bludgeoned around the not-too-plush interior of my now not-so-cosy-nook. That terrifying Giant of the Black Shadows shifted again, an action that resulted in its monstrous muzzle inquisitively prodding and poking at my tender little midriff' again - snuffling and snorting as it did so. Something must have caught the big bugger's attention, for it suddenly and silently sprang bolt upright - giving its fullest focus to something way off in the grey, misty veil of 'out-there'.


Having the thing out of my face at last, afforded me just enough light to make out the terrifying beast before me. My tentative movements however, brought me to its attention once again, and it looked down at me with a disturbing mixture of a quizzical glance and a growed-up sort of mischievous grin, and just for a few of those magical moments that you find lying around - if you're bothered to look - all was quiet and peaceful. Until that is - taking a stretched moment or two to position itself in readiness - whilst offering a low self-satisfied grumble to the wind, and once in the desired position - it offered me the contents of its bladder . . . In fact it down-right insisted . . !


Now, the funny thing is . . . it all seemed so very, very real . . . so much so in fact - that I was actually dripping wet . . . sort of 'pissed wet through' - if you'll forgive further vulgarity!


Strains of Burkes gusty guffawin' started to seep through my misty grey blanket . . . accompanied by the pungency of Ma Burkes clingy cloud. These though, were brought to the fullness of life’s reality - as baddie Burke launched another bucket o' water at my poor wretched frame . . . "That'll teach you - you daft little scroat". He said with a most definite chuckle. Ma Burke, on the other hand was nowhere near as gracious, as "What are you doing chargin' about like summat not right. ! ?" came heaving out of her ample bigness - followed by a matronly, "Explain y' simple self". So I think it's only right that I do just that . . .


Apparently, In the blindness of my ambitious dash - which was Aided and fully Abetted by my ignorance for the potential of such catastrophes - I did not see Ma Burke trundle off the street into the shops' gateway, and whose arms instinctively shot out as if to ward off a mad muggist - any such persons incidentally, would really have to be a few shades simpler than foolish to try - as Ol' Ma Burke was blessed with the heft of an all-in-mud-wrester. In fact, had this event taken place in the ring, it would without doubt - have been a text-book Cloths-line Take-down. I was out cold before I hit the floor. Cuthbert was into all that wrastling stuff and should have been most impressed!


He Burke was even bigger than She Burke, and it showed when his shovel-of-a-hand descended upon my already pulverised body, almost covering my entire chest with its span. A spark of confusion vied for a taste of reason in my addled void of inexperience, which was quickly followed by another spark - this one however, smacked of pure distrust. Both - by what-ever perverse fragment of fate - met . . . the combined forces of both fleeting entities produced a third spark . . . which immediately left the sour taste of an iffy fore-boding, as I suddenly became fully expectant of bully Burkes massive mit, crashing down upon my fragile frame - thus reducing me to something not unlike a two-ended-whoopee cushion . . . but no . . . that great slab of a hand was however, mercifully stayed, and lain gentle upon my chest for all but the briefest of moments. Then it started to curl up with the odd creek or two of leathery skin - bunching up and consuming my filthy little vest and tank top as it did so, until it clamped fully shut - with a final 'pop' of some knuckle cartilage. When satisfied that he had the required grip of me - he prove his lack of delicacy, as he then hoisted himself up to his full height, which left me - weighing no more than a sack o' spuds - just dangling by his side - not unlike a soggy towel.


Now, there's a term - 'Onwards and Upwards" . . . well - I'd just involuntarily done the 'Upwards' bit - now I was in for the 'Onwards' part . . . or the 'Backwards' bit as this particuliar case was proving to reveal.


His first step was a heavy footed for'ard lurch. 'Twas laced with intent, and it fair set me swinging like a pendulum - pestered by an angry draft. His second step was more of a sideways-scooty-sort of skip - as if to rectify a hastily made misstep. I got a bit of a jolt out of this one actually - if anyone cares enough about such things . . . though I must say - I do think I rode it rather well. The third step however, was a well-placed plant - topped off with a definite for'ards lean of his up'ards parts - an unfortunate thing to realise in my delicate predicament, as I personally, was still negotiating the back-edge of the back'ards swing of all of this pendulumic palaver . . .


Oh shite! I suddenly and wheezingly spat. Ol' Burke's gone nuts, and thinks he's gone bowling! With that - I felt the wind on the back of my neck and ears increase - as did the 'forwards' part of my swing. Sadly though, it was his 'forwards' - not mine. Any further thoughts of Bowling though, were instantly replaced by those of the afore mentioned Whoopee Cushion, as my swing came to a bone jarring stop against a sack o' caulis - and yes . . . my whoopee'd whoosh did precious little to mask one being viciously botty burped. Incidentally . . . I've seen Worms put two full caulis away in one sitting - and although he trumped like a trooper for the rest o' the day . . . he parted with none of it . . . if you get my drift . . . a wifty drift - if you will!


"What's your game Daft Head", rumbled His Royal Burkefulness. "Yeah . . !" Grated a still irate Mrs B, " You grubby little Barm' Pot, what are you playing at?" she further offered as she hovered over the proceedings like a vulturette. I, for my part, had not the words to appease these Ogre-ish Oldsters - nor did I care much for their component parts - to say nowt of my distaste for all things numerical . . . there are some as might say there's not much has changed since. As it happened however, it was crafty ol' Cuthbert who came to my rescue, as he calmly thrust his freckled features forward, and explained to the bemused Mr Burke that, someone must have put the price sign for the melons upside-down, and that considering  how fast I (me) was shifting - I must have mistaken the up-turned 5 for a 3. Now, the fact that this seemed to placate Mr Big 'n Daft Burke - it did diddly to sway his nowty spouse who, to this day, swears blind I was 'up to no good'!


The truth of it was, I'd neither noticed nor cared, for as far as I was concerned - I'd paid good money. Plus, in my sat-down sitting position, I could make out the spilled-spit and godly-guts of what was once my beautiful melon. That was it - again . . . only this time my battle-weary little face scrunged it's self up, and a wee episode of bawling was had - until Jinxy Jessop bounced a turnip off my head, with the blurted bleat of "What about my Teds' eggs then!?". Mr Burke twisted at the hip to face her, heaved a sigh only a sorely tested man can - and he deftly flipped the formerly 'my' thrup'nny bit at her. Funnily enough . . . watching her snatch it from the sky, reminded me of seeing a Sparrow hawk lay claim to an absent-minded robin once . . . oh, my poor, poor thrupence. "Hey you big pig" I yelped, "Your melon's over there - you can 'ave it back!", followed by a slightly more subdued "Can I 'ave me thrup'nny bit back please Mr Burke!?"


Just for about a heart-beat, he regarded me as one would an errant cat furtively approaching your fish supper. Then his visage softened to a mere menacing mask, and he spoke thus: "It's my way - or hers!" this last incidentally - with a triumphant thrust of his thumb in Ma Burkes' direction . . . and who - with further incidentalment, was just champin' at the bit to 'ave a go at me . . !


Worms meanwhile - was tucking into the recently arrived turnip with great gusto thank you very much.

As I now gaze upon Plank, I can only assume, that the face I see, is very similar to the face I wore those many moons ago, only now - I'm not the subject of wretchidity. Stux didn't help the situation either, when it/he/she - never are too sure with them'ns - snaked one of it's/his/her napper-zappers across the bridge, and kissed Plank on the crapper with it . . . well, it might not have been Cricket - but it sure as shite did lift the morale around the place!


Plank, for his sad and simple part, was strongly advised to leave the growed-ups areas alone, and to report to a nurse-bot, so's he could have his head wobbled a bit - it probably won't do the required job . . . but it will at least allow us of the 'with it' sort to commence our journey.


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