LJ Idol // Week 26 (b) // Turtles all the way down
This is a re-write of my Turtles entry from week 26 (a). Believe it or not, it is actually a direct redraft of the first one using the exact same starting point as the original. It's also still a companion to week 22's adaptation idol.
The Creation Myth of Funny Brownies
Lyra Greenwood wasn’t entirely sober. She was lying flat on her back in the sand beside Hattie Malone, nibbling a brownie and looking up at the stars. It was quieter out here – the vague chatter of the bar was lost almost entirely in a haze of tobacco and surf. Lyra closed her eyes, spent perhaps ten seconds marvelling at the odd, spinning sensation, and then opened them again.
“Alien!” Hattie shouted, suddenly. She was pointing somewhere in the direction of Orion.
Lyra squinted. “Satellite,” she said.
“Bugger.” Hattie giggled.
The girls lay in silence for a while, listening to the waves. Lyra dug her toes into the sand and took another bite of the brownie. “These brownies,” she said, “are really fucking incredible.”
“You’re pissed,” Hattie replied.
“So are you.”
“Bugger off.”
They both giggled.
“Did I ever tell you,” Lyra said, after a moment, “About the man I met on the Khao San Road?”
“You’ve met a lot of men,” Hattie replied.
Lyra made a half-hearted attempt to slap her friend, but missed. “He told me that the stars were sailed into the sky by a man in a canoe.”
“Can’t sail a canoe,” Hattie said. She had broken her brownie in half and was throwing one half repeatedly into the air.
“Can, too.” Lyra reached up and caught the brownie before Hattie had a chance to catch it.
“Hey!” Hattie protested.
“Finder’s Keepers.” Lyra grinned and shoved the entire piece into her mouth.
“Bet you’re sick later,” said Hattie. Then, “How do you sail a canoe?”
“You put a sail on it.”
“Obviously.”
There was a moment in which neither of them spoke, and then Hattie suddenly shouted, “Alien!” again.
Lyra squinted. “That’s an aeroplane,” she said.
“I swear, one day it’ll be an alien and you won’t even notice.”
Lyra grinned. “Maybe it’ll be a man sailing a canoe into the sky?”
“Why would he sail a canoe into the sky?” Hattie asked. She was guarding the remaining half of her brownie rather closely.
“I think…” Lyra hesitated, “He was lost. He took his boat on a lake and then it got dark, and then there were monsters.”
“Monsters?”
“Big, scary monsters. And there was no light to keep the monsters away, so he picked up a bunch of glowing rocks from the riverbank and sailed them into the sky.”
“That’s the lamest story I’ve ever heard,” said Hattie. “Bet you the rest of this brownie that I can make a better story.”
“No chance.”
“Alright…” Hattie closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. “In the beginning there was nothing. And out of nothing, there came nothing. And nothing happened.”
“Bor-ing,” Lyra sang in Hattie’s ear. Hattie ignored her.
“And then,” Hattie continued, “Creeping through the aeons and the walls of parallel worlds-”
“Parallel to nothing?” Lyra interrupted. Again, Hattie ignored her.
“…Walls of parallel worlds, there was music.”
“Good music?” Lyra asked.
“Dramatic Introduction Music.”
“Introduction to what?”
Hattie spread her arms out in a dramatic gesture that looked only slightly ridiculous. “The ultimate in reality television: Adaptation Idol!”
“Adaptation… what?”
“Ten million years ago thirty contesting races were given the first building blocks of civilisation. From identical, imperfect beginnings, it was up to each race to evolve on its own terms. Each episode, the civilisation that you - the voters - deem to be the least perfect will be eliminated.”
“You need to watch less T.V.” Lyra said.
"Piss off.”
“Bet we are though,” Hattie said.
“What?”
“Some kind of alien social experiment.”
Lyra held out her hand towards Hattie “You totally owe me a brownie.”
The Creation Myth of Funny Brownies
Lyra Greenwood wasn’t entirely sober. She was lying flat on her back in the sand beside Hattie Malone, nibbling a brownie and looking up at the stars. It was quieter out here – the vague chatter of the bar was lost almost entirely in a haze of tobacco and surf. Lyra closed her eyes, spent perhaps ten seconds marvelling at the odd, spinning sensation, and then opened them again.
“Alien!” Hattie shouted, suddenly. She was pointing somewhere in the direction of Orion.
Lyra squinted. “Satellite,” she said.
“Bugger.” Hattie giggled.
The girls lay in silence for a while, listening to the waves. Lyra dug her toes into the sand and took another bite of the brownie. “These brownies,” she said, “are really fucking incredible.”
“You’re pissed,” Hattie replied.
“So are you.”
“Bugger off.”
They both giggled.
“Did I ever tell you,” Lyra said, after a moment, “About the man I met on the Khao San Road?”
“You’ve met a lot of men,” Hattie replied.
Lyra made a half-hearted attempt to slap her friend, but missed. “He told me that the stars were sailed into the sky by a man in a canoe.”
“Can’t sail a canoe,” Hattie said. She had broken her brownie in half and was throwing one half repeatedly into the air.
“Can, too.” Lyra reached up and caught the brownie before Hattie had a chance to catch it.
“Hey!” Hattie protested.
“Finder’s Keepers.” Lyra grinned and shoved the entire piece into her mouth.
“Bet you’re sick later,” said Hattie. Then, “How do you sail a canoe?”
“You put a sail on it.”
“Obviously.”
There was a moment in which neither of them spoke, and then Hattie suddenly shouted, “Alien!” again.
Lyra squinted. “That’s an aeroplane,” she said.
“I swear, one day it’ll be an alien and you won’t even notice.”
Lyra grinned. “Maybe it’ll be a man sailing a canoe into the sky?”
“Why would he sail a canoe into the sky?” Hattie asked. She was guarding the remaining half of her brownie rather closely.
“I think…” Lyra hesitated, “He was lost. He took his boat on a lake and then it got dark, and then there were monsters.”
“Monsters?”
“Big, scary monsters. And there was no light to keep the monsters away, so he picked up a bunch of glowing rocks from the riverbank and sailed them into the sky.”
“That’s the lamest story I’ve ever heard,” said Hattie. “Bet you the rest of this brownie that I can make a better story.”
“No chance.”
“Alright…” Hattie closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. “In the beginning there was nothing. And out of nothing, there came nothing. And nothing happened.”
“Bor-ing,” Lyra sang in Hattie’s ear. Hattie ignored her.
“And then,” Hattie continued, “Creeping through the aeons and the walls of parallel worlds-”
“Parallel to nothing?” Lyra interrupted. Again, Hattie ignored her.
“…Walls of parallel worlds, there was music.”
“Good music?” Lyra asked.
“Dramatic Introduction Music.”
“Introduction to what?”
Hattie spread her arms out in a dramatic gesture that looked only slightly ridiculous. “The ultimate in reality television: Adaptation Idol!”
“Adaptation… what?”
“Ten million years ago thirty contesting races were given the first building blocks of civilisation. From identical, imperfect beginnings, it was up to each race to evolve on its own terms. Each episode, the civilisation that you - the voters - deem to be the least perfect will be eliminated.”
“You need to watch less T.V.” Lyra said.
"Piss off.”
“Bet we are though,” Hattie said.
“What?”
“Some kind of alien social experiment.”
Lyra held out her hand towards Hattie “You totally owe me a brownie.”