In the midst of an exceedingly eventful city, there existed a character, lets name him Jerry, whose eccentricity was unmatched. His fashion sense was nothing short of antiquated, as he roamed the bustling streets dressed in royal purple Victorian-era attire, complete with a top hat and pocket watch. With his peculiar wardrobe and his penchant for quoting obscure literature, he was like a character plucked from the pages of a Jules Verne novel.
What truly set him apart, though, was his dexterous nature. He had an uncanny ability to manipulate everyday objects into fantastical contraptions. This gifted inventor was renowned for his ability to transform an antique typewriter into a machine that brewed perfect espresso, all while reciting Shakespearean sonnets. He effortlessly navigated through the cacophonous cityscape, his nimble fingers making swift adjustments to his curious creations.
Despite his peculiar appearance and outlandish inventions, the denizens of the city held him in high regard. They marveled at his ingenuity and adored the quirkiness of his character. In a world where the modern and the digital dominated, he represented a charming link to a bygone era.
Every day was an adventure for Jerry, as he delved into the town's forgotten corners and uncovered hidden treasures long thought to be lost to time. His presence was a beacon of inspiration for those who dared to dream beyond the confines of the ordinary, reminding everyone that in a world steeped in history and mystery, the most remarkable stories were yet to be written.
Bob and Steve sat on a sturdy tree branch, their fluffy tails twitching with an air of casual indifference, their eyes darting around like detectives on a stakeout.
Bob nibbled on an acorn, his voice as smooth as honey. "Lovely weather we're having, Steve. Isn't it?"
Steve scratched his head, feigning interest in a nearby acorn stash. "Oh, absolutely, Bob. Can't complain. Sunshine and all that."
Bob's tail flicked with a subtle smirk. "I heard some gossip about a new bird feeder nearby. Supposed to be the talk of the gardens, Steve."
Steve's eyes gleamed with hidden excitement. "Did you now? Well, I just happened to overhear some jays discussing it. Word is, it's filled with the most delicious seeds you can imagine."
Bob's eyebrows raised just a fraction. "Really? Sounds intriguing. I suppose one might want to, you know, check it out."
Steve chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Of course, Bob. Nothing wrong with a little exploration."
As they chatted about the weather and bird feeders, Bob and Steve's tails continued their secret dance, signalling their intentions. The mundane topic masked their true motives, leaving the pigeons none the wiser to their cunning plans.
Zed wipes her mouth. Wet rubber. Looking down, squinting her eyes she sees black dancing across her fingers. She smells them. Rubber scented. Wiping her saliva stained cheek with her left hand, she feels relief from the itch that work her up.
Blinking a few times, Zed yawns and her eyes glimpse the black circular tube on the floor beside the couch.
‘That’s why my hand is black.’
Surveying the space around her, trying to familiarise herself with where she is, Zed breathes deep. The room smells odd. She inhaled again.
‘Rubber and milk?’
She squints her face, ‘now that is a strange combination.’
Stumbling to her feet, the penny drops as a light bulb goes off on her mind and Zed relaxes.
‘Bob’s house. But how did I get here?’
Pain emanates from her lower abdomen and instinctively Zed unconsciously moves towards the bathroom. She looks left to the kitchen counter, only to notice a single empty glass milk bottle standing directly in the middle of the large grey counter top. All alone and void of contents, except for one drop of milk lingering in the bottom of the bottle.
Zed staggers into the bathroom, light illuminates the room and Zed pauses.
‘What on Earth happened last night?’
Candles dotted around the room, surrounding the bathtub, had long stance burnt out, extinguished at their ends, with no wick in sight. Water fill to the brim, once hot, now a cold shell of its former self, still in its solitude enveloped by the tub. And there, sitting on its on, unencumbered by anything else, placed gently in the middle of the towel stand, the Bible, with a yellow post it note, positioned just under the words on the darken cover, stating,
“Remember the Visitor”
Feeling surreal, Zed timidly moved towards the toilet, eyes fixated on the Bible and it’s note, wondering what it all means and who was the visitor?
Relief washed over her as she emptied her bladder.
A tyre, an empty milk bottle, a bible placed in a romantic setting in a bathroom with a note to remember the visitor.
Her mind searched for a glimpse of memory from the night before. Just black space and one question lingering in the void,
Where is Bob?
