I, Writer # 4 … in which I dialogue my way into a wormhole.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and a voice saying …
You don’t want to go there. You really don’t.
I turn round to face my tapper. I really wish I hadn’t bothered.
Who the hell are you ? You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!
My name is Pessimism.
Well, yes. I can see that. How are things ?
Are you trying to be funny ?
Where are you going ?
I’m heading for Full-timeness.
You won’t like it.
Our scintillating conversation is thankfully interrupted by the sudden appearance of a much brighter figure.
My name is Optimism
Hi. Is my brother bothering you ?
He’s certainly getting there.
My name is Optimism. It’s so wonderfully good to meet you.
I was just explaining to grumpy here that I’m off to Full-timeness.
How exciting. You’ll love it there, I’m sure.
Well, I’d better be off then. Long way to go and all that.
You should travel by bookwormhole. It’s much less tiring.
Yes. A bookwormhole is a hole left by a …
You just find a hole and jump in.
It all sounds a bit … surreal.
That nice Mr Lewis Carroll said exactly the same thing. I told him to give it a whirl.
And I told him not to bother.
You tell everybody not to bother.
No I don’t. I didn’t tell Vincent van Gogh not to bother.
You told him to cut his ear off !
So all I have to do is find a book with a hole made by a bookworm in it and jump in. It all sounds so simple.
It is very easy.
I was being sarcastic !
Luckily for you, I always keep such a book secreted about my person. Here we are !
Ah. Right. I see.
I decide to have a closer look. I bend down and press my eye to the bookwormhole. This is very strange. Very strange indeed.
Blimey. Well I never. That is so very curious.
I am suddenly shoved very rudely from behind and feel myself tumbling headfirst into the unknown …