The cause of Ryan's internal itching, Lech Lutha and
John F Kennedy, hurtled through his mind in panic,
ducking and dodging the spiny tendrils stalking their
frenzied flight. As the tip of one tendril tickled
the back of Lutha's neck, he let loose a yelp cum
titter, strangely aroused by the peculiarly tacky
yet also coarse texture of the spindly tentacle. Its
initial apparent tenderness, however, soon gave way
to extreme force as it smacked Lech face down into
the dirt track running through the dust and fluff
swirling round Ryan's mind.
tendrils paused in their frantic pursuit to examine
this fallen specimen. JFK, panting, crouched and hands
on knees, looked back in wonder at the strange appendages
now stooping over Lech, caressing his withered arm
and slipping in and out of his crooked fingers like
into the distant darkness, JFK could not figure out
what these veiny vines were attached to. They merely
receded into the void as if hovering of their own
accord. Were these the mind boggles Lutha was on about?
Perhaps they were just flying worms, thought the president.
There are stranger creatures in the world after all.
the port-holes in the president's mind let flood in
a random roll call of the planet's bizarre species,
the darkened corridors in Ryan's mind continued to
play host to the teasing tendrils now busily wrapping
themselves round Lech's helpless frame.
'Help me!' yelled Lutha.
president snapped to and, after momentarily wallowing
in the repulsive but intriguing vision before him,
sprang into action. Like a man possessed, or at least
possessing Indiana Jones videos, the president tore
at the tendrils with his bare hands, wrenching them
back as they slapped against Lech's body in an effort
to regain their eager grasp.
contemplated biting into the things but rejected the
idea swiftly, imagining their taste, if anything like
their grotesque appearance, might not be sweet.
he battled on, but with each tendril he managed to
release, another took its place until he too became
enmeshed in the thrashing turmoil. The tendrils tightened
their grip on both men's bodies which writhed frantically
to avoid the spiny whips lashing them mercilessly
from all sides.
an age of flailing, kicking and striking out in vain
at the veins, both Lutha and the president were on
the verge of giving up. It seemed pointless to struggle
further, they decided simultaneously, and so let their
a last desperate attempt at some kind of positive
action before the tendrils squeezed them breathless,
Lech carefully worked free his good arm. Casually
reaching over to one particularly floppy tendril,
wrenched loose in the mêlée and rendered lifeless
by JFK's initial enthusiastic attack, he plugged it
into the nearest Knowledge Blockage Socket.
the tendrils loosed their grip, untangling themselves
like the automatic flex on Lutha's favourite hoover,
and retreated into the darkness, leaving the one severed
artery dangling lifelessly from the socket.
but relieved, the freed captives quickly covered their
ears as Ryan's scream boomed through the surrounding
Week - Seraphema Says Something