Noris’ Story

Act one. Scene one. A tail based in truth, with embellishment.

Nori had always loved the forest and rainy days but, this rain, fog and mist combined with the broken, washboard logging road seemed to conspire and accumulate in sea sized mud holes that would be beautiful only to a bevy of Blue Whales,  battleships or big, mythical catfish.

The trees, weighted by water, had now seemed threatening and “snapped” all around, prompting a panicked haste and new found confidence to forge ahead.

She jumped again at the “crack” of another nearby lightning strike.

“This could be Saturn”, Nori said to herself as she witnessed her third falling tree.

Tail steaming, dashboard lights gleaming, Noris’ headlights veer into the woods around a blind curve and reflect the metallic glimmer of a “no trespassing” sign.

“Finally, signs of civilization”, she sighed.

Several signs, posts and a half kilometer of waste deep mud later, a rusty gate with a tilted sign reading, “Fish Pants Dance Antics Ranch”…

This was crazy! The commute alone would render any remuneration moot! Where would she get lunch?

Nori N. Salada was a professional, respected and beloved in her family, community and vocation.

Never quite conforming to her consumer comfort coveting counterparts, Nori sought more for her life.

But this was so uncharacteristic, unpredictable and frankly, dangerous.

Though friends and family cautioned her profusely, Nori had taken a life altering adventure in response to a premonition about “a social media friend”. A fishy sort of odd feeling that emanates an aura of aroma, a definite stink but, with that anomalous pugnacity that bedevils the breather to believe “it couldn’t be THAT bad” and becomes bound to bounce back and forth between the disbelieving “sniff” and the insidious rebuttal of affirmation.

THIS is how Nori came to respond to a request from Beada Beadas’ mascot, Namazu and his alien alter ego, Blundering Oblivious Bloat to apply for the administrative assistant position to good animist minister, Aged Phlex Sphincter at his “First Church of What’s Left of Earth” on the compound at Fish pants dance antics ranch, (F.P.D.A.R.).

Nori knew O’Bloat and Namazu were avatars, just characters someone used, yet for mythical catfish, they seemed too real, in a way, like whoever was behind them knew which strings to pull and make her stray..

Aged Phlex Sphincter had not specified a time, just the day,

and after another dozen dunks down the muddy, gated way,

there, the dark, silhouetted outline of the compound lay

as the clouds part to release a single, sunny ray…

To be continued…