The doleful sirens are beginning to wail over on the ziggarat. Feeding time. Time for us to drop our baskets and playthings and head straight over to the manna pit in the clearing. Oh, Xupi is already there. I can see her waving her fronds and dancing bowlegged way down there. She is so beautiful and free. They all are. Milling around throwing flower chains and shouting by the splashing fountains. The laughter piercing and giddy. Long haired ponies frolic and jig. The muscles in their legs jitter. It makes them seem so very real as they drag their sparkling manes in rainbow traces through the chilly clover. Sniffling and munching, stamping, flipping their extravagant tails back and forth, batting at butterflies, stirring up airbrushed balls of pixie dust.
The Morlocks are coming out with buckets of carrots and nuts and edible flower stalks and meatballs from Ikea. They are so ugly, with their HUGE buck teeth and snow white chest hair. RED EYES and RED NAILS. You would think that they are a million years old, or never go outside, or something, plus, their odor is REALLY BAD, just like rotting flesh. Makes me want to projectile vomit. I wait for them to leave before I start to eat, because I lose my appetite around them, as previously indicated. Who is paying them to feed us? Who’s asking? The food is not bad. We used to get little potatoes and cranberry sauce with the meatballs. Brgyr thinks the Morlocks are eating the potatoes and cranberry sauce, but I never saw it. I don’t think they are. I don’t even want to look at them.
Zephyr is late for dinner. Where can she be? She must be hungry. Maybe she followed a pretty pack-pony into the gingerbread forest like I told her not to. More for me is the way I look at it. If she is lost forever it is her own stupid fault. She is a ninny. Uh oh, the head MORL is climbing down into the pit. I hope he doesn’t choose me. I have the smallest carbon footprint of all.