Going to the Happy Place
As they were being led down further into the massive space whale, the lead warrior turned back to Prince Porodor and bowed.
“You need to consider that sacrificing Suki Vorranac along with these Humaniti scum will not sit well with the counsel or the Warlord Vorranac himself. She has the prime bloodline (said in Galactic English for Cissy’s benefit.)”
“That is my worry, my argument,” said the prince flatly.
The lead warrior nodded and turned away, signaling the group of the condemned to follow him. The naked boy who looked human hugged his twin and then joined them.
“I can almost understand why they are going to kill us, but why are you going to be executed?” Cissy said to the boy.
“I am not enough like them to remain among them. I would die here eventually anyway. This just makes it happen sooner.”
“Won’t they at least give you a Danjer suit?” Cissy asked.
“I will be given one when we get to the happy place.”
“The happy place?”
“Prisoners to be executed as whale food are given time to make their peace with the universe. It is something I understand the Imperium does not do.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. Of course, the Galtorr Fusions are half lizard people, which probably explains that.”
“My name is Wylo Voron, though I have to stop using the Voron part now that I am being cast out.”
“My name is Cissy Moonskipper. I ain’t giving up any of that.”
Wylo shook Cissy’s hand and smiled. He was a cute kid. Probably at least three years younger than Cissy. Or three Spltzblixes, or whatever the heck Nebulons called a year.
The interior of the space whale was like a vast hollow tube with gravity-downside carpeted in villages, lakes, rivers, forests, and meadows. Hand-built structures covered the sides, and the ceiling was a combination of pulsating whale organs and Sun Sources. Clouds and mists obscured some of the ceiling.
“This is a really beautiful place,” said Cissy, nearly breathless with awe.
“I have never been in this space whale before,” said Suki. “But my home whale was almost as beautiful as this.”
The lead warrior delivered the small group to a pretty white cottage on the edge of the nearest lake. They were met there by five people. A Nebulon man who was the same size as Suki, his wife who was slightly smaller, and three blue children.
“You will be cared for by Taro Vorranac and his family. They will do anything you ask but help you escape. They don’t speak Galactic English, but Suki can translate.” The lead warrior saluted Taro and then led his troop back toward the whale head.
Suki introduced everyone to everyone in another endless stream of Nebulonin ak-ak-ak-oohwak in which Cissy recognized names and nothing else. Taro’s wife was Sonno and the children were two boys named Taroon and Jaffouhc. The girl was Diznee. All three of them were naked and happy that way, but Sonno recognized the need to give Wylo a purple Danjer suit.
Their Nebulon hosts were all generous and kind people that Cissy easily warmed up to.
Later as they sat around the family table drinking a delicious blue juice that Sonno called Perhoucahac, Cissy asked Suki, “So, what do we do now? Can we try to eIscape?”
“If we do, Taro and Sonno’s family will be sacrificed in our place. And I don’t want that on my conscience.”
“Budd… I doan wanna die…” whined Friday. Diznee petted her because, although she didn’t understand a word of what was said, she could feel Friday’s fear and pain.
“I’m not giving up yet, Friday,” Cissy said, patting the dog girl’s paw. “There has to be a way out of this.”
“The Nebulon way is to eat and drink and be happy until the end is here.” Suki let a tear escape her right eye. It ran down across the red dot on her cheek.
“Your Prince Porodor is not a very nice landlord.”
Taro’s family looked at each other in confusion.
“My family doesn’t like him either,” Suki admitted.
Catch a Falling Star 
The Way Mickey’s Mind Works
If you’ve read any of the crap that Mickey wrote about before in this goofy blog, you probably already suspect that Mickey’s mind does not work like a normal mind. The road map above is just one indicator of the weirdness of the wiring that propels Mickey on the yellow brick road to Oz and back. He just isn’t a normal thinker.
But having a few bats in the old belfry doesn’t prevent the man from having a plan. If you read all of Mickey’s hometown novels, you will discover he hasn’t written them in time order. Main characters in my 2016 novel weren’t even born yet in my 2017 books. If you look at them in chronological order rather than the order written, you will see characters growing and changing over time. A shy kid in one novel grows into a werewolf hunter in the next. A girl who loses her father to suicide in a novel not yet completed, learns how to love again in another novel.
Multiple Mickian stories are totally infected with fairies. The magic little buggers are harder to get rid of than mosquitoes and are far and away more dangerous. And there are disturbing levels of science-fiction-ness radiating through all of the stories. How dare he think like that? In undulating spirals instead of straight lines! He doesn’t even use complete sentences all the time. And they used to let that odd bird teach English to middle school kids.
But there is a method to his utter madness. He started with the simpler stories of growing up and learning about the terrors of kissing girls when you are only twelve. And then he moved on into the darker realms of dealing with death and loss of love, the tragedy of finding true love and losing it again almost as soon as you recognize its reality. Simple moves on to complex. Order is restored with imagination, only to be broken down again and then restored yet again,.
And, of course, we always listen to Mr. Gaiman. He is a powerful wizard after all. The Sandman and creator of good dreams. So Mickey will completely ignore the fact that nobody reads his books no matter what he does or says. And he will write another story.
It is called Sing Sad Songs, and it is the most complex and difficult story that Mickey has ever written. And it will be glorious. It also rips Mickey’s heart out. And I will put that ripped-out heart back in place and make Mickey keep writing it, no matter how many times I have to wash, rinse, and repeat. The continued work is called Fools and Their Toys. It solves the murder mystery begun in Sing Sad Songs. This re-post of an updated statement of goals is the very spell that will make that magic happen. So, weird little head-map in hand, here we go on the writer’s journey once again and further along the trail.
Here’s the link to the finished book.
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