Tea-fueled

girl in 1960s Paris with winged eyeliner and a fringe who sits in cafes and bars and drinks sherry

WWII war nurse

muse for a late 19th century artist

archaeologist in the 30s

suffragette

background character in a Wodehouse story

incorporeal sense of vague dissatisfaction

You are stuck in roadworks. There were no roadworks yesterday. There will be no roadworks tomorrow, when you do not need to drive. You turn down another street, but there are roadworks here, too. There are roadworks behind you. Everywhere, the sound of jackhammers.

To get from home to work, you must walk uphill. To get from work to home, you must walk uphill. There are no downhills.

You cross a bridge. Below it is Edinburgh. Around you is Edinburgh. Above you is Edinburgh. Inside you is Edinburgh.

Outside it is raining. You look up and see sun and blue sky. At your feet is snow.

You walk into a building and cross over ot the window. You are six stories up. You return to the door. You are twelve stories up. You return to the window. You are in the void.

Your feet stick to the floor in Hive. You can feel yourself beginning to sink. You try to escape, but every door leads to another dancefloor. You sink into a sticky darkness where unseen figures gyrate against you. Shots are a pound.

Humans are seen bringing sticks and toys to Greyfriars Bobby’s grave. No human is seen removing them, but they disappear.

It is 12.59. You hear nothing. It is 2pm. No cannon fired and one o’clock did not happen. 

You spit on the heart for luck. The heart beats. The city pulses. The city blesses you.

You wander down a side street. There is a statue of John Knox and a shop that sells only hats of many colours. Tomorrow you will return, and there will be a statue of Adam Smith and a cafe that does not serve coffee.

A tourist wants a history book about Princess Merida. A tourist tells you that William Wallace is only a movie character. A tourist wants to know why you do not know your own history. You weep that you only know the history of the reality that you are from.

You cannot go to work because it is now a Fringe venue. You go to the shops, but they are all Fringe venues too. You try to return home, but there is singing inside. Your flat is now a Fringe venue. Admission is ten pounds.

Masked figures in black rob a bank. One holds a sign proclaiming that they are drama students doing a performance art piece on the evils of capitalism. The crowd cheers and puts money in a hat when they sing a Proclaimers song. 

The great cow lies with all four legs in the air. Inside, there is laughter.

Reality frays at the edges in the Fringe. Dimensions cartwheel past and hand you a flyer for the End of Days. Admission is free. 

Fringe Venue 616 is an open grave. Maggots fall into your hair and bones crack under your feet as you climb in. Three students perform Hamlet. It is alright. They’ve clearly worked hard.

A corpse lies in the middle of the Royal Mile. It is advertising a show. A knight fights a demon in front of the Tron Kirk. They are advertising a show. People with painted faces slay and devour the hapless in the street. They are advertising a show. They have flyers. 

Children giggle as a living statue dances for them. Across the city, people stare at an empty plinth in confusion.

HP: 2

Spells per day: Cloudkill, Telepathic Summons, Sleep (casts on Self),

@omahdon you’re to blame for this. and also myself. 

So I found this caterpillar on my way to class

i made him a tube room