E ars …

 
»Gilbert? Gilbert, where are you?«

Professor Claude Sideburns is shouting down the hallway through the open bedroom-door.

I jump out of bed, barefoot and dressed in a white Victorian nightshirt.

What the…, I think.

»Where are we and who the heck is Gilbert?«

»Calm down, Mister Bibble«, the professor says. »Or may I call you Bromford? I think we had some kind of drinking ritual on my annual Christmas party on Brompton Castle including calling each other by our forenames.«

It looks like Nigel is doing some research on his mobile phone.

»Bromford Castle, you said? Just one moment, please.«

»The sheep are still out there«, the llama says looking out the high and narrow castle windows. »And they are up to no good regarding the way they look at me.«

»Shouldn't they be in some kind of sheepfold or pen or barn at this time of the year with all this ice and snow?«

Kylie seems to be worried.

»The can handle cold way better than we all think«, the professor explains. »And this winter is kind of milde in the Brompton Hills this year so far.«

»Gilbert!« he shouts out once more.

Nigel's search seems to have been successful.

»Brompton Castle«, Kylie's son reads from his smartphone display, »is a medieval 12th century motte and bailey castle which survives only as earthworks. The motte is 25 feet high and well preserved, but the bailey and ditch have been damaged.«

»That must be another Brompton Castle, young man.«

A stiff looking man dressed in white shirts with black ties, grey west and a black suit or tails has entered the bedroom. He is greeting us all with an indicated bow of the upper body.

»Ah, Gilbert, there you are«, Professor Claude Sideburns says. »Is our breakfast ready?«

»Served in the library as you wished, Sir. After you, lady and gentlemen.«

»Gilbert is my butler«, Claude Sideburns says with an uncertain grin. »And as I said, we are on Brompton Castle, my family home and headquarters in the Brompton Hills.«

»You said«, the llama says looking distrustful, »we were on the Christmas Island and in Flying Fish Cove, Burnside.«

»I beg your pardon, honourable animal«, the butler Gilbert intervenes, »but I am pretty sure that Professor Sideburns was referring to and talking about Christian Island in Lake Sheepnesshires and the beautiful Flying Sheep Cove with its' picturesque landing stage.«

»Just as he says«, Professor Sideburns agrees, »Just as Gilbert, my butler said.«

The animal is still not satisfied and keeps on frowning.

»And now, follow me to the library«, Professor Sideburns says, »before eggs and bacon and sausages and tea are getting cold.«

»Give me one moment alone to get dressed«, I say looking at the old-fashioned nightgown.

And everyone is leaving the bedroom, with exception of the llama, of course.

»That professor dude and his penguin still look and act kind of fishy to me«, the animal says. »And look at those sheep out there. They are staring at us. I bet they are up to no good and have some dark plans.«
 

As I look out of the window and see a flock of sheep in a meadow full of snow, I cannot see their heads and eyes and so I cannot know whether they are looking at us or not.

▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫

Today is Friday, the 30th of December 2022.

Sheep in Winter

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 231

Today is Tuesday, the 27th of December 2022.

It is going to be a blue Tuesday.
A normal Tuesday in late December

 

when the tiger is not from Riga

and the giraffe not a seacalf...

🦒🦒🦒_🦒🦒🦒

🦒

🦒🦒🦒_🦒🦒🦒

🦒

🦒🦒🦒_🦒🦒🦒

🦒

🦒🦒🦒_🦒🦒🦒

"Bromford"

When I think of you Bromford
I think of a Mariachi band
I think of sixteen and a crisp green football field
I think of a girl I never had

When I think of you Bromford
I think of a back seat in a car
Windows are foggy and so are we
As the police asked for our I.D

So helpless
So helpless

Ooohhh, ooohhh, so helpless
Ooohhh, so helpless
Ooohhh, so helpless
So helpless

Well I once had a car lost it in a divorce
The judge was a woman of course
She said give her the car and the house and your taste
Or else I set the trial date

So now when I think of you Bromford
And the deep southern belles with their touch
I wonder where love ends and hate starts to blush
In the fields in the swamps in the rush
In the terra-cotta cobwebs of your mind
When did you start seeing me as a spider spinning web
Of malicious intent and you as poor, poor me
At the fire at the joint, this disinterred and broken mount
In the bedroom in the house where we were unmarried

So helpless, so helpless
So helpless
So helpless, so helpless
So helpless

When was I the villain in your heart
Putting the brake on your start
You slapped my face and cried and screamed
That's what marriage came to mean
The bitterest ending of a dream

You wanted children and I did not
Was that what it was all about
You might get a laugh when you hear me shout
You might get a laugh when you hear me shout
I wish I had

So helpless, so helpless
So helpless
So helpless, so helpless
So helpless
Sometimes when I think of Bromford
I see us with two and a half strapping sons
One and a half flushed daughters preparing to marry
And two fat grandsons I can barely carry

Daddy, uncle, family gathered there for grace
A dog in a barbecue pit goes up in space
The dream recedes in the morning with a bad aftertaste
And I'm back in the big city worn from the race of the chase
What a waste

So thanks for the card the announcement of child
And I must say you and Sam look great
Your daughter's gleaming in that -
- white wedding dress with pride
Sad to say I could never bring that to you that wide smile

So I try not to think of Bromford
Or of a, of a, of a Mariachi band
Or of sixteen and a crisp green football field
And the girl, and the girl I never had

So helpless, so helpless
So helpless
So helpless, so helpless
So helpless

Simply having ...

 

Wow, what a night. Is it me or was it the Christmas party last night with its' feastings and warm alcoholic beverages? My head feels like been hit by a wooden plank and split open by a blunt axe.

»Rise and shine!«

Professor Sideburns, I think I should call him Claude now after some kind of drinking ritual last night, opens the curtains letting some far too bright sunlight in.

»Where are we?«

This hoarse voice cannot be mine.

»We are at Brompton Castle, my headquarters on the Christmas Island.«

»Christmas Island? Aren't we through with all this holiday stuff? And which Christmas Island are you talking about?«

»The one which is located in the Indian Ocean, around 350 kilometres or 220 miles south of Java and Sumatra and around 1550 kilometres or 960 miles north-west of the closest point on the Australian mainland. It lies 2600 kilometres or 1600 miles northwest of Perth and 1327 kilometres or 825 miles south of Singapore. Did you know that it is an Australian external territory and has an area of 135 square kilometres or 52 square-miles?«

He opens the windows wide letting in a fresh and kind of chilly breeze of air.

»Oh, how I love the smell of Flying Fish Cove in the morning.«

I am lying in a wooden bed under heavy duvets.

»And how did we get here? By subway?«

The llama takes a running jump on the bed making the mattress squeak.

»Eiderdown!« the animal shouts out.

»I don't think we came here by a subway train.«

Kylie is also in this bedroom.

»And I don't think we are on a tropical island in the Indian Ocean.«

That is Nigel speaking.

»In fact I can see some green grassed hills outside this so-called castle and lots of sheep. And some of the white dots between the animals seem to be rests of ice and snow.«

»It's summer on the Christmas Island!« the llama proclaims.

»Where are we, Claude?« I ask the professor.

The man sighs.

»Normal, we are somewhere normal.«

And I can only hope this is true.

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅
🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯

🎄🎄⛄🎄🎄🎁
🔔🔔

"Kurt vs Frasier (The Battle For Bromford)"

What do you think

Hitting the road

Leave it behind

Lighten the load

Full of mistakes

Make a new start

Pull up a crate

And empty your heart

Cross out Christmas

Cross out endless summers

Cross out high school dances

Cross out all the one hit wonders

And we'll cross out kisses

Cross out private numbers

Cross out teen romances

Cross our hearts and hope to die again but

Never forget my name (hey!)

Never erase the days

Of Kurt Cobain and Frasier Crane

Never forget my name (hey!)

Letting it wash away

With all last year's Bromford rain

What do you think

How do you know

When it is real

And when it's a show

Making the rent

Sending it home

Pack up the tent

Why should we go-go-go-go-go-go-go-go

Cross out Christmas

Cross out endless summers

Cross out high school dances

Cross out all the one hit wonders

And we'll cross out kisses

Cross out private numbers

Cross out teen romances

Cross our hearts and hope to die again but

Never forget my name (hey!)

Never erase the days

Of Kurt Cobain and Frasier Crane

Never forget my name (hey!)

Letting it wash away

With all last year's Bromford rain

Na na na na na na (hey!)

Na na na na na na

Na na na na na

Na na na na na na (hey!)

Na na na na na na

Na na na na na

Cross out Christmas

Cross out endless summers

Cross out high school dances

Cross out all the one hit wonders

And we'll cross out kisses

Cross out private numbers

Cross out teen romances

Cross our hearts and hope to die again but

Never forget my name (hey!)

Never erase the days

Of Kurt Cobain and Frasier Crane

Never forget my name (hey!)

Letting it wash away

With all last year's Bromford rain

Never forget my name (hey!)

Never erase the days

Of Kurt Cobain and Frasier Crane

Never forget my name (hey!)

Letting it wash away

With all last year's Bromford rain

Wonderful Christmastime ...

 

❄❄❄❄❄🎁🎄🎇🎁🎄❄❄❄❄❄

As we step through the door the underground train is gone.

The air is sparkling and glistening with little white ice crystals in the million lights of a huge Christmas tree standing in the centre of a huge group of people. The people are standing next to each other, holding hands and forming a huge circle.

And they are all here, Anne-Marie Whitaker, Frank Lapidus, Izabella and Enrico Sanchez Estevez De La Rossa, Johnathan called "John" Locke, Roswitha Mauer, Sir Nicolas de Noelle, Samantha Somerhalder, Hugo Reyes called "Hurley", George McCartney, John, Julian and Sean Taro Harrison, Kathrine Jane Austin and Mai Ling, Paul and Linda Starr and their children Beatrice Milly, Heather, Mary and Stella, the great M.D. and her Alma, James Ford called "Sawyer", Sayid Jarrah and Noor Abed Jazeem, Ringo and Barbara Lennon, Thore Christian, Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie, Jin-Soo, Sun-Hwa and their daughter Ji Yeon, Harrod W., Rachel Goldzweig, Doctor Jack Shepard and the long-haired and long-bearded man who might or might not be, Professor Sideburns, Kylie and Nigel, the llama and me.

Tiny bells at the Christmas tree and little sleighs are ringing. And we are humming a faint and strangely heavenly tune that is surrounding us coming from all directions.

When Paul grabs his guitar, we all shout out full of joy and expectations,

»Take it away, Paul!«

And Paul is playing and singing with us all joining in.

Wonderful Christmastime

The mood is right
The spirit’s up
We're here tonight
And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

The party's on
The feeling's here

That only comes
This time of year

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

The choir of children sing their song
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding
Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
We’re simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

The word is out
About the town
To lift a glass
Oh, and don't look down

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

The choir of children sing their song
They practiced all year long
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong

The party's on
The spirit's up
We're here tonight
And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
We're simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

The mood is right
The spirit’s up
We're here tonight
Oh, and that's enough

We're simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime

Oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh wonderful Christmas time

❄❄❄❄❄🎁🎄🎇🎁🎄❄❄❄❄❄

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!

Bromford Below - Part 24

 
Finally we have reached the last waggon of our underground train through Bromford below, or the first one behind the engine or the driver's seat and cabin. And still, the inscription at the top of the doors with windows behind our backs says,

END OF TRAIN.

»What does our treasure map say?« I asks Professor Sideburns, the man we haven't mentioned much in the past few days.

»It is still pointing with its' arrows to that closed door in front of us«, the professor the llama and we used to call Burnside before, answers. He is pointing to a door without windows at the front of this last remaining waggon. It has the same colour as the metal wall and is almost invisible.

»Hello there!«

Out of nothing a man with long hair and beard and a long linen gown is standing in from of me greeting us waving and smiling.

»Jesus!« I curse

»Whoa«, the llama adds, »Jesus, the cool zombie killing dude from The Walking Dead?«

»We didn't call them zombies in The Walking Dead. We called them walkers. And, no, I am not that dude. «

»And who are you?« the llama asks. »Looks like you are doing some sort of cosplay with your fuzzy hair and your white night-gown on.«

»Don't you know and can't you see who I am?«, the man says in a solemn voice. »Bromford might know me. We have met in my apartment number 24 twelve years ago. And I give you one little hint. It's my birthday today.«

»Congratulations«, Kylie says, »but I live in Apartment 24 now, together with my son Nigel here, when he is home from university. It cannot be your apartment.«

»Mine is everything and everything is mine«, the hairy dude proclaims. »And like my father says, what's mine is yours. But it doesn't matter now because we are on a subway train right now, not in an apartment-building in Bromford.«

»Speaking about this train«, I say. I don't want to recognize this dude. And I don't want to think about who he is or might be. An imposter, for sure, and surely not this other person whose birthday millions of people are celebrating all over the world today.

The llama is standing next to me.

»He is not, is he?« the animal whispers in my ear.

»Narrr«, I growl shaking my head.

»Speaking about this train«, I pick up my last thought. »You not happen to know where this train is going? Where it is taking us?«

»You will find out soon enough«, the man says folding his hands before his chest.

»We need to talk to the manager«, the llama says.

»The llama means the driver«, Nigel tries to explain. »And I am sure he is in his cabin right behind that door.«

»You mean my holy father, the LORD?« the man asks.

»Dude, you are not Jesus«, the llama is losing its' patience, »Jack is Jesus. Or he should have been Jesus.«

»No«, Nigel interrupts. »Jack should have been the new Jacob.«

Do the two of them know what they are talking about? Fiction mixing into reality on a night of magic and mystery.

»So«, the bearded dude says, »if I am not Jesus, maybe I am the Anti-Christ who has returned to the world to declare its' end.«

»Susej«, the llama suggests.

And the man breaks into speech, »The Devil came from Kansas City. Where he went to I can't say. Though I teach I'm not a preacher, and I aim to stay that way. There's a monkey riding on my back, been there for some time. He says he knows me very well but he's no friend of mine. I am not a humble pilgrim. There's no need to scrape and squeeze. And don't beg for silver paper when I'm trying to sell you cheese.«

I have to sit down. Feels like some gloomy cloud or wave has come over me. I don't understand anything of this. Is this what losing your mind is like? I look around in the single underground train waggon that is sliding through the dark tunnels. And all the sorrow in the world seems to flood my mind at once.

Looking at the faces of my companions around me I feel that I never felt lonelier in my life so far before. Nothing lasts forever, and that's for sure. Everyone I know goes away in the end. And I am not only thinking about all the people I met in this train in the past few weeks and I have lost to the darkness of oblivion. There may be a driver in his cabin behind the door at the front of the train, yet again there may be not. Once I step through that door, the rest of the train, the rest of the world behind me will be gone.

»Look«, Kylie is here. Kylie is near, holding me in her arms. And I suddenly feel thankful. She is a real friend. And wherever she may be tomorrow, she is here today. As is the llama that is laying its' snout on my shoulder now. Nigel is smiling at me with a weird tip of his fingers to his head. Even Professor Sideburns is nodding at me with a friendly face.

»Look, the door is open«, Kylie ends her sentence.

The almost invisible and slightly hidden door has opened a crack wide. Light, bright and shining light is pouring through the widening crack. And I hear the sounds of ringing bells and many people singing to a faint yet loudening music.

»Call me whatever you want«, our new long-haired friend says with a laugh in his voice. »Call me Jack, call me Jacob or call me Jesus. Or call me by your name. Tonight this train's last stop is Christmasland. And we are having a Christmas Party in the engine driver's cabin.«

He is pulling the door wide open and stepping through it.

Our eyes cannot follow him because we are blinded by the lights.

»What do you think?« Kylie asks. »Shall we follow him?«

And looking around the waggon again and through the rear-windows into the moving darkness of the underground tunnels I can only shrug my shoulders. What other choices do we have?

»It's Christmas«, Professor Sideburns says.

»And if you can't be with the ones you love, love the ones you're with«, Nigel adds what gets him a poke in his side by his mother Kylie.

Friends are chosen family, I think with an awkward grin, my fam.

»Group hug?« the llama asks pursing its' lips - ready for a wet, slobbering kiss.

»Ah, move on«, I say pushing it away - but friendly.

Everything will end well, I think, and if it didn't end well it is not the end.

And we step into the light.

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅
🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯

🎄🎄⛄🎄🎄🎁

"Way To Bromford"

Is this the way to Bromford
Is this the way to Bromford
Show me the way to Bromford
Show me the way to Bromford
Show me the way to Bromford
Is this the way to Bromford

You can blame it on the President
But what if it was you
Who was the White House resident
Or could you save the starving children
When there's so much else to do
With all the problems of the world
Coming down on you

So this is the way
This is the way to Bromford
Show me the way
Show me the way to Bromford
Alright

You can say my music's bullshit
In your uppity review
But if it was you here at this keyboard
With all the people waiting
To hear your next CD
And throw you in the garbage
Or hail your masterpiece

So show me the way
Show me the way to Bromford
This is the way
This is the way to Bromford
Alright

All these corporations poisoning our air
The children sad and hungry but they don't even care
Let's get together people
We've got problems here to solve
Let's make this world a better place
Before there is no world at -

Is this is the way to Bromford
Is this is the way to Bromford
Sh- Show me the way to Bromford
Show me the way to Bromford
Show me the way to Bromford
Show me the way to Bromford

Long way to go
Long way to go
Long way to go

Long way to go
Long way to go
Long way to go

Long way to go
Long way to go
Long way to go

Long way to go
Long way to go
Long way to go

Long way to go
Long way to go
Long way to go

Long way to go
Long way to go
Long way to go

Long way to go
Long way to go
Long way to go

Bromford Below - Part 23

 
»I cannot see them«, the llama says.

»See what?« Nigel asks looking through the train windows into the darkness with the llama.

»The monsters in the tunnels«, the llama says, »they are either not moving and hiding or they are gone.«

»Somebody said«, Nigel says, »the real monster under the beds was time or something like that.«

They are still here with me, my roommates and travelling companions, and they have heard everything that I heard. They heard Sayid's warning about the monsters in the tunnels and they heard Rachel's  speech about time. But did they understand it? Did I understand it?

»We are in waggon 2, now.«

Kylie is leaning her head against my shoulder.

»Didn't that Sawyer guy in waggon 10 say we would meet his nemesis and arch-enemy in this waggon?«

»Yeah«, Nigel seems to be excited for no reason, »That would be Jack Skellington, king of Halloween who stole away the spirit of Christmas once.«

»That was a real Nightmare before Christmas«, the llama says in a bored way.

»There he is«, Nigel is pointing at a man around his fifties with dark but grey sprinkled hair and beard.

»Do I look like a Skellington?« the man asks.

I know him. He is owner and inhabitant of Apartment 23 on 666 Whitaker Lane, in Bromford, the forsaken town by the bay and seaside. And his name is Jack Shepard, not Skellington.

»We have to go back«, Doctor Jack says looking at me.

He is a famous surgeon but never was my doctor. And he is specialized on impossible cases. But one day he was in a car accident and his hands were severely injured. And of course he wasn't able to operate on himself. So he went to a hidden monastery in some Asian country in the Himalaya Mountains to find some sort of cure if not for his body then at least for his soul. And so a lot of magic stuff began.

»We have to go back to the Himalaya, Doctor Shepard?« I ask. »Leave Apartment 23 of 666 Whitaker Lane to find our inner Sorcerer Supreme?«

»You are mixing things up, Bromford Bibble«, Jack Shepard says. »I am not Doctor Steven Strange, you know?«

He is a good shepherd, I think. And his father, Christian Shepard, is a god-like figure, at least to his son. Does this mean that Jack is Je… I do not want to complete this thought. I am an agnostic. Maybe the existence of God - and Jesus as God the son - the existence of the divine or the supernatural is unknown or unknowable. Human reason is incapable of providing sufficient rational grounds to justify either the belief that God exists or the belief that God does not exist.

And wasn't this Jack the new Jacob, the real Jacob in the end? Protector of the island? Guardian over the huge plug that kept all smoke monsters underground where they belonged? Why do I sometimes feel like I was with all the others on flight 815 when it crashed on the island? Why am I still a lost soul?

»So, we have to go back to the island?« I ask Jack.

»No«, is the answer. »We have to go back to Bangkok. That's my hometown and the place where my family lives. And we have to hurry, for we sure don't want to be late for and miss the great Christmas Dinner in two days.«

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅
🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯

🎄🎄⛄🎄🎄

"Bromford City"

I'm going to Bromford City
Bromford City here I come
I'm going to Bromford City
Bromford City here I come
They got a crazy way of loving there
And I'm gonna get me some

I'm gonna be standing on the corner
On the corner of Twelth Street and Vine
I`ll be standing on the corner
On the corner of Twelth Street and Vine
With my Bromford City baby
The one I call Miss KC fine

Well I might take a train
I might take a plane
But if I have to walk
I'm going there just the same.

Bromford Below - Part 22

 
»Where have you been this whole time, young man?«

She cannot be here. She was eighty-two years old when I first visited her in her Apartment 22 on the thirteenth floor of the apartment-house at 666 Whitaker Lane in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside. And she was ninety years old when she passed away two years ago and I attended her funeral ceremony on the Jewish graveyard in the North of the town.

»Rachel, what are you doing here?« I ask.

»Whatever we are doing in this ghost train, we are not speaking our Mothers' tongues«, the old lady says with a strange grin.

She looks so small and thin as she is sitting in her subway seat. And she looks like she is freezing. You want to go and hug her, hold her warm and in this world.

»The wars are getting colder these days«, she says.

And I don't know if this is true when the weapons keep on firing. Hotter, I think, everything is getting hotter these days, the battles, the climate, everything.

»Do you believe in the world below?« Rachel Goldzweig asks.

»Do you mean this world of tunnels and sewers below cities like Bromford?«

»Maybe«, she says. »I have seen worse times and places like this, you know. And when you try to hide you sometimes decent into a world below where you become invisible for the world above. Look at all those homeless people in the streets. Haven't they become invisible for most of the so-called normal people? And when they see them it is only as a disturbance of order and calm and cleanliness.«

»If I may ask, how old you are, Rachel?«

»If I may say, Bromford Bibble, who cares? And does it matter? I was old twelve years ago and I am older now. But the world below is way older. Did you know there lives a big lion under my hometown Dresden and a giant bear under Berlin? All we have to do is to be careful not to disturb the world and the beings below. Live and let live, that is a good motto, I think. Don't you think?«

Now, I kind of remember a pack of wolves that used to live in their derns beneath Rome, descendants of the she-wolf that nursed and sheltered Remus and his twin brother Romulus, founder of the Eternal City of Rome. There were rumours those wolves attacked Vatican City one night when the Pope was away.

»But do you want to know what the real monster is that is hunting us in the dark and that will bring us down in the end? It is time. Time is the dark threat that is eating and taking away the past. Time is ticking away, time is running out. Time is trickling like sand through an hourglass. At the hour of our births we've been given a certain amount of time measured in years, months, days, hours and seconds. And whatever we do we cannot keep it together. We cannot save it, we cannot kill it. In the end it will run through our hands and we will stop being.«

I shake my head. I am still in denying. I know that there lie more days and years behind than in front of me. But come on, we have all the time in the world, time enough for life to unfold.

»Don't cry for me, Bromford Bibble«, Rachel Goldzweig says. »I have died a long time ago. And I was happy when Death of the Endless, daughter of Lord Time and sibling to Dream, lord over all dreams and reality, came by to pick me up.«

When I look at her and see how she is sitting in her subway seat she seems to get paler, almost translucent. She is fading away with the hint of a smile on her face and a slight wave, while something is drawing me away from her to the next waggon.

It is time.

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅
🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯

🎄🎄⛄🎄

"The Ballad Of The Bromford Novotel"

No scream, no smile
No nothing for me
It's so hot that I can't breathe
Nine stone two and six foot three
Rats are crawling on my feet
Shrivel to nothing for the company
Lizards and geckos cover me
Military Police are after me
But everybody else seems so happy

Mini sized apples filled with disease
Even the water tastes like tea
On a diet of Gaviscon
Look at me I'm fucking gone
A light watch, my time today
Madonna's fucking on the car again
On the phone ten times a day
Hiding under the table again

Breakfast, my mouth tastes like piss
Masturbation, there's nothing left
In a daze, anorexic haze
Look outside and join the insane
The bug inside of me won't go
Egg and chips is all I want
So hungry I can taste home
Wake up screaming on all fours

Knocking knock knocking on my door
My life is a disaster
Giant ice cubes rolling on the floor
Someone help me dear God
Everybody has fake smiles
I am losing my fucking mind
I've had enough of being alone
I'd give anything to save my soul

I think that I have seen the Devil
Satan smiles at me in the mirror
Revolution in the Golden Palace
Four sickly boys are losing resistance
So much porn and alcohol
I'm so numb to my hormones
But my liberty is winning
Five years later I'm still shaking

Bromford Below - Part 21

Bon hiver! Bon hiver! Bon iver!

»Have you seen Samantha?«

This man in waggon 4 is Harrod - let's call him Woolforth or Foolworth or Fransworth - because he still does not want his real name to be published in a blockblog like this.

»She wanted to teach me some geography, if you know what I mean.«

His grin is more than awkwardly unpleasant.

And he seems to be talking about Samantha Somerhalder, former primary teacher from Apartment 7 and Harrod's affair from twelve years ago.

»But she didn't come by for quite some time now.«

»That's maybe because you have lost most of your fortune to your ex-wife in divorce, recently?« Nigel suggests.

»Oh«, Professor Sideburns says. »it's that Hollingsworth, heir of his family's fortune with all these department stores and malls. I read an article in a magazine while waiting at my barber the other day. All these confessions of his former lovers were very explicit and enlightening.«

And maybe Samantha Somerhalder - former primary teacher and coach of a kid's dancing group - has been eaten by an evil spirit and entity that dwells in the tunnels and caves and cracks beneath the earth - underground - in the world below, I think, an evil being with a deep and disturbing voice that is devouring whole subway train waggons. Maybe she's been eaten and disappeared like all the other persons before and after her.

»Wait a minute!«

Harrod stamps his foot on the subway waggon's floor.

»This is not my apartment in San Francisco! What happened since last Saturday night?«

Oh, man, that is really the question. What happened since last Saturday night?

»Maybe Pope Francis in Rome knows« Kylie whispers.

And again, this does not have to do anything with anything.

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅
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🎄🎄⛄

"P2 Bromford Blues (Last Saturday Night)"

Gazed at the ceiling from below

A splendid Michelangelo

Filled my heart with delight

Last Saturday night

Arrived believing from home

Climbed every step inside St. Peter's Dome

Claustrophobic and ex-Catholic

Last Saturday night

Now how come nobody really noticed

Puff of white smoke knocked me out?

The truth is hiding, lurking, banking

Things I do at night

It's quite suspicious to say the least

Even mentioned it to my local priest

One Our Father, three Hail Marys

Each Saturday Night

Let's hear it

Play it, baby

I wish somebody would tell me

That it's only a show

I'll confess, own up, let's face it

In my concrete tuxedo

It's quite suspicious to say the least

While mentioning it to my priest

One Our Father, three Hail Marys

Each Saturday night

One Our Father, three Hail Marys

Each Saturday night

One Our Father, three Hail Marys

Each Saturday night

Bromford Below - Part 20

 

»Others! Others! Others!«

The Asian looking man comes running towards us pointing to the doors to the next waggon.

»You must excuse my husband. He is a little upset and excited«, the Asian looking woman tries to explain something we didn't need no explanations for. »We were on flight Oceanic 815 from Sydney to Los Angeles when something happened.«

She frowns, her face and her forehead wrinkled as if she is trying very hard to remember what exactly happened on that flight.

The man is shaking our hands, one by one.

»Jin-Soo Kwon«, he says. »That's my name. And here is my beautiful wife Sun-Hwa Kwon and our lovely daughter Ji Yeon.«

»She shouldn't be here«, his wife says still frowning. »It is too late. It is too cold. We shouldn't have brought her with us.«

»You are from Korea, aren't you?« Nigel asks Jin. »Which one is it? The good or the bad one?«

»Always the good one«, Jin laughs, »South Korea. Not the other one.«

»The plane«, Sun is still trying to remember. »Something happened to the plane.«

Meanwhile Jin seems to want to tell us their whole story of their lives, »My father was a fisherman. My mama was the fisherman’s friend. And I was born in the boredom and the chowder. She's a rich girl. She don't try to hide it. Diamonds on the soles of her shoes«

»Your English has much improved since the last time«, I say without knowing exactly why.

»I had a lot of time to learn«, Jin says. »Back in the past, in the seventies.«

Something seems to bother him while he is saying that.

»I was a fisherman's son. And in the eyes of Sun's father I was never good enough for his daughter. And no matter what I did for him, it was never good enough.«

»The plane«, Sun is breathing heavily now, »it broke into two and we crashed on that lost island.«

Her little daughter is now hugging one of her legs, her head pressed to her mother's thigh.

Oceanic Six, I think. But wasn't Sun, the woman, the only one of these two to three persons in this group of survivors of the plane crash of Oceanic flight 815? Hasn't Jin always been one of the missing or the dead?

»The plane crashed in the Bermuda Triangle, didn't it?« I ask.

»No.« Jin is shaking his head, laying his arms around his little family. »Our island was on the other side of South or North America, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. It is hard to say and still confusing after all these years.«

And I have to admit that he might be right. For me, in my head and thinking, a plane always flies west from Sydney, Australia, to Los Angeles, USA. I always forget that this world of ours is round and that you can fly east across the Pacific and that it is probably closer that way. All those maps only show us a cut-out of the globe. And most of the times Africa is in the centre. And Greenland is almost as big as the whole African continent. Just turn the globe around, change the focus and the point of view and it will be all too clear that L.A. is closer to Sydney when you come from the west side. And there sure is no Bermuda Triangle between those two cities.

»Soma«, Kylie says all of a sudden.

»What?« I ask.

»You forgot to mention Soma, the town in Gambia, Africa. Just saying…«

This is all so mixed-up. This is all so random. What am I doing here? Feels like putting songs' lyrics and people from the past and characters from old tv shows into a big mixer, turning it on and waiting to see what comes out in the end.

»I don't remember«, Sun says in a sad voice, »was Jack the real Jacob in the end?«

And I try to remember whether these two to three persons had their happy-ending on or off the island.

But when Professor Sideburns starts humming one of Ringo's old songs, Sun-Hwa Kwon bursts into tears.

🎶
We all live in a yellow submarine

Yellow submarine, yellow submarine

🎵

»Don't sing that song«, she whimpers. »We never left that island. And we will never see our daughter again. Jin has never seen her. We went on that submarine. And we drowned in it.«

Ghosts all over again. I am surrounded by ghosts.

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🎄🎄

"All The Lost Souls Welcome You To Bromford"

Years ago my soul went missing
It was looking for a life no-one would mourn
Until it faded into the smile of some fool
Still looking for shelter from this storm

All the lost souls welcome you to Bromford

At 22 I came here to retire
And tell myself that I was free
But now all day I always stoke the fire
That I saw fade on the shining sea

I came looking for the party
Ah come on Marty, you're the king of 22nd Street
Just give me some hope, or give me at least enough rope
I want to fly, shake the dirt off my feet


All the lost souls welcome you to Bromford

A city built by fire trucks!
Dirty old bastards drunk on love
And mean old queens who never forgive
The compromises they made to live

Now you can always find me at the celebration
Waiting for glory to strike me down
I'm trying to keep the good times rolling
Because they're almost gone

All the lost souls welcome you to Bromford

It's a beauty your hearts all recognize
And never get their fill
Everyone is hunting a love supreme
Watching it roll softly down the hill


All the lost souls welcome you to Bromford

Bromford Below - Part 19

 

»Wow, what a trip«, Nigel utters.

»And it is not over, yet«, I agree.

»Look at these headlines«, Professor Sideburns says picking up a newspaper from the floor of waggon 6.

Needless to say and write that waggon 7 has disappeared like all the others before. And the door to darkness has now only one inscription in wide red letters,

END OF TRAIN.

»The Pilgrims just founded New Amsterdam around a fort at the southernmost tip of the island of Manhattan, known as Manhattoe before«, Professor Sideburns reads the headlines and the article. »New Amsterdam is part of the Colony of New Netherland. I wonder what year this newspaper is from. Only a few decades later and after some struggles with the English crown the city was renamed to New York City.«

»Well, well, well«, the llama says in its' most heavy British accent, »who gets the city quiz's points then? Amsterdam or New York?«

»New York«, Professor Sideburns decides.

»Look, there is a Priest in this waggon.«

Kylie is pointing at the man in his black robes with his white collar.

»Maybe he can show us a way out of our dilemma.«

But this Priest is looking furious. He is holding a wooden crucifix into the face of a woman standing in the aisle between the seats.

»In the name of the LORD, I command you to leave this dead body, demon!«

»Harry, I saw our apartment burst into flame, are you all right?«

»Don't touch me. And I am not Harry. I am Nathaniel. I am Father Nathaniel McKenzie.«

»But it's me, Eleanor. Your wife!«

»No! You're one of them, a devil! And you are dead. Didn't you listen to the song of the Four Apostles John, Paul, George and Ringo? Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name. Nobody came. Father McKenzie - that would be me - wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave. No one was saved!«

»He's delirious!« Eleanor is looking at us with her eyes begging for some kind of help.

»Lies! I saw the devil's sign!«

»What are you saying?«

»The green flash in the sky. His demons were here all along, in our hearts and souls just waiting for a sign from Him. And now they're destroying our world!«

»But they're not devils, they're Martians.«

No way. She will not make me believe that we are captured in this underground train by Martians or any other kind of aliens from another planet.

But the Priest - Father Harry or Nathaniel McKenzie - whatever his real name may be - is still walking towards the woman with the cross held high.

»Move back, devil«, he orders. »Move back to the hells where you cometh from.«

And almost singing he continues,

»The voice of the Devil is heard in our land! Listen, do you hear them drawing near, in their search for the sinners? Feeding on the power of our fear and the evil within us. Incarnation of Satan's creation of all that we dread. When the demons arrive those alive would be better off dead.«

And Eleanor is walking backwards, step by step.

»Once, there was a time when I believed without hesitation that the power of love and truth could conquer all in the name of salvation. Tell me what kind of weapon is love when it comes to the fight? And just how much protection is truth against all Satan's might?«

»No Nathaniel, oh no Nathaniel«, Eleanor replies. »No Nathaniel, no, there must be more to life. There has to be a way that we can restore to life the love we used to know.«

And still she is walking backwards towards the end of the train, one step by the other.

»All they are saying sounds familiar«, Nigel says.

And that he said it makes me think. Add a melody and you have…

»People loved you and trusted you, came to you for help«, Eleanor says to Father McKenzie.

And he replies in a resigned way,

»Didn't I warn them this would happen? 'Be on your guard', I said, 'for the Evil One never rests.' I said, 'Exorcise the devil!' But no, they wouldn't listen. The demons inside them grew and grew until Satan gave his signal and destroyed the world we knew! Now darkness has descended on our land and all your prayers cannot save us. Like fools we've let the Devil take command of the souls that God gave us. To the altar of evil like lambs to the slaughter we're led. When the demons arrive the survivors will envy the dead!«

»There must be something worth living for«, Eleanor says taking one step back.

»No, there is nothing!

»There must be something worth trying for.« Another step back

»I don't believe it's so!«

»Even something worth dying for.« Next step back. »If just one man could stand tall there would be some hope for us all, somewhere in the spirit of man.«

Add a melody to the words and you have…

»A song!« Nigel shouts out. »It's a song. I think it is called The Spirit of Man. And it is from the album Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War Of The Worlds.«

That would explain the Martians, at least.

But we cannot stop Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie in their sad little play.

»Forget about goodness and mercy, they're gone!« McKenzie says. »Didn't I warn them? 'Pray', I said! 'Destroy the Devil', I said! They wouldn't listen! I could have saved the world! But now it's too late, too late!«

Eleanor is now standing with her back to the two-parted sliding door at the end of the subway train. And before we even know what is happening the door opens and she is being sucked into oblivion.

»Eleanor?« Father McKenzie is crying out in pain, holding onto the door frame with one hand, watching out for his wife. »She's dead. Satan why did you take one of your own?«

He is throwing his crucifix into the living darkness in the tunnels and with it the remaining rest of his common sense.

»There is a curse on mankind. We may as well be resigned to let the devil take the spirit of man.«

With this last statement he is following his wife with a running jump into nothingness.

So, we have just witnessed the failed exorcism of Eleanor Rigby, I think.

Kylie is standing beside me again.

»Time to move on«, she whispers.

»Did you know«, Professor Sideburns asks, »they found the grave of an Eleanor Rigby on a graveyard in Liverpool? And close by a headstone was discovered bearing the name McKenzie. All in the neighbourhood where John Lennon attended Sunday School as a boy and he and Paul McCartney first met at a church fete in 1957. But up to this day Paul declares that it was totally coincidental and that they chose the names for their song because they sounded better than the ones they originally chose.«

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🎄

"Bromford"

Bromford is what they would take when
Hard times opened their eyes
Saw pain in a new way
High stakes for a few names
Racing against sun beams
Losing against fig dreams
In your eyes

And I am
Stop
And go
In your eyes
Said I am
Stop
And go
In your eyes

Let's go


When I saw her for the first time
Lips moved as her eyes closed
Heard something in his voice
"And I'll be there", he says
Then he walks out
Somehow he was trying too hard
To be like them

Well I am
Stop
And go
In your eyes
And I am
Stop
Oh, darling let me go

Tried it once and they liked it
Then tried to hide it
Says, "I've been doing this 25 years"
Well I'm not listening no more
And these friends, they keep asking for more
Oh, but that's it.

Bromford Below - Part 18

 
»Here, it's for you. It's London calling.«

The man my heights and stature is passing me something that looks like a smartphone in his hands but turns out to be a hunk of burnt charcoal as I hold it in my hands.

First he is like one of my reflections in the subway windows against the dark tunnels but as he steps forward, moving and behaving totally independent of me, the experience is really mind-blowing and mind-bending.

»I am the other side of me«, he says with my voice and face.

»What is he? Your identical twin brother?«

The others have noticed him, too. And Nigel is asking.

»I have known Bromford since he was a child«, Kylie says. »He doesn't have any siblings.«

I close my eyes, trying to find my breath again. I remember the same mind-blowing and mind-bending experience from twelve years ago when this guy opened the door to his Apartment 18 in Bromford. This resemblance is creepy. It is like looking into a mirror but without the side-changing effect. My left arm with the mole or birthmark on the inner side is also my reflection's left arm, not his right one.

»Thore Christian«, he is introducing himself to Nigel, Professor Sideburns and Kylie shaking their hands one after the other. For a moment he holds still in front of the llama, but the llama is only shaking its' head.

»Don't you dare touch me, demon«, the animal spits out a warning.

Identical, I think, maybe, but identical twin-brother? No way. He is more like the twin I have never had but missed for the whole of my life. Or he is the twin I never wanted. It depends on the way my mind is bending.

»I didn't get any sleep within the past few weeks«, I admit and Thore is nodding in understanding.

And he is continuing my story, »The Sandman also known as Morpheus of the Endless or Oneiros or simply Dream, the lord over all dreams and reality, took it from us - the sleep or the ability to sleep. But when I used to sleep I always heard your heart beat next to mine in the dark. We were never together, yet never alone.«

I feel it from the bottom of my heart. As crazy as it sounds, I know what he means.

»Things look bigger on the other side of the looking-glass«, I say.

»Then turn it around«, Thore answers. Does his last name Christian mean something in these times before holidays called Christmas? »Turn around the looking glass. You will see things will look much smaller then.«

Kylie is touching and stroking my arm again.

»Are you sure you are not talking about a spyglass, you two?« she asks looking for a way of comforting me.

»Will this train ever stop?« I ask my reflection.

»Don't you see the four lights at the end of this tunnel?« Thore Christian is pointing through the remaining waggons in front of us.

🕯🕯🕯🕯

»We have to leave this train.«

»We always have the emergency hammer.«

Thore is pointing at a small tool made of red plastic and hard metal parts which is attached on the wall of the waggon.

»Are you nuts?« Professor Sideburns shouts out. »Can't you read the warning? DON'T USE WHILE STILL DRIVING.«

But it is too late. Thore already ripped the hammer from its' bracket and is trying to hit one of the windowpanes with the pointy end with all the power that is inside him.

But what about the living, moving and swirling darkness outside this underground train waggon, comes to my mind. Won't those whirring beings or even worse the entity with the deep and dangerous voice come inside once the window is broken?

Thore's powerful hit does not have the wanted or wished effect. He is losing control of and letting go the hammer which is just sliding through the window now without causing any damage.

»I am sorry I cannot help it.«

He is turning around and looking at me with my own, pale eyes. Then he is being sucked through the window like the emergency hammer before. Within the blink of an eye he has vanished into nothingness.

In shock my empty hands are reaching into thin air.

And of all things in the world these come out as my parting words, »I promise, next time I will see you in the mirror I will not recognize you, but I will shave you anyway.«

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🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯

"New Bromford"

Jean Michel Basquiat, François Truffaut
Robert Zimmerman, and De Niro
Paris, Texas
End of the world
New York, New York
Goodbye girl

And they meet on Bleeker Street
Or the park that is central, oh
I watch the sun go down
Down, down beneath the ground
And it's a new day
It's a new dawn
In New Bromford


The stranger in the moonlight
Looks stranger in the moonlight

And they meet on Bleeker Street
Or the park that is central, oh
I watch the sun go down
Down, down beneath the ground
And it's a new day
It's a new dawn
In New Bromford

And we meet on Bleeker Street
Or the park that is central, oh
I watch the sun go down
Down, down beneath the ground
And it's a new day
It's a new dawn
In New Bromford

Bromford Below - Part 17

 

»Llama, what are you doing?« I can hear Nigel ask.

The llama is standing in front of a window, front legs bend on one of the plastic seats, hind legs standing upright in the aisle and nose pressed against the pane.

»Do you see all those butterflies out there? The tunnel is full of black-winged butterflies«, the animal says.

»Must be moths here in the underground«, Nigel says but doesn't sound too sure.

I turn around to take a look. The subway train is still driving full speed passing dark-tiled walls. Whether these tiles are of a dark green or black I cannot say. And every twenty or thirty meters there are yellow lamps at these walls blurring in a lighter line and disappearing in the complete darkness behind the train.

But the llama is right. There is some other kind of movement out there like a buzzing and whirring. You can almost feel it in the tips of your fingers when you touch the glass. But are these really butterflies or moths? They are small, swirling units building a whole moving and pulsating body almost like one big organism. Disturbing, I think.

🎶
I′d like to be

Under the sea

In an octopus' garden

In the shade

🎵

Fish? Is that a school of fish outside those windows? Are we under the sea all of a sudden? No, those were just the words of that bearded man with the coloured sunglasses singing and dancing with his wife in this waggon.

🎶
We all live in a yellow submarine

Yellow submarine, yellow submarine

🎵

»Richard stop it!« the woman is almost yelling. »I cannot hop around only to the sound of your voice. And are you sure that you are striking the right notes?«

»I am just a drummer, baby«, the bearded man says shaking her in his arms from one side of the aisle to the other, »a drummer, no more no less. And since someone took away my drums all I have left to do is sing.«

🎶

What would you think if I sang out of tune?

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song

And I'll try not to sing out of key

🎵

»Ringo!« the woman shouts out.

The man with the round glasses is winking in my direction.

»She's getting serious«, he says smirking. »She is only calling me that when she is angry.«

Here we have the fourth and last member of the "Imaginary Four" as they called the hobby band "The Buggles" back in the 60s of the last century, Ringo Lennon dancing with his lovely wife Barbara.

»Richard, you are behaving like you are stuck inside some kind of Hollywood Musical where they break out into song every time they are trying to hide and cover another plot-hole«, Barbara Lennon says.

»Don't be so grumpy, Barb«, says Ringo whose real name is Richard Larkey and not Ringo Lennon, laughing. »Don't you feel the urge to sing and dance sometimes when you do not know exactly what is going on? It is like whistling when you are alone in the dark.«

But he is already sounding less confidant.

»Sounds like John, George and Paul are calling me«, Ringo sighs. »Feels like I am missing a rehearsal. But I cannot find the way to our band practice cellar. Or was it a garage?«

He grabs me by the collar of my shirt now.

»Have you seen the elevator, Bromford?« he shouts. »Where are the stairs?«

And when he starts singing again the words sound a lot more serious, almost sad.

🎶

Now it's time to say good night

Good night sleep tight

Now the sun turns out his light

Good night sleep tight

Dream sweet dreams for me

Dream sweet dreams for you

🎵

We have to get off this train, I think.

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🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

"Bromford Bye Ta-Ta"

Bromford bye ta-ta

Strange young town

Bromford bye ta-ta

brought me down

Don't like your new face

that's not nice

Got to go far, far

Bromford bye ta-ta

Gigi, Gigi, Gigi, Gigi

take me away

Gigi, Gigi, Gigi, Gigi

take me today

The boys in the clothes shop

sold me curry for a pound

His cardboard face is soggy,

and his sellings thorny crown

I loved her!

I loved her!

I've got to get away,

but I loved her!

Oh-oh-oh

Bromford bye ta-ta

Strange young town

Bromford bye ta-ta

brought me down

Don't like your new face

that's not nice

Got to go far, far

Bromford bye ta-ta

Red light, green light

Make up your mind

Red light, green light

You're far too un-kind

She loves to love all beauty,

and she says the norm is funny

But she whimpers in the morning

when she finds she has no money

I loved her!

I loved her!

I've got to get away now,

but I loved her!

Ahhh!

Oh-oh-oh

Bromford bye ta-ta

Strange young town

Bromford bye ta-ta

brought me down

Don't like your new face

that's not nice

Got to go far, far

Bromford bye ta-ta

Ahh

Oh-oh-oh

Bromford bye ta-ta

Strange young town

Bromford bye ta-ta

brought me down

Don't like your new face

that's not nice

Got to go far, far

Bromford bye ta-ta

Oh, Bromford bye ta-ta

Oh, Bromford bye ta-ta

Oh, eh

Bromford Below - Part 16

 

They are all coming back.

I recognize the Muslim couple from Apartment 16 with the beautiful view on the twin towers of nowadays' highest building complex in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside. Sayid Jarrah and Noor Abed called "Nadia" Jazeem are their names. They are engaged or used to be twelve years ago. Maybe they are married today?

»Be careful, Bromford Bibble«, the llama whispers. »You cannot write couples because you have never been one.«

Oh, I have always been a couple, I think looking around the persons surrounding me. I have always been a couple of personalities, enough to fill a waggon in an underground train with. I was never alone in my head. There have been all these voices talking to and about me.

And as kind of a prove the llama responds to my thoughts, »I mean you have never been part of a couple, dude. And don't think that we two were an odd couple, now.«

Did the two of them have their happy ending - Sayid and his Nadia? Or were they just lost like all the others? In the end - or was it the ending? - they stepped into the light like all the rest of them - like all of us will have to do one day. But was it Nadia or Shannon by his side?

»It wasn't easy on and off that island, you know?« That's Sayid talking to Kylie and Nigel. »They were always trying to use me for what I am and was - a soldier and a torturer. But I am no terrorist. I do not build and place bombs.«

»No«, I hear Nadia say to Professor Sideburns, »I haven't heard of the island of Greenlion. Where is it? It is a nice place?«

Why is everybody talking about islands right now? Is it a hint? Does it have to say something to me? And are all these islands part of Hawai'i?

»Do you now see what I mean, dude?«

No, llama, I don't know what you are talking about, I think.

»The Easter Island is somewhere in that big ocean between Sydney and Los Angeles«, the llama continues. »Ever thought about that? And the island isn't half as Christian as the name says it is.«

Everybody is looking at me now. Do I have to say something? Is it my time to speak now?

»That is very interesting«, Professor Sideburns joins in, »the Easter Island got its' name from the first recorded European contact with the island on 5 April 1722, Easter Sunday, by Dutch navigator Jacob Roggeveen.«

That must be wrong. The name must be Herman van Roggeveen, my head tells me.

»And do you remember all these standing idols?« the llama asks now being Professor Sideburn's student of archaeology all over again.

»Made of black stone, with overly large heads, which comprise three-eighths the size of the whole statue - which has no legs«, the professor adds.

»They all shown the great God the Rapa Nui people worshipped called Mo'ai«, the llama says.

»That's not exactly…«, the professors begins before being interrupted.

»And Mo'ai was an omnipotent extra-terrestrial being from the planet of Magrathea, located in orbit around the twin suns Soulianis and Rahm in the heart of the Horsehead Nebula. It was the home of a new form of specialist industry - custom-made, luxury planet building«, the llama continues. » Mo'ai had no legs and did not want and need no legs!«

»That is not…«, Professor Sideburns stammers.

»And Black Mountain was the home of the church of the Great Mo'ai who ruled the whole quadrant of the universe«, the llama proclaims. »And the standing idols all gazed inland when the Europeans arrived. They were guarding their people preventing them from leaving the island. But when the first Europeans left with their ships they turned around to watch the Ocean to make sure these strangelings would never return. And you should have seen their eyes, tar-black irises or nothing but pupils and snow-white scleras. Always wide open, always on the guard, always watching and seeing everything. Nowadays, these eyes are buried on the Easter Island, looking deep below, into the deepest depths of Earth itself. That is what a great man once taught me.«

»Iiiiiiiiiiiiiehhhh«, the professor shrieks a shrill scream, »I don't know what this animal is talking about.«

»Arrrgh, shut up, Burnside!«

That was… kind of strange, I think. Or another strange thing added on top of all the other stranger things.

What train of thoughts brought me from Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside, to the Easter Island?

And Sayid says his good-byes with an unsettling warning,

»Be careful, Bromford Bibble. These tunnels are full of monsters.«

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅
🎄🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄

🎄🎄🎄🎄

"Bromford"

I blame you Bromford
For showing me things you never should
Show a young girl
In this cruel world.

Because life's not a happy ending
I'm sure there is some
Like Johnny and June
And maybe other people too

They all would have been killed
In the sound of music
La da da la dada
They would have found out that
Pinocchio could never tell the truth

She wouldn't make it to shore, the little mermaid
He would have married a whore
From a wealthy family, after all he was royalty


Cinderella would have scrubbed those floors
Till her hands grew old and tired
And nobody would look her way
That's just the way it goes today

I blame you Bromford
For showing me things you never should
Show a young girl
In this cruel world

Because life's not a happy ending
I'm sure there is some
Like Johnny and June
And maybe other people too

And maybe other people too
And maybe other people too
And maybe other people too
And maybe other people too
And maybe other people too
Like me and you