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Chap 1.2 - Page 7frangles: Skip book 1: Writer's Bricks

           "Well that was unproductive.  'Skip followed the man who'd called himself a phylor back to Imaginary Station, afraid to ask any more questions as he seemed even more frustrated than usual.  The man's mind spun and whirled with a frantic worry, desperately trying to calculate a plethora of variables that just simply wouldn't harmonize.  The station arrived, just like a train would arrive, except the station didn't actually arrive, but rather seemed like it was arriving because Skip and the Nameless Phylor were walking toward it.  Then, the man who'd called himself a phylor--'  You know what?  I'm going to have to call you something.  I really don't see how telling me your name can contaminate my time line any more than all the information you've already given me, but if you really insist on keeping me in the dark, I'm going to have to call you something other than 'the man who calls himself a phylor'."
           "Call me 'Something' then.  Or 'Mwchap'."
           "Is that your name?"
           "Sort of.  It's derived from an acronym."
           "What acronym?"
           "I'm sure you'll figured it out."
           "Is it hard to figure out?"
           "No.  Your freers have probably done so and are laughing at you for not realizing it yourself.  You normally wouldn't be so dense, but I suppose the stress of the last two sours along with the shock of being thrust into a largely unfamiliar world has taken a decent toll on your usual competency.  Or at least your usual delinquency."
           "Touche."
           "Do you have any idea what happens now, Skip?"
           "What do you mean?"
           "Well, we seem to be inside some sort of self-similar fractal plot structure.  Everything we've done in the sour or so since you stepped off the train seems to have mimicked something else you did the sour before that from 1:11 to 1:17.  Now it's 1:27, and we've followed a similar path as the one you took before, which is probably the thing augmenting your deja vu.  It must be a crucial plot element that this whole crisis will hinge on at some point, and the only way I can currently think to use it to our advantage is if you can remember what happened one sour ago.  Because if we know that, and have developed some sort of understanding of how things have progressed this time around, then maybe we can figure out what's going to happen in the next few moments."
           "But what good would that do?  Then we'd just know precisely how we're going to !@#$ things up some more before we bothered doing so."
           "Touche."
           " 'Skip and his strange new friend stood in a harmonious, ponderous silence for a few long, deep moments.  Their minds each spun in a similar dizzy nightmare of paradox and fearful symmetry in a strange dark fog.  Skip was lost in the maze of a confusing new world, the other in the maze of an ancient one.  Each lost more innocence as the moments wore on, Skip as a child waking up to an adult world, the other in realizing his timeless knowledge was inept to guide him through the horrors of its own failures.  Skip faced the irony of ancient vastness hinging on fresh ignorance, the phylor of vastness being so great as to bend back on itself and become young and innocent again, and beg of itself to continue to thrive and learn and grow even after reaching the ultimate limit of knowledge and growth and mass.  Both started as a train of thought approached from the South, and all that could be done was to keep thinking.  It was all there was left to do.' "
           "Alright Skip, that's it, then.  I suppose you should get back on the train and head for your next sour."
           "But why?  When these pet medications are exactly the same and cost a lot less.  And they're delivered right to your door!  Just call, uh... I forget the number now."
           "What??"
           "Sorry.  It was a joke that came to mind, but I'm not quite sure from where.  I was experimenting with breaking from my serious narration into a brief moment of comic relief before the end of the sour."
           "Not helping.  Alright, it stopped.  I'm afraid I can't disturb your time line any more, Skip.  You're going to have to take your chances by yourself."
           "But what if I forget everything again?"
           "With any luck, your memory will continue to improve at the start of each sour, and your deja vu will serve as a keystone plot device for the freers to follow you along and wake up to the Age of Flutonia along with you.  In hindsight, I suppose you're right, this is definitely one of the greatest plot techniques that could ever be devised to accomplish your great introductory frwoa.  I can only pray you're the one who thought it up, or the future frwoas of all of Okuaka--all stemming from yours--could be doomed to the eternal red tape of Infringement trials right from the start.  Good luck, Skip,  I hope to see you again.  Off with you, now, it's about to leave."
           "What is?"
           "The tot!  The train of thought.  The Dawn of Time Train of Thought to the Third Sour of the day.  I swear Skip, greatest frwoa writer in the history of Okuaka or not, your AAD is still as abysmal as I have ever--"
           The rest of the phylor's words were a muffled mumble as Skip pushed through the crowd of tourists to board the train of thought to the third sour of the first day of Skip's short life as an obscure frwoa writer somewhere between the dawn of the dawn of time and something o'clock Monday morning.

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