Happy Lewis Carrol Day!

The sunrise was violet and yellow and smelled like a young girl's perfume when it slipped in the window. I tipped my hat to the hephalump under the table as I made my breakfast, dust bunnies frolicking in wild abandon around my feet. They tickled me through my manticore-skin bedroom slippers. As I let the dog out, I noticed it had snowed the night before. The lawn was covered in thick blankets of blue and crimson, and the air was thick with the scents of cotton candy. Another snow storm was on it's way. Back into the house I went, the floorboards singing under my steps. I munched happily away on my breakfast of scarab beetles and raisins, watching out the window as the local organ grinder led his troupe of Australian elf women down the street, followed by a tattoo of aardvarks wearing clerical robes. Aardvarks have always made the best clergymen. I ran outside, the snow hot on my bare feet, and asked one for his blessing. He spoke to me in the tongue of the ancient sloth-people of Tazmuristan, and anointed by forehead with salamander oil. I felt reborn again. Voices hummed in my ears and I swore I saw pixies in the air.

New snow was then beginning to fall around the spires of the great castle of Wallingford, and the Aardvark hurried on his way with a final word and two furred fingers parted in a sign of peace. I retreated back into the house, ignoring the lone far-winged bat that was roosting in the porch.

In the basement, I made offerings to the great golden cat-god. His statue glared at me with disapproving eyes, and the firelight reflected on his robes warned me he was not pleased. I was not favoured by the holy feline. I left choice bits of tuna and chicken on the altar and strapped myself to the wall for my nap.

Another Poll!

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