They say that in space, no-one can hear you scream. They presume we know they are referring to the space ‘up there’… outer space. What they don’t refer to is the space between my ears, the other space up there, where no-one can hear you scream.
That’s right, the space between my ears is so noisy at times, I can’t hear myself think. Screaming doesn’t get a look in (unless one wanders the cobweb-lined recesses and inadvertently stumbles across Tombie (my Inner Zombie) pulling himself together, which he does often!)
Fingers, my Inner Typist, fell foul to a touch of screaming recently. Regular visitors to the blog will know that Fingers is a disembodied pair of hands whose typing skills are expebhgfjjd, his words, not mine, and his voice is conveyed through meticulous clicks on a subcranial typewriter not too dissimilar to a bad pianist.
The screaming was none of Fingers’ doing, however. For starters, he’d have misspelt ‘arrrrgh!’ and would have totally forgotten about the exclamation mark.
The screaming was from, in Fingers’ words, the place. The Royal Place.
Queen Tomtoria was not impressed. She doesn’t reside in a place, she decried, she resides in a palace. She would have commanded ‘off with his head’ had he had one, but as he’s a dual entity of two hands, she decided that the best form of punishment would be to force Fingers to wear a mitten on his left hand.
Queen Tomtoria, as monarchs go, is quite traditional. She likes things so so, and easily tires if they aren’t. She’s had many profile pictures created so she can look her best on her currency, but none reach her standard, so she insists all the Inners use IOUs until the first mint comes out. She’s been reigning for many years, and there doesn’t appear to be any changes for this agreement on the horizon.
Thomasina (my (original) Inner Woman) offered the Queen the use of her artist, Tombrandt, but she declined the invitation, opting to use her sculptor, Tomelangelo, who’s been on the scene for seemingly centuries. yet always seems new.
Queen Tomtoria was happy with Fingers’ punishment, and Fingers doesn’t appear to have noticed any noticeable differences since his left hand didn’t know what his right hand was doing,
Like I said. There’s a lot of noise in my head, the space up there where no-one can hear you scream, but occasionally, the groans and the whimpers and the shrieks are brought to the front, collectively known as the Sound of the Tombervilles, enhanced by the occasional ‘off with the head’ and a muffled clacking of keyboard keys which together make no sense whatsoever, yet in the same breath make all the sense in the world.
Since writing, Fingers no longer wears his mitten. Queen Tomtoria is in the process of having a sovereign struck. And Tombie is still falling apart.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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