IT'S ONLY A STORY - A BIT MORE

cont...

(Please see below for previous writing of 'It's Only a Story').

The Dream Catcher meanwhile was in the process of developing a scanner to help him locate Mr Goldstime's dream of a vault full of extra time. He knew that it must be out there somewhere. If only he could access the extra-time dimension then his problem would be solved. There must be millions of dreams in extra-time by now, just waiting to be snatched and added to his treasure of possibilities. He was making Ay's life hell. Bring me this, fetch me that, press the red button not the blue one. So engrossed in his quest was he that he almost lost the plot. But as with most occurrences of chance he decided that he would leave the scanner for the time being and concentrate on looking for things that might clog up his works. He must always be vigilant; after all it was summer and a time of Brobdingnagian dreams.

Zod was quite aware of Maisie's wobbly nightmare and had set up a radar-like scan to warn him of any such bad dreams that he definitely did not want in a million light hears of his high=tech storage unit. "Nightmare sweep on," he bellowed. But he was totally unprepared for the fizz and fuzzzz that entered his range of sweep. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't a nightmare, it was... oh golloping cod! "Deflectors up Ay," he commanded. But too late. The 'out of body' had been scooped up and deposited aboard his craft. With a tumble and splash of incandescent froth, the fragile, multiprismed balloon burst and Yorgos spread-eagled onto the floor.

If only Goldstime had not tested his watch on the shepherds of Vlahassi things may have gone smoother but, as with most things, someone or something always seemed to come along to gung up the works. Yorgos had really gunged up the works. Because his watch had stopped in extra-time, and because he had had his cataclysmic thought in time that did not exist, he had somehow got himself trapped in his own dream bubble. Now released from that bubble his link to body had been severed and that in itself was more devastating to the universe than the flap of an opera singer's tonsils.

Zod had his share of the trouble. Not being a dream, Yorgos could not be downloaded into the virtual reality computer. Not being a nightmare he could not be trashed, and not being in real-time it appeared that he was neither here nor there and due to this he dept disappearing and reappearing in a very disconcerting shift of molecules that formed his shape-shifting, unstable, out of body.

***********************************************************************************

...And while all that was going on, talk in the cafeneon was rife. Yorgos had had a stroke. Yorgos had been hit by freak lightening. Yorgos was stoned... again. Would he recover? Never, it's too late. He's lost it. The village on the whole had Yorgos in his coffin. DrKyrakis said that he could be in this state for a long time. He had known people go into coma for years but Yorgos was not in a coma, he simply wasn't IN at all.

Yorgos was definitely not answering the door. Though his body was safely tucked up in bed and he had a surreal smile on his face, his mind was struggling with a new reality; that of being outside time. Unsynchronized and in the confines of Zod's dream catching vessel he looked around him quite unaware that he had become ghostlike in appearance. In fact he was very ghost-like in appearance and both Zod and Ay recoiled in fright at the hovering apparition whose detached limbs seemed to be held together with invisible string like a puppet in the hands of some inexperienced puppeteer. Yorgos just had not got it together at all. But he was working on it. With a little bit of concentration he would be able to gather himself. Concentration was something totally new to Yorgos but his new power of thought had allowed him to know exactly who he was and where he, eventually, was going. Zod and Ay looked on in amazement as the spirit of Yorgos reassembled itself to become the shepherd that a split second before had been dozing on a warm rock.

"Hoooh!" (a prolonge SHOO without the S). 'Hoooh', he shook himself like Fido just out of the bath. "Heeeh", (like SHE without the S). "An...a...thi...ma...," (which is Greek for 'dam it') he growled in a deep neo-Neanderthal way. He looked suspiciously around him, and then in total bewilderment and slight anger he shouted: "F.ck the Virgin Mary, where the devil am I?"

You Sir, with a mouth as vile as a soggy cucumber, are aboard the D. S. Sir Christopher Cockerell. Uninvited I might add so be so kind as to tell me from whence you came and by what name you are known. The dream catcher was weaned on Don Quixote's dreams and Star Trek and thus had developed a strange style which hung between Knight Errant and Spok. 'You don't look like a shepherd, and you don't smell like a shepherd but by the Grady Ma you sound like one.' Be so good Sir as to clean up thy speech aboard my ship."