Junior Earplug Adventures: The Masters of Scroton (Part Seven)

For a split second all three cable ends actually thought that they were dreaming. It came as a nasty surprise when the alien apparitions interacted with them by approaching and overtly scrutinising them…

In response they gulped nervously…

…before an astonishing moment during which one of the strange mushroom-shaped creatures spoke to them in a language they could understand:

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” It said. “How did you get in? I distinctly recall locking the back door after I put the garbage out last night.”

“Um,” Saskia replied nervously, “I think we came in through the front door. It was kinda’ big and impressive, with a nice line in foyers.” She then introduced herself and her two compatriots. She completed her sentence with: “So, ah, what’s happening down here? Are you aliens?”

“That’s classified.” The tall, rather rotund blue being replied on behalf of the mushroom-shaped creature. Then it added: “But these little mushroom-shaped fellas belong to a rare species of earplug; and all us straight-up-and-down guys are polystyrene-based artificial life-forms.”

Sponson and Edni were yet to recover their wits fully: so it was left to Saskia to respond:

“Jeepers,” she said, “you must have been created by the super-beings that brought sentience and self-awareness to my people.” She then added: “Are you some kind of maintenance crew, left behind to keep all this secret stuff running? Or are you watching over us? Are you here to protect us from threats from outer space?”

“Flip me sideways!” The red polystyrene robot exclaimed, “I think someone is wasted here: why isn’t this gal running the capital city – Scroton Prime? Right on, sister!”

Saskia grunted at this. She was thankful for the compliment, of course, but that didn’t help her bitterness. “Because,” she answered, “we’re yellow cable ends: good only for dwelling in the desert or being forced into the security department against our collective will.”

The earplugs looked at the vaguely amorphous polystyrene blobs. “Did you know about this?” The spokes-plug inquired.

The blobs shrugged. “We just keep the gears turning.” The purple blob replied. “Indigenous politics mean nothing to us.”

“Maybe we can do something about that.” The green-eyed earplug suggested. “Quickly, get inside this strange circular machine.”

Naturally, having been given the opportunity to change their lives, Edni, Sponson, and Saskia didn’t hesitate

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2017





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