Kendal Called, I Wish I Never Answered, Episode 3: Catfish in the Trees, Tank Makes Tracks and Pretence of Normality

Strauss looked at me with a mixture of concern and intense disgust. Tank stood close by, hunched, as if ready to pounce. Evilness spread across his face. His mouth cut a fine slash underneath his sharpening eyes.
"We need to go. They're onto us. They're sitting down. They think they're better than us."
Strauss eyed me once more, this time with suspicion, "I see. Let's move."

It was raining heavily. I already had on a mac. We wandered to the nearest, calmest, most subtle place we could; a big marquee framework, without the canvas cover, instead it was made of Maypole tip strips of ribbon.
It was more air than material, but the colours looked safe.
We sat on a bench and I rested my face in my hands in an attempt to climb inside my own soul and rearrange a few basic principles.

The rain is tearing down and I can feel each drop trying to merge with my body. It feels like someone is driving nails into me, nut I like it.
"I'll show them!"

Strauss, getting wet through, is struggling try to get his army surplus poncho on.
Both Tank and I start to help. Very slowly and carefully, in case we damage the fine, gossamer fabric that is before us.
"I can do it! I invented the Krypton Factor." Strauss cried.
I turn away, dejected. I suddenly feel an intense hatred for Army Surplus stores. How dare they come between Strauss and me!

I look over to my right; I see a massive canvas that was an ongoing piece of spray can art. It was nearly finished.
It must've been around 15 feet long by 7 feet high. The images, though innocuous in the cold harsh light of sobriety, were now twisted and piercing and, I knew for certain, were designed especially to intimidate me.
"That's not inert! Look at it!"
On the left third of the canvas was a giant, humanoid, pug, wearing a pink, neon rabbit outfit. The backdrop was a tight knit mesh of cubes, messing with my perspective. To the right of this abomination were 5 tree trunks. No foliage in site. Weaving in and out of these uprights was a long fish with the face of a cat.
"The dog. It's a rabbit. It's trying to get away with this madness. I'm powerless to stop it. We all are!"
Strauss stares at the dog. I'm sure I can see his vision. It's a stiff gaze of anguish aimed right at the pug. He relents, "We should leave this place."
"We can't leave now, look at the water!"
The grass was moving. Lights were swinging in the wind, the low throb of the Zoutons in the background on the main stage, my heartbeat reminding me to breath, all these things were causing the grass to undulate.
"There's no way we can move. We must wait for calmer waters."
My hands are gripping onto Strauss.
"I agree. It's no good. Not right now."

All this while, Tank is sitting there, inches from the edge of darkness. He's only moments from full, moral, breakdown. He could go at any minute.
"Look Strauss. We have to go. There'll be events."
"Yes! Excelsior!"

We rise, uneasy, it takes a few seconds before we are able to adapt to the shifting terrain.
"Tank, we are going back to the tent. It's better there."
"Good."
Tank stands and walks off with the intensity and determination of an earthmover. Each tenacious step felt like it was rattling my insides as Strauss and I struggled to keep up.

Once we were back into the camping area, Tank slowed down. Strauss went up to talk to him, obviously making sure he was ok.
This is not how I perceived it.

What are they doing? What are they saying? They're looking at me. I thought we were in this together. They're plotting. I knew it.

Every time they looked at me, their eyes were full of treachery and badly disguised malice.

No! It's fine. It's all in my head.

They laugh and look at me again. The look lasts a thousand years. I laugh back. It is fine. It's all in my head.probably. I play along. Be on my guard. Just in case. Prepare for the worst. I could take Strauss with a quick reaction. I can outrun Tank. I can do this. Right now, it's fine. I'm sure its fine.

They laugh again. They're voices are whispers. A baffling white noise of hisses and pops. Another look. Another laugh.
"HAHAHA! Yeah, good one."
You wait you bastards.

We near our tent. There is a giant yurt close by. On it is a banner that reads "Happy Birthday Killa".

What does that mean? There cant be a killer here. But there are thousands of people here. There must be some bad people. There must be thieves, child abusers, rapists.maybe even a murderer. If it's his birthday, he might want to go on a celebratory killing spree. Jesus! We're done for.

"We are back. That is fine." Strauss claims, somewhat foolishly.
"Fine? How can it be fine? It's going to be a blood bath!"
"What?"
"You'll see."
I could see he was worried.I was winning.

We climbed into the tent. Suddenly I feel very safe. So relaxed. Everything that has happened seems like a lifetime ago. Once the tent is zipped up, the outside world ceases to exist. There is just we three, in a tent. That is the universe.

I get bored of this cosmic, status quo.
"They never did this in The Somme. I'm opening the tent."
"No! You don't know what'll happen." protested Strauss.
I pull the door open, the most wonderful rush of cool, fresh air bursts into our cocoon.
Delicious. I shut the door again. Allow the tent to get stuffy once more.
"BRAHHH!" I fling the door open again. More fresh air.
I continue to do this until I suddenly feel sad.

They really didn't do this at The Somme. A cruel knot or remorse begins to grow in my stomach. I sit, legs curled up, arms wrapped round my shins, gazing out into the wasteland before me. Lamenting.

Suddenly there is a familiar voice.
"You ok?"
"What, me? Yeah. I am great." I lie.
I look up through watery eyes to see one of Tasty Jesus' comrades, "Paddy".
My voice is full of authority and certainty, but my body betrays me. I am a visual wreck.
"Cool, erm, you calling it a night then?" asks Paddy.
"Probably."
"Good. That's good. Have a good one." He says these words before he recognises the irony in the phrase. I am quite obviously not having a "good one". In fact, I am currently having a shocker.
Paddy walks away. He must've drawn the short straw. Been sent to check on us. That poor bastard, he doesn't understand. No one does.

"Catch you late, Paddy!"

We're doomed!

Next Time: Electric Light Organ Grinder, The Second Coming and Oral Threads

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