FL0006
"DOUBLES"
DATELINE: THE ISLAND OF THE READERS (4:06 AM, year unknown)
Fellow passengers, it’s another beautiful day in the Limoverse. Bend a thin beam into a prism of light; illuminate the mechanism. Every sound you’ve ever made is washing up against the—
“HELLO,” squawks the loudspeaker from behind a passing cloud. “The Readers are waiting for an answer! What do all your little marks mean? They need to know if they want them or not.”
The Readers are gathered in a circle beneath the windmill, pecking at piles of scraps and seed. Piece by piece they move what they’ve collected from one pile to another. One lifts its beak to the air and plucks a passing thread off the breeze, adds it to the first pile. Its companion inspects it and moves it down the line.
“They’re just going to keep doing this until you have something to trade. It’s nothing but paper from you: worthless spitballs! Tell them what your little marks mean and then maybe they’ll talk.”
They don’t know, say The Readers.
You don’t know, say the seeds.
We don’t know, say the reeds.
—, says the line in the sand.
“WELL,” blares the speaker. “Do you at least care to stick around until you have something to say?”
They don’t, say The Readers.
You don’t, say the weeds.
We don’t, say the words on the breeze.
I do—, says the line in the sand.
“Then you’ll stay. OK?” The speaker cuts out. OK OK OK OK—
As the echo bounces from one shore to another we notice a feather fall from the wing of a Reader. We grab it quickly, undetected. Touch alone tells us this is no ordinary feather. It’s paper (paper!) folded up, in and around and over itself into such convoluted origami that each facet sparkles like a pinpoint. Inside it just says
As far as we know we’ve never seen that word before. It can only mean one thing? We’ll know for sure when all the sounds wash up against the glass—