Tin Cobbler
The world was normal.
It wasn’t, and isn’t, and will not be anymore.
It was never normal, always being, now and forevermore.
There is a sift,
it happened,
and is happening,
that curated
and curates
the surreal
from the real.
The Yellow Sleeves are born -
they wander and they moan.
But on with the story -
for it has already been told.
Part One
The Yellow Sleeves were the origin of this thing. Yes, they were the end, the general essence, they are the present of this thing. Most activities within the Growsia nation and consequently Mr. Tin Cobbler’s household - which was known at the time as Emberly - involved them. Emberly was a towering structure. It was the color of an assortment of metals, yet it still held an essence of purity. On this particular day, it was sunny, and as he does on days such as this, Mr. Cobbler was relaxing in his garden. He had purchased a new armchair just the day before, as his previous one had been destroyed by the rain. He anticipated this chair would be destroyed by later tonight, so he already had another on pre-order. But no matter, it was sunny now, and Mr. Cobbler could retire to his chair after a long day of tape splicing in the upstairs bath. Looking out into his garden, he realized his loneliness. It was nearly overwhelming. Even the roses were next to others of their sort - he had no one. None of his sort had remained in Growsia, because they found the inclusion of Oddities to be “repulsive and decadent”. He would have to settle for inviting a set of Oddities over to his home for the evening - and possibly they would remain for the seven suppers! He walked back to the upstairs bath, past his spliced tape, and climbed inside of the tub. Using the showerhead as a microphone, he made a command to the operator.
“Operator, please connect me to The Yellow Sleeves.”
“I’m afraid they’re quite free at the moment, sir. Do call again when they are busy.”
At that a click sounded from the tap of the bath, indicating that the operator had disconnected. In dismay, Tin exited the bathtub and returned to his back garden. The rest of his house was in neat clutter. Everything was where it was supposed to go, surely a revolting idea to his new colleagues, the Oddities. Now, he was back in his armchair. His eyes traced his swimming pool, down its corners which were tiled an impressive blue, and up into the smaller pool which rested on the back edge, from which water spilled below. How he wished he had a swimsuit.