There is a theory that there are an infinite number of parallel worlds of which we are one. There are many such theories: our universe is constantly expanding; marmite is delicious; intelligent propelling pencils inhabit one of the other worlds; and Piers Morgan is an utter tit. Only one is completely provable. In fact there are some 26 parallel worlds in our corner of the cosmos and we are the fifth, sandwiched between Dearth and Fearth – the first E in Eearth is silent. Dearth, coming before us is like all big brothers: bigger, clumsier, inclined to ignore us and painful if approached unexpectedly.
The interactions between parallel worlds are rare but one sure sign is in the appearance of large unexplained phenomena. It is not yet understood how such phenomena pass between worlds but one theory turns on the concept of obfuscatory corruptions or more commonly the telling of huge whoppers to children to make them believe the universe is not the grim and grinding state of being we understand it to be shortly after we first grasp the concept of Mondays but instead is a place of abundant magic and endless excitement. Santa is one such corruption.
On Dearth Santa is the size of a town house and whose Ho Ho Hos would, if heard on Earth demolish Reading.
As, dear reader, you will gather from this piece, Magic in the sense of physical laws that few have yet worked out exists across the worlds. And a practitioner who can corral the impact of these unfound laws is called ‘magician’ or ‘sorcerer’ or ‘mystic’ whereas in truth he or she is just a clever clogs who’s got there before the rest of us.
Of course, these smarty pants want one thing more than any other – well apart from unconscionable wealth, an adoring public and regular sex – and that is for no one else to know what they know so the mystery is maintained.
Thus when anything appears to have arrived from Dearth it is the magicians who are most aware and who do their best to ensure either the remaining citizens remain in blissful ignorance or that such phenomena are explicable within the limited understanding of the Earth’s population of experts.
When next you come across what appears to be a set of irregular pock marked standing stones apparently miles from where they might have been quarried you will be told these are the churches of ancient people’s who, before hydraulics were invented and the wheel discovered managed to drag these buggers across the landscape when they couldn’t even download the second series of the Queen.
But really? Isn’t there something a tad far fetched about this? And why is it that a group of weirdy beardies spend all their time claiming these things as their own?
No, dear reader, hear the truth. These stones are the baby teeth of the young inhabitants of Dearth. Their parents, having conned them with the promise of a tooth fairy visit can’t be caught with these little mementoes. Instead they look to put them somewhere that the children will be sure never to find. In their little brother’s back yard.
Meanwhile the magicians of the world feel obliged to try and hide these phenomena if they can’t eradicate them. They spend years ducking and diving to avoid being caught while they practice their blasting spells – a simple harnessing of the excess of methane in the atmosphere – to make them look less like teeth and more like stones that some psychotically possessed ancient people who could barely pay the rent would give up a year’s growing kale and move them higher and yon.
This is the latest response to the latest #writephoto prompt