STITCH TOO: THE RE-STITCHED

Apollo’s family home was inappropriately named Tickety-boo, for

it really wasn’t. His parents were a self-absorbed pair who showed

little interest in his abilities or education and seemingly favoured the

questionable hippy notion of nature over nurture. So, as a child,

each night, under his bedsheets with a torch to read by, Apollo’s bed

became a boat which drifted far out to sea. Aboard it he carried all

he needed to explore the realm of inspiration. He sailed to the land

of the chalkybore and beyond, searching for answers to questions he

hadn’t even thought of, and returned each morning with fresh tales

he wished he could tell his parents, if only they would listen, but

they never did. Fortunately, his friend Little Red, listened. Little Red

was a pocket diary he’d received as a Christmas gift from his Aunty

Sandra, and Apollo’s pen became its voice. Apollo told Little Red

everything in a naive, black, inky scrawl and Little Red absorbed

each word, recording all that Apollo had to say. The diary never

judged him and was always there when Apollo needed it, and Apollo

filled it to brimming with his trials and tribulations.

Now, diaries being diaries, there is only so much they can recall

before their pages run out. Being full, Little Red retired to what

Apollo thought was a safe place under his bed, which was quite

often a boat of dreams. But it wasn’t safe there. Little Red went

missing. Who abducted Little Red? Apollo suspected his parents but

was unable to prove it. After all, who else would wish Apollo’s

recollections to remain unseen?

In later years, with Little Red’s predecessor Bigger Red in toe,

(who was more a notebook for scribbling down story ideas than a

diary), Apollo, being all grownupish studied weirdo science at

Ticklebrain Adversity College in Babelsome. He became the alpha

of the master debating team, and his rambling thesis on the

behaviour of quarks in a quantum physiological environment under

the influence of a flatulent elephant with a nervous disposition, led

to him graduating with full Goners. Taking his doctor-hated degree,

Apollo made good use of it as toilet paper.

Now, being the future, unless you’re experiencing a temporal

disturbance, Apollo has run out of anything to wipe his bottom on

but has completed several books that he considers equally useful for

the task, and he feels that the quality of his latest scofferings, are as

equally debatable as his nature verses nurture upbringing.

With no further ad due, this is part two of his latest tale, read on and

you decide.