Ben - Chapter Eleven

Opening, weight shifting, gathering those last strings of tobacco. Tapping, licking and rolling. Cursing. A visit to the delicate slug to procure more would be needed. For now, some dried leaves and petrified fox manure would suffice. It would need to for Ben, who was otherwise hopelessly addicted.

The riverbed flowed gently as the last of the spring snow had melted. Up ahead in the distance, the shining behemoth of one of these flying beasts encountered earlier was glistening. Remarkably well preserved, Ben stared on with a bizarre wonder, as if to emulate a trapped silkworm who had seen an orange for the first time in their lives.

Ben approached cautiously and with trepidation stifling an otherwise growing curiosity. The aftermath of the previous nights drinking and heaving had almost left him behind. This was different. The lure was too great, and all wisdom and judgement was pushed out the window like an unwanted piano.

Reaching into the pocket of his patch jacket, Ben pulled out a discarded and broken replacement monocle and peered with a hungry eye. Skipping forward, his large and imposing frame pushed weevils and ants sideways, disrupting their natural network of minds.

A connected honeybee hovered overhead and shouted two warning shots.