The sun burnt out a good deal of the fog, reavealing in the pink skin on the side of The Kandinsky exposed ribs the size of ceiling beams. I wondered if the cabins would start to show.
The crew hate Pansaers. They despise this plateau of normality, where the gravity fixes your feet to the floor with more security, and the air is silent.
We kicked through a swamp of rubbish underneath the ruins of a building, the brickwork yellow and sandy, but still worn down from the years. The weird assortment of bottles, cans, newspapers, rotting cardboard boxes, wooden blocks with rusty nails sticking out, sink into the dirt. This isn’t magic rubbish. There’s not much to discuss here. After everything we have gone through, Pansaers is pedestrian, and the crew stand around with their hands in their pockets, wading through the junk.
I dug up one of the boxes, and it fell apart in my hands. The date on the side was from the early twenties. Pansaers was one of the first places those early explorer’s found. I still cannot work out the geography, but we are now closer to the cave than we have been for a long time. I cannot imagine Nadada untouched by the imagination.
We recorded a brief interview with a lady named Elsa who we met at our show last week. She had her arms clenched around her the entire time. The question’s are mine, and bland. For the first time in a long while The Butter Mouse lies prone on my wrist.
TBM: So what do you think of Pansaers?
TBM: What do you think of Pansaers?
E: Oh right. Sorry I was thinking about- never mind. Yeah it's ok I guess.
TBM: Is it exciting to be here amongst the ruins of these people who first came to Nadada?
E: Yes, I’ve always had a great interest in history.
TBM: So, er, what’s the best item you have found out here?
E: Well, I like the boxes- sorry, can we leave it there? I think we have to get back to the ship.
At this point she dashed towards The Kandinsky. The crew had their hands up, three fingers raised on each one.
So that brings us up to date. We are waiting by the rubbish, the remaining fog drifting round our ankles. The Kandinsky is now in full view. What remains of it.
Our ship is a heap of giant bones. I was wrong about the cabins. They have simply vanished.
I’m writing this on a borrowed phone, so I don’t know when you are going to get this. Apologies if it’s late.