SQUIGGLE TOPS & TOFFEE POPS

by lauryn beaufort



to ronnie on her 16th birthday
(sorry so late ^_^)

the birth of chaos

First, the chaos.
It was pretty dark as far as chaoses go. Day in and day out, fingers – (if chaos could assume a humanoid form, which had yet to be invented) – explored whipped greys and molten blacks, and the powdered charcoals in between.
He was called Isaac.
Which was a pretty good name for chaos, if he did think so himself. Much better than Mictlan or Irkalla anyway. Isaac really pitied his friends, even if his depths weren't as dark as some of theirs. Xibalba, who'd want to be stuck with a name like that for all eternity? No, Isaac preferred to stay pale and keep his (blessedly pronounceable) name.
This chaos wasn't vain.
Yes, contrary to popular belief, chaoses could think just like anyone else. And Isaac, despite his lack of vanity (or perhaps because of it, who knows?) was getting bored. Twelve variations on mottled obsidian can only hold one's interest for so long; besides, black on black on grey on black was just getting so . . . so . . . old!

Thus, out of boredom, colour was born.

the birth of colour

in the beginning will created isaac
and the chaos was without form, and void: and darkness
was upon the face of the deep (if the form of a face had existed),
and the spirit of creation moved upon the face of the chaos, and isaac said
LET THERE BE COLOUR
and there was colour. and isaac saw the colours, that they were
good: and isaac divided the colours from the darkness
§
GENEMESIS 1:1-4

Envisioning an antipode to black on black on grey on black, vivid brilliance to swallow endless shadow, Isaac – with a handful of stained ebony darkness from his thigh – had spun the seven strands.

Passion, anger, warm and sensual, the burning heat orange Happiness and sunshine, sickness and melancholy Fertility and fecundity, envy and jealousy Temperance, sadness, peaceful and tranquil, the glacial ice indigo Nobility and pride

But what to do with them? . . . what to do. . . ? Chaos had his paints, but no canvas.
Oh well, he'd just have to make one.
The colours were by nature quite pulpous, they made wonderful dough. Taking a wavelength from each, chaos threw them all in a pot and went to work. The grass? . . . hmm, fertility. Tranquil water was perfect. The fires burned hottest in passion, the flowers grew tallest in pride. And Isaac so loved his lightly-browned creations that he brought the best of them together, and between the world's spongy layers, moulded the Garden.
The seven strands of colour helped their beloved chaos in his primal baking, bringing life to his blackness . . . moist enough to engender, light enough to sustain. Yet the colours were kept so busy stirring the bowls and watching the ovens, they had no time left to even sit with Isaac over a nice cup of primordial tea.

Thus did chaos create Eva, so he would have someone to talk to.

the birth of Eva

She was Isaac's finest creation.
("BOO!!" giggle, "Did I scare ya? Huh? Huh?")
Although perhaps a bit overdone on the sugar 'n spice.
Experiments had long been trialed in the world surrounding Isaac's Garden of Essence. Much had been done over the years – what's time to chaos and colour? – the steaming of swimmers to fill the temperate sea, the basting of runners to cover the fecund land. And the casting of rulers to watch the earth over.
Colour had thought it was a great idea.
Yet somehow, time and again, things kept going wrong. Isaac and the seven strands tried everything their omnipresent thoughts could think of, but to no avail. Not even chaos could control his work.
In despair, Isaac withdrew to the Garden. He was content to play happy family in paradise, where the colours wandered amongst the trees, and young Eva ran after them. Every now and then she tripped – all the fault of her little legs – but she never whimpered, just climbed awkwardly back onto her feet and toddled off, shouting after the hiders she was seeking. The seven strands always let her win; being Red, it's kind of hard to blend in.
("Theretherethere!! In the poppies!" excited squeal, "I found Re-d! I found Re-d!")
The colours loved their little sister. Her hair they'd frosted a delicate shade of lilac, her eyes glazed a brilliant crimson. Sugar blue nails with apple green tips, gentle tangerine lips. Skin dusted with ivory coconut. Only one strand they had not found a place for.
Lemon. Mustard. Canary.
Happiness and sunshine, sickness and melancholy.
Of course it became her favourite colour. Yellow was always so cheerful, even if it was always coming down with something.
Isaac could only smile, watching his children play together. He would never have even breathed a word . . . but little Eva was the secret favourite. The lavender hair Yellow would braid for her, so as it wouldn't get in her way . . . the delighted (mischievous) honeysuckle smile . . . those big cherry eyes. . . . It was enough to make a tender chaos' heart melt.
("Isaac! Isaac!! Help me find Indigo and Green? Please? . . . Please?!")
Life, as far as all in the Garden were concerned, was ideal.
Not so on the outside. . . .

the serpent's brew

Life was not ideal. One would never use the terms 'life' and 'ideal' in the same sentence – to do so was treason against one's own kind!
At least, it was if one happened to be a snake.
Imagine forever having to weave/duck/slither away from the prospect of being crushed/ bashed/skewered or otherwise beaten to death. Ideal? Hardly. The snake is in constant flight from danger, 'on the run', as might be said. Not that a snake could really run, since snakes have no LEGS.
(grumble, grumble, grumble)
Those familiar with the mindset of the Serpentes will understand they are a deeply bitter race. The snake – another of chaos' 'something-that-went-wrong's – in order to survive, has had to learn how to crawl along on its belly. Which generally means by nightfall, these reptiles will slither home to their equally exhausted wives and, uh . . . bitch.
About the injustice.
The indignity.
The inhumanity.    (of course snakes are human. honest. they really are.)
And the damned inconvenience of having to crawl on the ground, with nothing to show but agonised stomach muscles and a distended sternum (the remains of a rat) that makes moving around that much more painful.
Considered in this light, is it any wonder certain snakes will attack anything they lay eyes on?
And Taylor Naja Haje had had enough. No more would his suborder be subjected to these lengths of humiliation! Unlike lazy bipeds, snakes had never forgotten that chaos was to blame for making them this way.
(hissss! HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!)
According to Serpentes legend, passed down from serpent to serpent since time almost-immemorial, this chaos resided in the Garden of Essence, with the original seven strands of colour.
Good thing too, that Serpentes legend had remembered to include directions.
Taylor Naja Haje's forked tongue waved goodbye to his wife, Sarah Cerastes Cornuta, as he slithered off, a sinister grin stretching his scaled mouth.

Eva's temptation

"One, two, three, who do I see?!"
A lilac braid belonging to the girl who also owned the voice whipped around her as she ran for the nearest cluster of trees. Green always hid somewhere in the trees. Just like Red always tried to burrow somewhere in the poppy patch and Blue always held its breath somewhere in the pond. Only Purple's hiding spot changed drastically. Last time Eva had found the colour in her hair!
It had been loose that day, Yellow had been too sick to braid it for her. It was loose today. She'd wanted it like that.
Just to make sure, she ran little fingers through the mass falling over her shoulders . . . nope, no colours hiding there. Which meant Green had to be somewhere in the trees. Bright crimson eyes turned to the forest canopy. So intent was the little daeva child, even her ears were straining to spot Green amongst the leaves. Thus she didn't hear the pained moans approaching until they were right on her toes . . . literally.
"Ow . . . (grumblegrumble) . . . ow . . . (grumble) . . . o– OWW!!"
"Ohh!"
Oooooh . . . a worm? The grouching animal curled inches from her bare feet was long and cylindrical and brown and scaly-shiny; it certainly looked like a worm. But it'd have to be a really old worm to have grown this big! And no worm Eva knew made a sound like leaves bumping into each other at their weekly B&S.
"Excuse me," Isaac had taught her, 'always be polite to strangers', "What kind of worm are you?"
The really-old-or-just-very-big worm had molten sand eyes. Eva liked them.
"Worm? Oh no child," cue smooth laughter, "I am Taylor Naja Haje, and I –"
"Eva," she stuck out her hand, just like Yellow had shown her.
"Please to meet you Eva," cue faηade to hide annoyance and growing glee, "I am Taylor Naja Haje, and I am one of the great Serpentes," since the great Serpentes were possessed of no hands to shake, Eva withdrew her own. What were the 'great Serpentes' anyway? She'd have to ask Isaac.
"I have travelled from the far wastes of Africa to offer a gift to someo–"
"Presents?! I love presents!"
Eva also loved the colours, as much as they loved her. Whenever her spirits brightened, so did the shades of her body. Ivory to white, lilac to violet, her eyes blazing so intense none could look upon her without a welder's shield.
It didn't seem to worry Taylor Naja Haje. Maybe having pretty eyes meant he couldn't see very well?
"Indeed," cue sincere expression. It failed dismally; Eva wondered if the 'great Serpentes' wasn't feeling well, "Do you Eva, happen to know of one chaos? I've heard he inhabi–"
"Isaac! ISAAC! Someone wants to talk – OH!!"
It's a very strange feeling, having a 'great Serpentes' crawl up one's body and wrap around one's mouth.
"Hush child, my gift is not yet ready. And to tell . . . Isaac? would spoil the surprise. Might I humbly ask your assistance in preparing it?"
Its skin was so cold! No wonder he didn't feel well! Now Eva was determined, she'd warm this poor 'great Serpentes' up so he wouldn't be so sick anymore. Thus it was from a sun-sweet rock that Taylor Naja Haje, basking in warmth, instructed chaos' colourful little imp in the finer points of dandelion distilling.

chaos's shock

Chaos' Garden was nothing short of paradise. Right down to chaos being able to draw his own water from a stone well. Hold the rope for ballast, reach down for the bucket . . . –
"ACK!"
The purest water in existence was bright orange.
How had it happened?! How had algae bloomed in the Garden's water without chaos knowing about it?! Was he losing his chaotic nature?! After all this time?!
His eyes fell upon a clear patch of grass. Red grass. Even as a reassuring cluster of plants grew under his gaze, Isaac was only more distressed.
"What in the name of creation is going on here?!"
A shout of intoxicated laughter gave chaos his answer. Disbelieving eyes roamed the Garden, as the seven strands reeled in a drunken stupor. While Orange splashed in the shallows of the pond, trying to make "zoonamies!" and Red lolled amongst the leaves, telling itself a tale of pretty butterflies, Green flew suspended from the sky (now a verdant emerald), Yellow lazed in the lavender beds, Blue chased Purple through orchards of cerulean apples and mauve bananas, and Indigo snored on mossy midnight navy rocks.
A spark of lemon tried to sneak past Isaac's wide-struck eyes.
"Not so fast, miss,"
Lifted from her flight, Eva's legs still kicked weakly. Oooh, she was in trouble now!
Taylor Naja Haje jumped on his chance. Vaulting from around the girl's waist, the snake lunged for the instigator of his kind's misery, jaws unhinged, fangs bared and spurting –!
Eva screamed.    (the colours screamed too, then collapsed beside themselves with hilarity)
Chaos blinked.
Taylor Naja Haje fell mid-strike, dead asleep.
A somewhat . . . stern-looking Isaac turned his pitch-mist eyes on his youngest child. Guilty as charged . . . although she did look pretty as a blonde.
"What did you give Colour?"
Subdued, "The 'great Serpentes' said it was dandelion wine,"
"Eva,"
"Yes Isaac?" her eyes looked a watery shade of blue.
"You and I need to have a little talk. . . ."

Eva's exile

"A dandelion wine, please?"
Sugar blue nails with apple green tips lightly drummed the bar counter. Tangerine lips lifted in a petite smile.
Taylor Naja Haje might have been a bitter, twisted fiend, but he'd known how to make decent dandelion wine.
The petite smile stretched further. All seven colours had had monstrous hangovers the next day, and were put straight to bed . . . which meant one more day of orange water, blue apples and green clouds, and one more day to carefully memorise them. Aside from that 'little talk', there really hadn't been much else to do.
An hourglass had clocked Isaac's lecture in at thirteen-and-a-half years (give or take a few minutes, hourglasses aren't exactly accurate).
That was part of how she'd come to be here, in a bar in Saffron Walden. Since, technically speaking, she was the one who'd made five gallons of dandelion wine and given it all to the seven strands, she was the one who would have to be a good girl and make amends. And being a good girl meant making sure Taylor Naja Haje – still asleep – made it to a good home where he'd be taken care of. Outside.
Blessed with a parental smile (and burdened with a very fat snake), the only daughter chaos knew had stepped out into the surrounding world.
Shopping around had been fun, but she'd settled on the London Zoo, whose friendly snake psychiatrists were delighted with their new charge. They'd keep the 'great Serpentes' (on) happy (pills) for the rest of his now-assuredly long life.
Her making amends in order, this amaryllis-haired, ruby-eyed girl now had a lot of time on her hands. The Garden was beautiful . . . but so was the Outside.
And she intended to explore every colourful inch.
"There we go, one dandelion wine,"
"Thank-you,"
It was sweet for dandelion wine . . . just the way she liked it.
"You up from London for the day?"
She looked up from her glass, a pretty one, painted with cherry blossoms. The bartender had an identical one in his hands, wiping it absently with a dishcloth (normally kept hanging from his pocket).
"No, no, I don't think I could live in London. It's too crowded and dank, no colour there at all. Or trees. I don't know how people can live somewhere without colours or trees,"
"Wait till summer, once the flowers're all out. 'S gorgeous 'round here,"
Her eyes lingered on the cup.
"Cherry blossoms?"
"Cherry blossoms, orange blossoms. Any kinda blossom you could think of, you'll find it in someone's garden,"
He looked like a gardener himself; the specks of dirt under his fingernails had a tinge of ochre. Under the cuffs of a black shirt, his wrists were tanned.
"Sunflowers too?"
"Plenty of those. 'S the flower o' choice in these parts. Another one?"
In her hands, the glass was empty. His hair was a shade of butternut pumpkin.
"Yes thanks,"
" 'S on the house,"
He'd smiled first. Of course she smiled back. Isaac had taught her, 'always be polite to strangers'.
"My name's Eva," she tucked a few amethyst strands back behind her ear.
He had cinnamon eyes.
"Zac," an extended hand, "Pleased to know ya,"