the fish-cat skulked around a silver rock. breath bubbles escaped from her cat ears and past the snorkel she had fastened around her cat head. her cat eyes were huge and brown through the snorkel lens and blue fishes were swimming around her head, emitting small but flirtatious miauws in a chorus. some fishes went in through her ears and swam in her head. she loved the feeling. tickles arose in her skull and made her brain sneeze softly . her grey matter curled up and unfurled, stretching like a soft, smooth substance in soup, here, there, everywhere. but it could not leave through her ears the way the little blue fish did. they kept swimming in and out of her head. it was so interesting there…so much to see. notes that made sounds, hung about in midair matter. some grew blue hair. others sprouted petals. thousands of music notes, but no two were the same. they were suspended there in brain air and sounded like tubular bells and deeply resonating african percussion instruments. only the fish-cat herself and the fish could hear them, of course because they were the only living organisms with ears there. cheeky notes they were too. making sounds as they saw fit, not caring whether they were in tune or not although they always sounded like they were. to fishes, anyway. what did fish know of singing? the only fish-song the fish had ever heard was ‘fly me to the beach’ and they were tired of hearing that, by now. but the tunes here were new, somehow. fresh. the fishes sensed this. they blinked and o-mouthed around with curiosity when they entered through her left ear. there was a boy there, running on one spot and strumming a very special guitar. it was made of numbers. sleek and white. all the numbers moved within that magical guitar shape. guitarboy was very comfortable and at home in the fish-cats’ head, the fishes felt this immediately. obviously he loved being there, playing together with the notes hanging around there. the blue fishes wondered how he had entered h
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#528 in Non-Fiction
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