She arrived in the pharmaceutical aisle. The men’s hair pomades often had petroleum jelly in. They smell nicer than Vaseline, as well. She pulled a couple off tins off the shelf and stuffed them into her bag.
Below the pomades were the ‘men’s wellbeing’ products. Iron, vitamins, zinc and more. A dozen chemist jokes leapt into her conscience. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She tried to think of a chemistry pun she’d never heard before. She had heard barium jokes, H20 puns and inert gags.
With a sigh and a smile she figured, all the best chemist jokes Argon.
#Colour_Collective has returned for another year. I’ve been doing them for two years now. Crikey, that means the Fears have been going for two years now. Nice.
Any-who, please allow me to introduce this week’s lovely lady, Quosh. She’s a bit grumpy because Fuen and the chick-lets stole her ice-cream.
As she left the technology section, she knocked a ‘How to write letters in the Queens English’ DVD set off the shelf.
Copper pondered how you’d write a letter with a posh accent. She didn’t mind people learning correct spelling and grammar, but she had issues with language in general. She’d always dot her I’s, but crossing her t’s?
WordPress needs to have a parent page for drop-down menus on the website. So we needed a new Shop & Tip Jar page. Following advice I was given long ago, ‘artist, market thyself!’ Main page link: littlefears.co.uk/shop
“You’re right,” replied Fluffeh, “we have multiple shopping outlets and experiences for our fans.”
“Multiple!” gasped Masks. “I know we might get accused of marketing if you answer this out loud, but where can I visit these Fear filled shops and experiences?”
“Well,” pondered Fluffeh, “a lot of things, but obvious examples would be designing posters, creating unique logos, writing articles or creating book covers.”
“How many more ways can the illustrator say “said”?” asked Masks.
“I don’t think we should test that,” replied Fluffeh.
“I guess not,” laughed Masks. “But listen, if there was a way of personally supporting the illustrator, how would I do that?”
“You can visit his Patreon or Ko-Fiand drop a dollar or two into his tip jar,” said Fluffeh.
“Do you think anyone’s going to read all this?” asked Masks.
“Probably not,” sighed Fluffeh. “But you know the illustrator. He ain’t writing a normal shop and tip jar page.”
Copper noticed a novelty chameleon toy on the shelf. She picked it up and removed its packaging.
“Hello,” she said, turning it over in her hands. It had LED lights down its flanks, a colour change button on its belly and a USB power cord curled around itself for a tail. She pulled a power bank off the shelf and plugged the chameleon in. It sputtered to life, giving off a blue glow.
She pushed the colour change button, and nothing happened. Giving it a shake, Copper heard a rattle from within. She laid the lizard down on the shelf and gave it a little wave.
It’s a shame the creature was stuck on blue. Blue’s not a colour Copper liked. She figured it’s not the lizard’s fault. A reptile dysfunction can happen to anyone.
The technology aisle
was pretty small. There was a couple of mobile phones, radios and PC
components. She plucked a mouse from the shelf and removed its
packaging. Copper wiggled the mouse on the floor making squeaky
noises.
She cut the USB cord
to a tail length. Then pulled a red pen out of her bag and drew a
pair of eyes onto it. “Squeak, squeak,” she said to herself.
She wondered if she
could draw facial hair on it but decided it could do without a
mouse-stache.
The pharmacy aisle had collapsed in on itself. Copper sighed. It may have been easier to go to the shopping centre. There were four pharmacies there. It’s also a little closer to home.
In this lifeless world, shopping centres depressed her. The soulless corporate decor and escalators never worked. They should be teeming with people. Instead, they are lifeless museums to consumerism.
She often found, once you have seen one shopping centre, you have seen a mall.
The vegetable aisle was empty. The worst reminder of the lack of life. Everything had rotted back at the start, devoured by insects. Empty trays remained with seeds and pips left at the bottom.
Copper had tried to grow some vegetables. The only success she had ever had was beetroot. One had grown before the drought had come. She wanted to see how big she could get it.
It was a lazy plant. The beet grew to barely a mouthful. Then the taproots growth stopped.
She recalled stepping out of her front door one day and finding it uprooted, laying on her steps with a knife sticking out of it.
Copper pushed her
way past a collapsed shelf. Entering the meat aisle, a renewed sense
of dread washed over her.
All of the meat had
rotted away long ago. Picked clean bones remained. She could remember
swarms of flies filling the fridges. A dull, black carrion hum. The
thought of flies bartering with each other over meat, where to eat
and where to lay eggs. Hideous tiny pests, a gross thought.
But then flies who bartered with fruit and vegetables? Grocer.
She’d cleaned the hardware shop out of sealant years ago, but petroleum jelly from the supermarket would work in some cases.
As Copper arrived, she noted that the front doors had been opened since she was last here. Could be a sign of life or an effect of last nights storm.
The left side of the
building had collapsed a few months back. Noises would occasionally
rattle out from the rubble, packets of food rustling, or possibly
ghosts. Imagination could be a saviour or curse in times like these.
Copper would often fun to imagine she was a ghost hunter. She’d have to stay fit as a ghost hunter. Just a little exorcise.
Little Fears 