Project tortoise 1
by Calibany (Feb 1999)

witches around the table

"what we need is a new affair,"
pneumatic whimpers oozing out of
his motorized chair, "a
revamping of the heart." the
general then stood, kept us
alligned in his peripheral and
made his profile sharp --the
conference went dark. "foom"
went the tabletop, a camera
flash that lasted. it shimmered,
underlit our bloodless cheeks
and mustaches. our hands went to
our laps, projectors from
beneath the surface spun a roll
of film counting down from 3; a
secret moving picture between
our knees. "as we speak, the
tribe's top witches are drawing
potent blue lines and glueing up
the switches in the brain of the
newest dame to welcome to our
cast. i assure you, gentlemen,
theres never been anything like
this in the past." and we saw
inside the belly of an
underground castle with a
yellow/black striped floor and a
starburst ceiling scaffold.
"merry meet," said the general,
"this is hangar Isolate sleeping
in a mountain crater, covered by
a lake." again, the vicious
"foom". a new picture slapped
the screen, a huge metal
structure arching like a moon,
hollow and green. the general,
proud as fathers, took his
whimpering seat. he looked like
marble, sitting there, spotlit
from his feet. he said, "as of
now, all you see is the shell,
but inside will fit the gears of
our enemy's hell" . darkness at
his final word followed by the
conference lights to flood our
sacred room, and in the middle,
a table fat as monoliths, as
honored as a tomb.

it stands by