Prep for The Shove of It

My latest creature duo just now came out so assuredly - not only quickly but requiring of me the strictest application of a phrase I assume they put in my mind because it was repeated so often in my head while I was catalyzing them onto a page I can't account in any other way for it: 'economy of means, economy of means, economy of...'. - that I assumed a poem would just as assuredly bloom out of the business. I mean they arrived so fully loaded with whatever they were, why wouldn't they have given me the rest of their raison d'être? But that was it. Nothing more came.

I showed them to my Queen and she had a remarkable reaction. She stared at them in full recognition: clearly she knew them. And while she said nothing, she gave me to understand, in the manner of such things, that she very much desired to hold the drawing for a moment. So I put it in her hands. The second I clicked the iPhone camera to take a pic of her holding it, I received a sudden flash of a message - I cannot say from whom, but it wasn't my Queen - that it was urgent I add a covering of bright yellow to the flame head of the disgruntled creature on the left departing from the pleading one on the right: to render a suggestion, that is, of very blond hair.

I tried to contact my Queen to see how she felt about this but she had gone quite blank. So I gently extracted the drawing from her, applied the yellow where indicated, and when I was done I showed it to her. She was still blank - wherever she had retreated to she had no intention of returning from. At least for now, I hope not forever.

The two creatures, now that I have supplied one with the necessary yellow head, seem also no longer to know I'm there. One is a pawn in one's creatures' games. One however manages to muddle through, and so shall I. And I know my Queen will come back. How could she not?

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