In the back garden there were several hamsters buried along with their various hamster possessions, placed at the bottom of a small pyramid I had constructed for them out of old staircases.  The stairs were still fully carpeted and when it rained the pyramid stayed wet for days and began to smell.  Weeds and grasses grew up around and inside it and other small animals began to find their way in, probably worrying about ancient curses.  The pyramid was not the greatest of my sculptures.  The electricity pylon made of old remote controls was better and my bread sculpture of a tortoise looked very life-like now that it was covered in a thick green mould.

Halfway to the horizon there appeared to be a line of boats bobbing about on the sea, basking in the sun like sea lions.  These boats had never been to sea though, they were not made of wood or plastic and they had no captain or crew.  The sea was a sculptor with an eternity on her hands and had washed the boats from solid rock, slowly wearing away at it with all her skill and power.  I could not compete with that level of commitment – my tortoise had six weeks of mould on it, the sea had been busy for six million years with no one to watch her progress or give encouragement.

The motion of the waves caused the illusion that the boats were moving but in reality they were no more capable of movement than the hamsters in my pyramid.


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