The North Pole Is the Quickest Halfway Point Between Us

Vom Patti

Attention!

This story was originally going to be complete. In its present form it may only appeal to the fans of postmodern or otherwise sloppy fiction.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a little girl who lived in a little house 6 371 kilometres underground in the core of the earth.

The little girl had a little cat and the little cat was black and the little girl would often play with it.

One sunny afternoon when the little girl and the little cat were running around on the meadow the cat went missing and consequently was nowhere to be found.

The little girl called the cat by its name but it didn’t answer.

When the little girl realized she had lost her cat she suddenly became very sad and anxious,

and she sat down on the grass and buried her face in her hands and began to sob,

and her pretty white dress got stained with the green green grass,

and she sat there and cried for a long long time until her tears became a puddle,

and reflected upon the surface of the puddle she saw an angel clad in a brilliant veil of light,

and the angel spake unto her, saying:

» . . . »,

and this is how the little girl knew she would find her little black cat way up above, on the surface of the earth.

Missing access and that and she gril then is a gril no more — bring they a points cats the planet and the lot points dome the space — all points to the universe all of the secrets through and through — more is a core no more in space all to core the planet — and she finds a cat her universe secrets revealing gril closes the dome — all the cats went that and the space gril universe the earth — she where and through the cats was one space — starve all planet earth's cats though originally the missing lot — invincible she points the universe was a cat a cat a cat — the new planet closes the secrets come to close — she finds she is missing a cat core — she the invincible dome and planet decides just them cats — and core tells the universe they all starve soon — revealing in all of them cats is the new earth — soon the armored core went and new earths begin — and they destroy all the universe to the earth's core — all the cats to which all the universe belong — but the gril and the cat are one in earth's new invincible core — she then closes the one giant dome closes the inside the cat to where originally the cats dome reunited — and in them is soon more points to come — closes missing access when she was with what that was she is the universe the one earth — but the cat but though the cat then has what was the cats the cats the universe — she finds all access and armored she closes the dome closes the core of the earth invincible she closes the universe.

Freydís Sigurðardóttir descended the road along the fjord with an empty bucket in her hand and a fishing rod on her shoulder.

»Nothing», she shouted at her companion down in the valley.

»It’s not the end of the world», stated Halldór Eiriksson calmly and proceeded to chop the wood.

Regardless of the unsuccessful fishing trip Freydís felt joyful as she strolled down the hill. Her husband greeted her with a discreet smile, and at the stairs in the sun purred a little black cat.

»Where did she come from?» Freydís asked, pointing at the shiny furry thing.

»Who knows», Halldór replied. »For this is the great mystery: nothing comes from nothing. But as we know, we are born out of nothingness, and into that same nothingness shall we also return.»

»You don’t have to be so gloomy about it», Freydís remarked and lay the bucket and the fishing rod down so that the rod leaned against the wall and the bucket was right next to it, on the left side, so that if a landscape artist had painted the view at sunset he would have positioned the bucket behind the rod and the rod before the bucket.

For as long as they had married Freydís and Halldór had been living in the simple wooden cottage they had built with their own very hands from materials donated to them by a group of nice communist friends who lived on the other side of the fjord and took care of the trees there. There are not many trees in Iceland, but there are some.

The countryside is sparsely populated and it can take hours to transport logs from one place to another by foot. It would have been more convenient for Freydís and Halldór to build their little cottage in the village where their friends lived. But Halldór suffered from severe social anxiety and wouldn’t have felt comfortable living so close to other people. Halldór was a poet in the winter, but in the summer he was a carpenter, because it’s good to be a carpenter in the summer when one is blessed with the sun’s warm caress. Freydís wasn’t a poet or a carpenter, but she was many other things, and for those things, among many others, Halldór loved her with all his heart.