Outside, the world kept turning; inside it did as well, invisibly so but felt. The rotations of the earth in relation to the inner lives of those roos upon it might thusly be pictured comprising a set of gears: one massive one turning alone through space, billions of tiny little ones turning in turn together upon it— a billions-of-years-old one and billions of years-old ones simply a circuitesque & birthwrithing one.
        And it was in so many places that all movements flowed swiftly in sync, spinning smoothly without the slightest resistance between the earth & others & others still & beyond. Yet in perhaps even more places, however: the gears were grinding and slowing, leaving those farthest from the center sans even the slightest hint of any motion at all. In other places still: the teeth of groups of gears had become so completely gnashed that they no longer moved with any relation to their surrounding others whatsoever, simply spinning solitarily whilst pinned in place, going faster & faster still until the inner circumferences about their axes inevitably began to soften and melt, a wobble’s ill-fated way thusly begun. After a time of which: they simply broke off from their fixing axes and floated away mutely, either disconnected for forever or else wrecking havoc by falling back down between still-functioning gears ever-susceptible to having such havoc wrecked. And when this happened, of course: the teeth of those unsuspecting gears below became gnashed in turn, resulting in their being that much closer to slipping and spinning faster & faster & then off & away & et cetera & et cetera— the cycle thereby continuing & being, suffice it to say: a rather vicious one indeed.

And it constituted a picture of the world presently, and unlike it’s ever been at any point prior. Recently read was a New York Times article about how ISIS— a terrorist organization with propaganda material made to Hollywood-level production values yet wherein actual murder takes place— has set about kidnapping women & little girls so as to use them as sex slaves. Moreover: specifically doing so in order to attract & recruit new fighters to their claimed-as-holy cause; the act of killing in God’s name assuring the ability to rape essentially whenever, also in God’s name. Today.

§

While the world didn’t make any promises, it did hold answers. Close to the chest, as they say and as it were. Inside of which was the heart / inside of which was a gilded treasure; it lay at the bottom of the ocean in the psychological sense as well as in the metaphorical sense— revealing, it seemed, an understood or effective equivalence between the two.

And Platy was down there. Now & again she had a need (or even responsibility) to leave her place in K-Roo’s pouch. [Pause. Let’s be clear here: ultimately it was very much up for debate as to whether she was kept in K-Roo’s pouch, or else that it was she who kept K-Roo around her— picture a sort of “exoskeleton of agency,” say: to more efficaciously maneuver throughout the wide & arid world at speeds & with a facility which she on her own could never, doing things that she alone never could? The possibility of this notion cannot be forgotten.] Beneath the surface was possibility, freedom: floating down within the depths she stared at the glint of the barely-cracked-open treasure chest below, man-of-wars hovering in de facto guard all around. There was danger, yes— but generally: isn’t danger that against which promises are so often made? [They did tend to go hand in hand: a promise is made when a less-desirable reality exists in the balance as a possible outcome— ergo by this only-semi-sound-yet-ever-enticing logic: whenever Platy saw danger, she often peeked around the corner for a tethered promise, as well.]

The glow— emanating from just the slightest sliver of a gilded surface area, yet with unmistakeable promise of far more light & worth within— seemed greater than that of the sun itself. She gave the chest one last look through the languid & viperous curtains of jellyfish tentacles in the deep sea’s darkness, then swam up to its surface and then back to its shore.
        The sun was setting in the world above as she thought back to the light just seen below. Silent, she wondered for a second Whose heart was this?, before quickly concluding with the more accurate wondering of Whose heart was this not? Being amphibious, the literal & the metaphoric were forever to exist exchangeably in her thinking; without doubt, this was much of why she was so rarely confused as regarded the more immediate matters around fighting through both her & K-Roo’s lives lived.