The WestFest Tale of The Spirit of Independence
WestFest's serialisation of an independent spirit - chapter by chapter until the festival, written by Rowena Forbes and illustrated by Jody Clark...
CHAPTER ONE - THE WRONG PEG
Sia heaved another crate of metal pegs onto her ergonomic desk with a sigh. The strains of Better the Devil You Know were echoing around the office for the fifth time that afternoon, or perhaps it was the sixth – she was losing count.
In an attempt to stave off the incessant Kylie, Sia hummed a little tune that had recently seeped into her subconscious. She didn’t know the words, but the rhythm tugged insistently at the corners of her mind: Di-dee di-di-di-di dee dee, dee di-di-di dee.
She pulled a shallow metal box towards her, fitted it with a metal lid studded with small square holes, and sighed again.
How exactly had she ended up here?
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Growing up in the Suburbs of Ambition, Sia had always eyed the twinkling spires of the nearby City with a mixture of awe and desire. On her thirteenth birthday, her parents had presented her with a Map to Successful Adulthood, upon which sparkled a glitter-strewn route to the City.
From that day forth, Sia followed the Map’s directions religiously, studying hard to pass all her exams, until finally she graduated and received an Honorary Visa, which allowed her to move to the City.
Gleefully, she packed her Imagination, her Creativity, a spanking-new Manual of Corporate Ambition (a leaving present) and her best pair of Killer Heels; she said a fond farewell to her parents and childhood friends, and marched off to meet her future.
As she reached the City’s heavy iron gates, an imposing figure stepped forward. Easily nine feet tall, he was clad from head to toe in metal armour that at first glance appeared to be a steel mesh, but on closer inspection proved to consist of thousands of paper clips, all hooked together. Sia held out her Visa with quaking fingers.
“Hello,” boomed the figure. His deep voice echoed within his cavernous helmet, which Sia saw was made from staples. “I’m the Guardian of Conformity. Hand me your bag.”
Sia passed it over and watched as the Guardian rifled through her belongings. Carefully, he removed her Imagination and Creativity, re-zipped the bag and handed it back to her.
“You won’t be needing those,” he said...
The tale continues on the WestFest website here: www.westfest.org.uk/sia_1.html