Geraldine The Gingelo - SHORT STORY

Flip flop went the banderleen as Geraldine the gingelo slept soundly over the pillars of Rome. Well, not the real Rome. It was a forge of trickery to keep the gods entertained. That’s what they called themselves but they were merely partially tax men, sitting in their booths, smoking cigars and drinking ales while talking pompously about politics.

You’re probably wondering what on earth a banderleen is.

Well, it’s a smallish dark grey clockwork creature that belongs to every gingelo.

And a gingelo? Well, they’re unfortunately the peasanthood of this place they call Rome. But it isn’t actually Rome. As aformentioned, it was a forge of trickery to keep the false gods happy.

These false gods don’t have a lot to do, you’re probably wondering.

Well, you’re right.

The taxes in the not-Rome were abolished eons ago to make everything more fair, but as a result, society around them collapsed into ruins like a sand castle withering amongst water.

And as a result, the tax men had nothing to do and were so used to be shunned down on. So they got together one afternoon and decided that they should be allowed to be beings composed of pure mental energy and light, but it didn’t really work when one butchered the other and they became gaseous “genie-in-a-lamp” reminiscent figures.

It however kept Geraldine the gingelo happy as she didn’t like their scheme much.

Geraldine was a plaything of the false gods, as were all gingelos, and thus they kept their banderleens secret.

Banderleens were everything to the gingelo, as if they had to carry their vital bodily organs around in a shopping bag. They not only kept the gingelo in motion, but they kept them stable emotionally and mentally. Without the ethereal powers of the banderleen which Geraldine kept in her pocket, she would be a blank canvas, ready to be manipulated.

The false gods are lead to believe that Geraldine’s banderleen was destroyed long ago, and that she was already their slave, but unbeknownst to them, she still had her sanity.

Flip flop, flip flop, flip flop, went the banderleen as it rocked back and forth, keeping Geraldine’s sleep uninterrupted and peaceful. The false gods laughed as they played with the Roman soldier figurines on the floor, wreaking havoc and knocking over buildings. The not-Rome was merely childrens’ toys and nothing more.

Geraldine was an interesting case.

She made all sorts of stories of false gods, gingelos and banderleens. She swore to her mother that her broken watch was now alive and becoming a creature of its own nature.

Mother didn’t batter an eyelid and wondered what a wonderful imagination her daughter had. What low self-esteem she had, a young and bright ginger headed girl like her should be full of life and zest. But the zest only made stories for her own muse.

The mutterings of words like tax men and blasphemy must have gotten to her daughter’s head, while their real life was very much falling apart like that sand castle in water that destroyed the not-Rome.

Geraldine awoke and checked underneath her bed for the false gods and then her wardrobe. Nothing was there.

It was time for the real world.