The Velvet Pickle arrives . . .

I knew nothing of myself for quite a while. When I first woke I found myself in a cold, dark alley with a book in my hands. As I opened the tome, I realized that I could understand the words. Then, I realized if I could read, I could speak. I started reading, but only to have the book taken from my hands by a woman who, oddly, seemed to love reading as much as weightlifting. A pair of miniscule reading glasses perched from the peak of her nose, and her biceps were of elephantine proportions.

She yelled at me, “Get out of this alley! Stop trying to steal my books! I’ll yank you apart till you're nothing but dust!” All of a sudden a bell rang, drawing both of our attention to a door at the end of the ally labeled, STELLA’S BOOKS. At that, she punched my ear, tore a jingling pouch off my belt and started walking towards the door grumbling, “You’re lucky I have customers waiting on me.”

Panicking, because I didn’t know who or where I was, I decided Stella might contain some information worth asking for. To start with, my name. My voice was low and shadowy, “Who am I?”

She turned, pointed to my pouch of coins, and somehow shouted while mumbling, “Shut up and go before I pelt you with nickels!”

Through my hands that covered them, my ears had heard the mumble, “Shut up and go Velvet Pickle!” Not knowing “velvet” and “pickle” were words, I thanked her for telling me my name, then wandered off. A series of twists and turns led me to the dock, where I stole a rowboat and pushed off to sea.

After three days of living off a piece of bread that I found in my pocket, I drifted to land. After obtaining much knowledge from random persons and the library, I realized my real last name was Nyx. I also found my first name, but would rather not disclose it. Although I have this information I still am called The Velvet Pickle.

Soon I found a genealogy clinic, and dragged my starved belly over its threshold. There I discovered I had a cousin by the name of Twyla Lee Nyx, and so the next night I strode to her home.

Soon . . . .