The Arrival of Zorp

The air, which had been vibrating with the frantic, off-key chirping of crickets and the distant rumble of a lawnmower, suddenly grew taut. It wasn’t a sound, not exactly, but a feeling, like the air itself was holding its breath. Barry, who had been meticulously cataloging the structural integrity of a particularly robust rhododendron with a borrowed laser pointer, felt it first. A prickle on the back of his neck, the kind that usually preceded a sternly worded memo about office supply requisition. Gay, meanwhile, was mid-pirouette, his iridescent cloak a blur of emerald and amethyst as he attempted to explain the existential angst of a particularly beige garden gnome through a series of increasingly frantic light pulses.

“And *that*,” Gay declared, his voice a melodious chime that somehow translated into Barry’s mind as a vaguely smug pronouncement, “is why the gnome is *feeling* the ennui. See the subtle shift to a sort of… muddied ochre? It’s *heartbreaking*.”

Barry blinked. The gnome, still stubbornly ceramic and painted a shade of brown that could only be described as ‘sad dirt,’ remained unmoved. “Right,” Barry said, his voice a little strained. “Heartbreaking. Though, to be honest, Gay, I was more concerned about the –”