Chapter Thirteen ~ The Big House
…reality erupts within the spectacle, and the spectacle is real.
(The Society of the Spectacle, Guy Debord)
We knew that the lovely world of dark woody dark and Hearties couldn’t last forever. ‘Hearties’ were what Ben called the huge anthills of pine needles that dotted the forest floor; “like the fat man from ‘Laurel and Hearty’”. It ended at a low wall on the edge of a field, in a corner of which lay a dead sheep, inflated and stiff.
The forest had been damp and soft, but real. The field was different; here there wasn’t much of anything to rely on. It hardly had a surface and underneath was almost certainly not there at all. Not even lost gloves or inside out statues like under Wally Eager’s city. The countryside was less there than town.
Ben was the
