The boat lets go of the shore and the sea picks it so gently. The boy, shell all a shudder, rocks slowly on the wooden deck his claws scratching the fibres of each board beneath him as the old man whistles and begins to chew a root.
Again words like pictures flow from the mans mouth, symbols unknown yet simple usher the boy towards him and the prow of the boat. They ride the wind between them, words drift, light bounces off every surface white and gold fills their eyes.
Then the sea rises, at every corner, like a giant crystal bubble, wrapping itself around them. the boat floats like a mote in a drop of rain, tiny and delicate within the seas thick skin.
The mans hand rises, it glints like stone or steel? He pushes the boy into the briney sea.
He falls heavy as time, white waves above his armoured brow, falling down, falling deep.
Despair is it despair that he feels. Betrayal or is that anger that sparks in the damp. Disbelief encroaches as water smothers the light from him, despair yes it is despair falls open heavy like a gun. The boy dreams of the bottom never kicking for air, and sinks deeper in the salt.
Time passes, the abyss is deep and greedy, and the metal that did bind him dissolves to fine, fine dust and again to mercurial droplets. Heart beats, the flesh fears and the boy kicks out, desperate for life. A strong hand reaches fathoms to pluck him swiftly from the deepening and a breath as clear as gold fills his lungs to their brim. He grips rope and hears the sails alive, sunlight whites his eyes at first but he feels the boat turn about towards the shore.
The old mans speaks and without the metal shields between them pictures form, a language old and relative grows filling the empty streets of the boys mind with busy, bussling avenues, rich and boisterous with meaning.The boy sits and listens as the land slowly comes to greet them.
The boat has heard it all before and takes there burden apon its back effortlessly with grace it slides its prow into the warm sandy shore and rocks its cargo out of there union.

The apes have been busy.
Very very busy.
Where once trees stood, now a town is hung. Yes hung, an Eschers world of perspectives and angles cubic hanging from a great wooden gallows. Streets, shops, homes and roads all winding into out of and beneath eachother a metropolis in miniatue. The old man turns his head to sea but the boy leaps from the boat and is drawn into the gravity of the busy town

Business is all around him, lights call, sirens blink, apegirls flirt their wares to his newborn lust.
The boy becomes bewildered and anxious but the apes know how to make anyone forget such pointless distractions. His tongue is stretched, drawn from his mouth and a tiny town is grown apon his taste buds. Each growth triggering a hit of pleasure, he watches lost in tastes, bewitched as the habits build all over his body at first trying to please but slowly drawing from him sustenance and joy. Yet the trick is slow, slow and soft with every frown comes a consolitary smile, every doubt comes an instant gratifying image but nothings lasting is given. Yet surely more is taken.
He sleeps. A dream of water and metal takes him despair was that despair he remembered? The town sends porno flicks and taste bud dreams to pacify its host yet this one is deeper than the apes who came before and all its inventions fail to stop the dream.