Munmun(14)

“Would it relax your stresslevels to meet your lovematch for your whole life, and never have to worry about the question of who to love, ever again,” I would say.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,” they would say. “I literally can’t even begin to deal with this.”

Prayer wasn’t doing a whole lot better. Some of these law school men started recognizing her, making fun of her, playing mean games of Who Can Make Prayer Agree With The Stupidest Thing, which was not hard to do because her whole attitude was, agree with everything, compliment everyone, that’s how you make someone fall in love with you.

“Well what do you know, here’s Prayer again,” they would say, like her name was something made up. “Prayer, don’t you think the government gives too many munmuns to littlepoors.”

“Oh sure, I think so, yes,” she would say.

“Isn’t it sad how the government punishes middles and bigs for success by taxing some of their munmuns, the more success the more they get punished, how is that fair,” they would say.

“It’s so sad and unfair, and bytheway no one’s talking about it,” she would agree.

“Wouldn’t it be great if the government punished littlepoors instead, for example by jailing them every few months,” they would say.

“Hmmmm, well that’s an intresting proposal, and to be honest I might be too stupid to really understand it,” she would say.

“Because then littlepoors would finally have the motivation to work hard and improve themselves and scale their way up,” they would say.

“Wow, I have to agree with you there,” she would say. “What a smart idea.”

Obviously Prayer didn’t actually agree that yes, please randomly jail us littlepoors every few months. She wasn’t an idiot. Except maybe in the way of, she believed if she ever argued with a guy even once, it’s over, he hates her now forever and no longer thinks she’s cute. That way I did think she was a littlebit an idiot.

Also another thing you have to understand, we had to work and wait for hours to get one of these convos. Most of the time we spent figuring out how to get up to a place near a lawstudent’s head. And once we were there they could walk away at anytime.

I mean obviously when you’re littlepoor most of your time ingeneral is spent just getting from ay to bee, anxiously walking or jogging around the edges of stomping forests of legs and boots and you barely have time to do anything else.

Anyway the point is in Lifeanddeathworld our wooing was on average super pathetic. But in Dreamworld we did a little better.

It was Prayer’s idea to make romantic lovey dreamzones.

“Dreaming is the only thing you’re good at so we might as well use it,” she said.

“I don’t really know how to make a lovezone though,” I said.

“I guess study up at Prettyshop,” she said.

Everyday is Valenday at Prettyshop, says Prettyshop, a mallroom where middlepoor girls bring middlepoor boys to buy them flowers, jewels, trinkets, candies, candles, crowns, fake animals, basically it’s a cozy shitscape of roses and pinkpurple plastics and blaring lovesongs. I hung out there for two days, hiding in a basket of candybelly monkeys and peering around, until a shopper uncovered me and started screaming and a salesman broomed me all the way into the street.

That night I dreamed a Prettyworld. A rolling sunsetted garden of just a peenload of cherryblossoms and chrisandthemuns, rosebushes and daftdill vines, pinkpurple bees and birds buzzing sugary melodies like flying phones, paths of diamonds and golds twisting into little pillowhouses. Gianteyed cartooncats and bears dancing through the garden like Rushians and sprinkling you nonstop in twinkly glitter, bouncing chocolate rabbits begging you to eat them. Dusks of heartshape moons and fireworks exploding in candyshowers, dressing you in candyskin that you now must lick off each other in an uncontrolled passion.

“It’s a little over the top, but, goodjob,” said Prayer, hiding in the Prettyworld bushes and waiting for lawstudents.

But mostly we got tooyoung dreamers, tweens and teens like us coming in and wandering through and giggling at it, mostly girls, a few boys too. Not just middlepoor kids, plenty middlerich youngsters were floating down from High Dreamough, following the sugarsmell and flowerlight. I even saw that psycho girl Willow stroll in, rolling her eyes like how terrible is this crappy place, but also running her hands through the flowers and watching the colors change.

I didn’t talk to her. But a few other girls I thought were intresting, I approached.

“Hey,” I would say to a girl. “Can you keep a secret, if so here’s the secret, I’m the one dreaming all this.”

“Yeah right,” she would say, rolling her eyes.

“Watch, I’ll turn it blue,” I would say, and dreamed blue, and everything went cool and blue, and the girl would gasp or giggle like a maniac.

But there were only two ways those convos could end. One, she asks what school do I go to, and something about Dreamworld makes it hurt to lie, so I just say, look, no school, because I’m littlepoor, and she’s like, oh, wow, well, okay, and trying to hide that she wants the conversation to end so I just say, bye, I’m not going to give you a disease bytheway, but whatever.

Way Two of the convo ending is when a girl is not horrified that I’m littlepoor, instead she’s kind of impressed, but kind of like you’re impressed by a dogwaiter walking on two hindlegs in a suit with a plate balanced on his face, and so I start to hate that girl that thinks of me as a dog. So maybe we keep talking or even mash faces touchlessly in a dreamkiss, but prettysoon I say, well, that was nice, but bye, and she says, wow you’re a badboy, stalking away down the road and breaking my heart, this is the best.