A Jitterstory

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a place called Jitterland, there journeyed a young girl with changing hair and sparkling blue eyes. She discovered the Jitterways and learned the Jitterwalk and the Jittertalk. She loved Jitterland. As with any land there were times of peace and times of... not so much peace.

But more than the Jitterwalk and talk were the Jitterbuggers. They represented all that was good in Jitterland and made the girl feel welcome and safe. The girl spent many days with them laughing, swapping Jitterstories and communicating telepathically with the Jitterelders who called frequently to check up on the Jitterbuggers to acertain their Jitterworthiness. Without Jitterworthiness, a Jitterbugger could not pass from existence into the cubiclevoid where the Jitterelders dwell which was the ultimate form of life; it was a place every Jitterbugger wished to arrive one day. At times there were harsh words spoken from the Jitterelders but all in the name of Jitterbetterment, to be sure.

This telepathic communication tested the Jitterbuggers and placed them through simulations to weed out the weak from the strong. There were numerical tests, comprehension tests, navigation tests, and most difficult of all - Jitterlanguage tests. The Jitterlanguage twisted and turned and at times tested the Jitterbuggers to the edge of their mental copacity. Certian dialects slurred words together making them near impossible to differenciate. It was quite the undertaking for the girl when she began her lessons. She thought she would never be able to understand some of the Jitterelders. As she struggled and practiced and tuned her ears in, she found that she understood more and more each day. Soon she even began to speak the very basic forms of Jitterlanguage.

The more she understood the more she wanted to understand and yet something just didn't seem right. She kept up with her lessons and tried not to think about the feeling in her gut that something was about to change. She walked around Jitterland running into all the Jitterbuggers she'd grown to love during her time in Jitterland but something just didn't fit. She was happy wasn't she? Then why did she still have that feeling in her gut.

One day the Jitterbuggers surprised the girl by putting her photograph up in town square and giving her a balloon car to drive. She was so happy she had stumbled into this land and for all that she had learned and seen there.

One morning the girl woke up and saw in her mind's eye that she was standing at a crossroads. The choice was hers: she could keep on her current course - remaining in Jitterland - or to take road to the left - a road that led away from Jitterland into a distance unforseen future.

She knew what she must do.

Leave Jitterland? But why? For what? What was there out there in the great Beyond? Would there be something better than Jitterland? Her photograph was in town square, she had just started mastering Jitterlanguage... and yet... she knew. There was something more out there for her. Jitterland had given her many wonderful things she could use to ward off the faces of evil while she was away. And the Jitterbuggers...they would be alright. Even as the girl was making preparations for her departure there was talk of change. Maybe they would even change the name of their land - CallGreatLand was creeping in more and more.

The girl wondered if she should tell anyone of her departure. There were many Jitterbuggers she had not seen for many phases of the moon and even more she had only known for a few days; she wondered if they would want to know of her quest.

A Jitterblurb she decided to leave. Those who wished to read it could and those who wished she'd have left sooner were free to rejoice. It is recorded here for any to read who may desire to do so:

A Jitterblurb

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Just because I'm leaving
Doesn't mean I don't love you.

One Art
Elizabeth Bishop
The are of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of loosing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next to last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.



The girl wrote her blurb and left it on the table near town square the night before her expected migration. She crossed her fingers as she drifted off to sleep. She hoped the best for her friends, the Jitterbuggers, and couldn't help but hope the best for the left-bound road ahead.