A Note from the Terminal

by H. M. Sturr Nibbleton

There was, for a time, a plan. I had a map (hand-drawn), a tiny suitcase (borrowed), and a very clear idea of what to pack (a soft sock, a single pistachio, and a half-written postcard I meant to send last spring).

But then the gate changed. And the schedule. And the species involved.

I am, technically, not licensed for air travel. But I’ve found that if you act as though you belong somewhere—tuck in your whiskers, stride with intent, and carry a folder of important-looking paper scraps—people rarely stop you.

And so I sit now in Terminal G, under a bench of molded plastic, sipping something fizzy from a bottle cap, and thinking back to where it all began:

The Oolooolio Years

I once lived in the same house as Mx. Oolooolio. They were... difficult to summarize. (A quality I deeply admire.) They spoke in spirals, left notes under furniture, and disappeared for long stretches to “attend to the metaphysical errands.” I wasn’t always sure if I was a roommate, a pet, or a witness. Possibly all three.

They gave me my first pencil. It was very small, or I was very determined.

It was Mx. O who first said the phrase:
“Oolooolio—for life.”

Archival Footage: Early Days of the Mission
Roommates. Disagreements about sock storage. And one very specific incident with a blender that neither will speak of again.

At the time, I thought they meant it as a motto. A mission. A tattoo on the soul. Later, I suspected it was a joke. Then a warning. Then, perhaps, a curse.

Now I know: it’s a lens.
You don’t follow it.
You live through it.

Going Forward

So here I am, at a beginning shaped like a layover. The world is large, and I am... not. But I’ve read maps upside down and found meaning. I’ve heard laughter in vents. I’ve come to believe that the crumbs on the floor are not just remnants—they are clues.

I will go where the bag rolls. I will ask strange questions in stranger places. I will file dispatches, submit receipts, and do my best to remain objective when describing puddles.

This is my first report.

More to follow.

Faithfully,
H. M. Sturr Nibbleton
Field Correspondent (Self-Appointed)
Terminal G, Near Gate 34, Underneath Bench