The glass jar, bereft of all its former antiquity,

The glass jar, bereft of all its former antiquity, decided the story was going nowhere fast. It had to think. Of something. And so it thought, and as it thought it moved. And as it
moved its shape and purpose became apparent. It was a bell jar, like those used with vacuum pumps, which had become intelligent through the process of its recycling. But where was
the mastermind behind this Frankenstein? I thought of the old recycling centre down town and smiled, it was old Parry. The bell jar smiled too. It was alive and wanted feeding.
The bell jar housed the soul of a decrepit Whit named
Jenny. Her soul had been stuck in the bell jar for twenty-seven years, ever since her untimely death at the age of eighty-three from arsenic poisoning.
Much like Eleanor Rigby, Jenny was trapped and longing to be free. One fateful day, a clumsy fellow named Claude came by & tripped on Jenny, broke the jar. Jenny's soul was free!
Jenny was very happy. She went out to her favourite thrift shop and bought new clothes, whilst donating old ones that no longer represented her. That included her red cloak, made
from the wool of alpacas. "I'm just not an alpaca person anymore," said Jenny as she tossed the red cloak into the donation bin. She bought a new cloak that was made with horsepelt
leather. This was more her style. She pulled it over herself, letting the warm cloak envelop her body.
But the cloak was too long so it wrapped around her ankles and cause her to trip and fell on to the floor.

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