Annabelle taught the children of comfort at Zos Kia Kinderkultus, and in the quieter moments of our naptime trysts I slipped a silken screen down the throat of each of of her students with fentanyl clouds pouring out of my sleeves every Friday as I collected the treasures they swallowed and I harvested while Annabelle went over her lesson plans and straightened her dress, and for the edification of the unenlightened I present a tally of the toddler's gastric treasures: the head of a Masonic lapel pin covered in the microcalligraphic footprints of single-cell angels, two marbles (one steelie, one aggie), a cat's cradled tapeworm, the larger half of a pixie's clavicle, multiple shrunken mantis heads (as the proof of insect cults) and an astonishing number of impregnated embryos nested like Russian dolls all the way down. I suspect subconscious whispers in the sleepy heads of drowsing students may lead them to swallow things of greater value in both the greater and lesser markets, so that Annabelle and I have taken to tangos across the floor-mats and bowed to call down for rings and pearls and keys but the experiment is still ongoing, and so I will continue reports after recess.

Annabelle asked if I would do the light-bearing trick for the children, convinced that after capturing certain sequences in the back of the eye a road would be paved for the delivery of education, and I am supposedly a practitioner of the edumacational arts, so I told her I would be delighted, just as soon as I changed into my Wisdom Suit. I always felt putting on the weight of my prior scholars presented a suitable gravitas, this skin of velvet and parchment and the dry rattle of glands stitched around the mouthhole, where the students suckled and whispered and listened for a sign. From the surveillance cameras I appeared more of a tent, a crawling polyp in cerulean velour with metal spigots and eyepieces by which the children could see within the Wisdom Suit to the hiding place where I performed the...well, Annabelle would call it a trick. I am not certain. If a trick is a promise of this and a giving of that then what isn't a trick? And if I can be said to be a scholar than I have taught these hollowheaded scarecrow kids that what you see is not what you get, and what you see is not what you see, and what you get is not what you get, and there is no you to see and no you to get and no potential of seeing or getting or no thought through which such concepts can be wound around, so it would be disingenuous at best to to call the light-bearing a trick. I shook the left hand and the children who belonged to the left hand shook in sympathy, a bone-shiver at thirty-one hertz, and I shook the right hand and the children who belonged to the right hand sought out the tremor, the teeth-chattering cicada murmur at thirty-two hertz, and Annabelle blew through straws to flicker the lanterns, the shadows crossing the horizons within the Wisdom Suit, and this then is where the shimmer gets in, for it was only moments before each child was struck sick with a calling, a binding of each child to each celestial intelligence which was then haloed around the overgrown fontanel, a tether to heaven, and now each child had a frequency, and a location, and a call. I removed the Wisdom Suit and retired with Annabelle to the Teacher's Lounge, for the tiny students no longer needed us to watch them as they slept on their tiny bath towels, and our primitive attempts to fool the children into giving up gastric treasures were corrected: now bound, the children would happily offer up these components as a cat leaves the lesser half of a bird on a doorstep.

the exit is hidden within the exit