The Book was opened in the middle because it had no beginning and no end.

Nevertheless, the story must be told—on both sides to be fair.

Here is the incredible tale of a great battle involving the Sticks, who live in Left World, and the Squiggles, who live in Wright World. Initially, it was written “Right world,” but someone added a “W” in front because it seemed a tad arrogant to be right all the time.

Both races existed contentedly without the knowledge of the other, until that became no longer the case.

Both the Sticks and the Squiggles love smaller beings whom they call Fluffies. It is how the Fluffies became the purveyors of change and unifiers across the great divide of differences and prejudices that will be written in the annals of history.

The Sticks’ Fluffies are the antithesis of themselves—round and fat, but fluid in movement, furry and unpredictable, colorful in oranges, chocolates and blue hues, with a few white and black. These squidgy beings like to laze around and often lie across roads, footpaths, and home entranceways. In Left World, they have the right of way.

While black and white Fluffies dominate the Squiggles’ world, they also have tortoiseshell, calico and tabbies—all of which are cunning and intelligent, actively hunting at night and slinking about surreptitiously as they navigate the tangled maze of Squiggledom.

Claudia, a gaunt Stick, who is bossy and a stickler for rules, had organized the basement poker night at her house this evening. When the other three couples arrived at 7:00 p.m. sharp, they took their assigned seats around the rectangular table. Claudia had arranged, per correct protocol, cake and sodas. The game began at 7:15, to be precise.

To Claudia’s horror, Karl, the window cleaner, started in with a story, his eyes darting everywhere, afraid of the many listening ears the establishment had across the realm. “The other day, I had me ladder up, ready to lean against Walter’s house when the wind spun it around and it fell against The Wall.”

Everyone dropped their cards and gasped. Their eyes fixed on Karl as they hunched their shoulders and leaned in. Claudia compressed her lips and frowned, annoyed at the male Stick. “That’s enough, we know the law.” Her nostrils flared.

“Oh, be quiet, Claudia,” said Mariam. “I want to hear Karl’s story.”

What made everyone rebellious to the laws that night, who knows? The Sticks had never broken the pact of “don’t ask, never show curiosity or initiative.” They followed the rules and lived happily ever after…or did they?

“Well, I couldn’t help me self. Up I went, and before I knew it, I was at the top and could see the OTHER SIDE.” Karl continued.

“No way!” yelled Otto, to a thousand shushes.

“I saw the Great Crease. It ran from top to bottom, with us positioned in the midline, and across the way, another wall. Over that, I glimpsed a strange, colorful being quite different from us. It was shapely, and it was riding a flying contraption up near his wall.” Otto did not mention his friendly response.

“What, you saw other beings?” Claudia cried. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she blushed.

The evening’s entertainment promptly ended. Each left for their homes, shaken.

While the females reclined in the smoking room with their sherry, the male Squiggles prepped and began cooking the dinner. Roberto had everyone laughing as he recounted his morning at his nephew’s birthday party. But all of a sudden, he dropped his voice, looked over his shoulder and told Joey to shut the kitchen door. “I want to tell you what I learned today,” he said, smiling at the attention he was now receiving. Finally, he was in the position of being one-up on his fellow Squiggle. 

As all eyes were attending, he licked his lips and cleared his throat in anticipation of the shocker he would tell. “After my nephew’s party, I helped clean up, and on a whim, I attached several balloons to my laundry basket. Before I knew it, a gust of wind caught it, and I jumped in to weigh it down, but instead I rose nine feet into the air.” He looked around at his friends’ stunned faces and continued, “The view was amazing. I saw over The Wall, and—”

“No, you didn’t, how could you?” broke in Marco.

“I was standing on our mound, which you should know, gave me a foot extra in height. Anyway, over the top of our wall, I saw the Great Crease, which our history books do mention, and across the way, I saw another wall in strange yellow blocks, all neat and arranged in a pattern. Quite orderly, I must say. Then, to my utter astonishment,” he said with a dramatic pause, and waved his big beefy hands around. Noting the gaping mouths and hungry eyes on him, he dropped his word bomb, “I glimpsed a stick-like creature on the top of his wall, who waved at me.”

“No way!” they all cried as one. The furore was so loud that it was heard by the female squiggles, who promptly yelled if dinner was ready.

The discussion ended as each turned to their pasta sauce and noodles, setting the table and pouring Chianti. No one spoke, and they chose not to think about this information.

A week later, both sides of the chasm were rocked by a tremor. It was no ordinary earthquake and caused quite a stir amongst the Sticks and the Squiggles. It was their first experience of ground movement, and they had no idea what to expect. 

A horrific noise followed, and they stared unbelievingly as their walls collapsed outward and into the Giant Crease, which proved not to be bottomless after all—merely a few meters deep. When the dust cleared, they saw not only a giant litter box—the once-great Crease now filled with fine gravel, sand, and soil—but also each other.

Yells and swoons, cries and distress filled the air, and then silence prevailed as they stared and stared.

Within minutes of the dust settling, the Fluffies ran out from both sides and jumped into the giant litter box, meeting and greeting and getting on with business. 

Sticks, galvanized by the sight of their loved ones escaping, swapping sides, being picked up by the others, and not receiving their pet back, became greatly perturbed, angry and disorderly. They broke ranks, their straight line disintegrated, and confusion ensued.

Squiggles dropped their arms and gesticulating, and became immobilised by sheer fright, unable even to call their furry friend. Smiles disappeared, and the color drained from their faces. In an instant, their world had turned grey and somber.

No one knew whose Fluffy was whose, so much so that gruff words rang out, “Oi, give us back our fluffy,” and, “You can’t have her!”

Karl from the Left stepped forward and faced Roberto from the Wright.

“Will we be at war then?” Roberto asked.

Karl turned around and saw his town of Sticks in shambles, and to his horror, they had picked up pitchforks, spears, and javelins. He gasped. He glanced at the Squiggle in front of him and yearned to learn more about this OTHER, what was life like on their side of the page?

Roberto noted his town of Squiggles had become a matted array of dots and dashes as they wound themselves up tightly, ready for a fight. He sighed with regret. He liked the Stick that stood before him—an ordinary bloke who was friendly. 

But before a fight broke out, the litter box rumbled, shook and erupted, sending dust and Fluffies flying and meowing. Gravel rained down on every creature, and the cacophony of noise was frightening and overwhelming. “Take cover!” was drowned out by a hideous growl from an ancient worm that emerged angry and hungry.

“What’s happening?” Karl asked Roberto, who bent down to help Karl up after the concussive wave of the eruption knocked him to the ground.

Roberto stared at the creature, which resembled an old, leathery turmeric root, bald but for a few hairs sprouting along its length. He gazed around him and saw his celeb friends in a heated argument over which vegetables should not be put in a soup. Such trivia, he thought.

Karl also sought anyone he recognized under their mud covering, but noted several Sticks standing rigid as they pounded their hands, listing the rules and regulations at each other. He shook his head in wonder at the absurdity of it all.

Roberto yelled at the top of his voice, “It’s killing our Fluffies!” He reached for Karl's shoulder and asked him, “Are we on the same page?”

“Aye, let’s get our babies back.”

They ran, and at a rallying cry from both Karl and Roberto, the folk from the Left and those from the Wright attacked the worm in the Greatest Battle of all time. Well, actually it was their first, but a glorious one for the survival of the Fluffies. The Sticks attacked the left side, and the Squiggles attacked the right side.

The worm had no chance as it split in two with a cry of anguish.

Everyone grabbed whatever Fluffy was trapped or stuck in and pulled it out to resounding cheers and hoorahs. Claps and whoops rang out, shoulder slaps and handshakes followed. Males wept openly, and females fist-bumped. Both sides mingled and got mixed up in cheers.

Afterwards, they stood in a large circle, and not a dot or tittle mattered. They had won the battle—their beloved Fluffies rescued. Spontaneous speeches broke out from the Sticks, unplanned, to their amazement, and they then gave out invitations to visit their homes. Squiggles offered the Sticks their prized cat sculptures, which adorned their streets. They all smiled at each other, and Roberto and Karl hugged.

Later, cups of tea and bickies were handed out at the newly established clubs for Fluffy lovers, which welcomed everyone from across the now-gone divide. Art classes began for Sticks, who had discovered their inner creativity, and Stick males built male sheds to showcase their tool sets, and to learn from the Squiggles how to cook noodles and pasta.

The Great Litter Box, its official name, was fixed up and groomed.

And the Fluffies had babies.