They weren’t real spoons, they were damaged mechanical parts that had been torn from the guts of some ill-fated ship. But they looked like spoons. Really big spoons. There is something that happens inside the ponderous mind of a spoonwalker when they encounter something they think is a spoon, and everyone likes a big one, even if they can’t handle it.

Of course, the bigger the spoon is, the heavier it is, and the harder it is to lift, and even if you can get it upright actually walking with a big heavy spoon takes an insane amount of effort.

But they were such very big spoons.

And so it was that the little spoonwalker puffed and panted, swore and sweated and struggled… for an absolutely unreasonable amount of time. No doubt it was all the straining that resulted in the little spikes pushing up out of his head. Normally sponwalkers aren’t spikey. Normally their eyes do not gleam with an infernal light. 

But these were very big spoons, and very big spoons can have implications, and consequences.

Fate rewards the bold and all that kind of positivity cliche. Our little spoonwalker grew in might and muscle. He rose, on that which looked like spoons, but was not really spoons, and he strode out into the world, towering over other spoonwalkers, over chickens and very modestly sized plants. Other spoonwalkers quailed before him, and the chickens hesitated to try and eat him, and the modestly sized plants trembled at his passing.

Perhaps it was the scale of the effort that drove him mad, or the intoxication of walking on such very large spoons. Perhaps he was inspired   – as so many human residents are – to try and escape from this island. Whatever the reasons, Spoonzilla strode out into the sea, the water boiling around him as he went. He disappeared under the waves as the water churned and steamed.

Those amongst us who believe in sequels are pretty sure that won’t be the end of the matter.