Monday, February 16, 2004

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square

For Valentine's Day this weekend we went to the Madame Walker Theater in Indianapolis and enjoyed great jazz music and an excellent soul food buffet. Really fun. But the weekend ended on a sour note with a migraine yesterday, which I'm still a bit woozy from today. It sort of curtailed some projects I wanted to get done yesterday, but I'll just have to put the hammer down more this week. Hopefully the return of my wayward computer from repair will help that along.

Here's more from my b-sized dark fantasy RING OF THE SORCERESS:

A dainty young MAIDEN is washing clothes in a stream.
Behind her, a pale hand parts the trees, and she is seen from this unknown assailant's POV.
The maiden continues her work, HUMMING a tune.
Scuffed, dirty boots trod the ground behind her, coming closer.
The maiden continues to work. Suddenly, a shadow falls on her. She turns to look, and her eyes widen. She SCREAMS.
Feature a gleaming sword, the sun flashing on its cold steel blade. It falls out of sight to the sound of a sickening CHOP.
A red eye glows from the darkness.
Shadow startles awake with a shout. He is lying under a tree in a deep wood. A fire has gone out in a humble fire ring before him. Now he is dressed a little better, in a tunic and breeches, and has a sword at the ready.
Shadow looks at his rusty blade, glowing in the early morning light.
Shadow runs his dirty fingers through his ratty hair and looks around. Slowly he gets up and trudges off through the wood. His movements are stiff, cold, labored, his expression pale and haunted.
Shadow makes his way through the wood, looking at everything and nothing. Soon he hears the CLANK and tramp of steel-toed boots. He runs to hide in the brush.
He sees a group of knights go by in the distance, their direction clear and purposeful, their demeanor serious.
Shadow runs in the other direction, and almost runs right into a FARMER with a long pitchfork. The man falls down to the earth, stunned.
Shadow holds his hands out in submission, but the farmer is near hysterical, and is poking at him with his pitchfork.
No! Stay away! Please, no!
Shadow tries dodging the pitchfork, but it sticks in his arm with a spurt of blood.
The scene is frozen for a long moment. Then Shadow, angered, pulls the pitchfork from the farmer's grasp and snaps it in two. He ROARS in pain and frustration.
The man scrambles to his feet and disappears into the brush.
Shadow looks sadly after him.

Give me a yell at

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