PROLOGUE It is high noon now, second watch on the tower, but there is still no sign of the sun as clouds continue to suffocate the sky. As usual, the dark weather has brought rain to these green lands, but that has, for the moment, ceased. Now only a slight breeze flows over the plain, softly rustling the leaves in the giant oaks which tower over me. The blades…
Hounds of the Storm Shadows…and darkness. Political freedoms revoked. The smell of death thickens the air. Bodies…burnt, mutilated, and tortured fill the streets. The lost souls strive, but never succeed. Only the bliss of their hopes keep them going. But what hopes? All dream lie shattered at the base of a mountain called Power. Where only the strong survive, and the weak are crushed under the heels of Hierarchy. Monitors…
Charles bursts into laughter, his face a bright red as I complete the joke about the rhinoceros and the privy. I lean back into my chair with a feeling of content – Charles still gasping for air – and enjoy the comfort of my surroundings. Ah the life of the wealthy: Leather and velvet upholstery, plentiful liqueur, and the ever faithful servants a mere clap away. Taking out a finely…
I feel that I must write down there thoughe in fear that if I so not, I will be forced to insanity trying to contemplate them. It was a night more awful than mine eyes had ever seen. The rain came down in torrents, and the fog was like some utterly gigantic creature, trying to consume all it could reach its gangling arms out to. It was on this…
‘ere am Ahy. Jest sittin’ et me tohypewrohyta, wrohyin’ a story. Ahy’m callin’ it… THE GNOME STORY Ahy’m sittin’ ‘ere, mahyndin’ me own business. In fact, Ahy’m quahyt comf’tabol in the Layzy Boy, the blaynket pulled up ta me chin. Ahy looks left, then rohyt, scannin’ the room. All clea’. Wayt. Oh, rohyt…all clea’. Ahy lay me ‘ead back. “Allo John.” Me eyes pop open. It’s stahndin’ the’. All fou’…
“ere am I. Just sittin’ et me typwrita, writin’ a story. I’m callin’ it… The GnOme StOry I’m just sittin’ ‘ere, mindin’ me own business. Not causin’ any trouble, inflictin’ unnecessary pain, or drinkin’ any Coke. In fact I’m quite comfortable in the lazy boy, the blanket pulled up to me chin. As I doze off, somethin’ in the back of me noggin tells me not to go…
The boy walks slowly along the dusty road, pushing the large dolly ahead of him. The small, hard wheels crunch along the gravel, spitting out dirt and chunks of rock behind them. The sun beats down, scorching the land, causing the boy to stop, pull out a scarf, and wipe his forehead. He pushes the cart forward to a wooden gate, its warped, cracked wood collecting dust and heat, and…