I had hiked through the old woods all day and was tired. As I closed my eyes a little arm slipped around me; “Good night, Daddy,” my son said to me — then I realized I had come hiking alone.
Though no rain fell outside the castle walls, thunder cracked and rumbled across the heavens; and through the haze of his drunkenness the little prince spied a forest, dark and heavy, the wind touching his skin for the first time; and he followed the path thru the woods to a village where laughter and the clinking of glasses drew him to a small tavern. Screams filled the air as patrons ran in fright; and in a dark corner of the room the prince saw the hulking and deformed shape lying in wait in the shadows—it bore the face of the creature that stalked the hills, that froze men in their skin and turned hair white—which was staring back at the prince with wild, seething eyes—grinning with malevolence it was the face of evil… the face of wickedness… the face in the mirror… the prince’s own reflection.
The first time I watched you read this two sentence story, with your eyes focused and your lips pursed in concentration, anticipating the twist at the end… I restrained myself, because I knew you were the one for me; and I chose not to approach you when you were struggling thru the middle of this story, wanting desperately for the ending to be fantastic: and I saw the makings of a gratified look spread across your face when you continued on to the end of the story to discover that you and I come together, finally… and that the love we have has always been, as I have idolizing from afar—your brilliance, the way you write, and that face you make when you’re scared. I have stood and waited many nights just to catch a glimpse of you… but, again, I did not approach… each time thinking how lovely it would be to caress your shoulder… to touch your hair… to kiss lightly your neck… if only once.
Stealthily, the phantom moves thru the streets of Whitechapel, coveting that which he sees. And that which he sees… is plentiful.
With sweat starting to form on my forehead on this hot and humid evening, my concentration on this passionate embrace was broken when my spouse squealed in delight: “Oh Dean!” Who is Dean?
Absent minded as he was, Nigel asked his wife to pack his parachute after she was done loading his backpack with sandwiches, to which she replied, “I’ve only got two hands—I’ll get to it later.” So when at 3500 feet Nigel pulled his cord and out flew six ham and cheese sandwiches and a couple of juice boxes, he was a bit surprised, and a lot dismayed at the sight of his lunch soaring away from him, and the ground rushing toward him; but he showed almost no surprise when his wife dropped from above, snagged him by the arm, and attached him to her harness, all the while saying, “Dreadfully sorry, hon… forgot all about it… forgive me…” and pulling her cord with her free hand.
A minute twitch of her index got rid of all her melancholy. She didn’t have to face the world again.
“You’ve been a boy long enough; it’s time to grow up and face the world like a man,” the voice said sternly in my ear. There was a pause before he added: “Dad, are you listening?”
The mist rose lazily in the cool morning air. It coughed and turned towards the highway.
Moonlight cut sharply through the darkness. The axe cut cleanly through his flesh.
You said you saw what he did to her but you kept quiet, through fear, in case he came for you too. He’s gone now though isn’t he, his innocence proven, so we all know now, don’t we, that it was you, and we’re speaking up.
Who Among You…
Many years ago, God stood before the angels—“Who among you will be this man?” he asked, his voice echoing through the heavens… but no angel spoke forth; all were silent as he said, “Will no one be this man’s soul that many on earth may know love and peace and fire and passion?—but the angels remained silent, not a breath was heard, and God said, “I have given you free will that I may never remove it from you and yet not one among you will fulfill this man’s destiny… become the fire within him?”—and as God looked out over the crowd of angels, all glimmering and golden in His light, a voice cried out from far and deep into the multitude saying, “Sorry, father… but I will go to Earth and be this man’s spirit; surely I will”; and God said, “Why did you hesitate, my son, to speak amid the others?”—and the angel, whose name is unknown, replied, “Well, Father, as you have spoken in the beginning, so too did Ye speak the speed of sound… and even Your voice can travel only so fast”; and then the angel, who was small in stature but just as brilliant as the others, approached God and knelt before him, saying, “My Father”; to which God replied, “My son,” and then one final time asked him the question, “Are you certain?…”
In a small Austrian town near the German boarder a child is born who possesses great fire and passion in his soul… who was born on the date 20 April 1889… And the man’s name is…
But you already know.
As the heavy footsteps drew nearer to the closet, she struggled to keep her heavy breathing from giving her away. Then a low, gravelly voice behind her whispered, “Found you.”
The guard opened the door to the prison cell and saw that the man had cleaned his plate, save for a slice of pecan pie, set to the side on a napkin. “Sure you don’t want to finish that before we go?” he asked; “Nah,” the man replied, grinning, “I’m saving it for later.”
Judging by everyone’s enthusiastic response my presentation seemed to be well-received. Then i realised my fly was unzipped.