Monday, September 2, 2013

rising up from the sawdust strewn floor

..he spoke at last, not that it was himself who spoke, but the hollow semblance of an apparition more ghastly than any ghost and what he said was long and fearsome, and dark, and dread, and grey at once, cold, brittle, yet so full of passion that it broke into the vast and insular contemplation of Graceful whose gaze had not once lifted from her absorbed involved introspective world whirling about at the edge of her glass:
"I had been conceived, held, and delivered in a cloak of darkness black as pitch, had known nothing of the light for so long it seemed had a match been lit it would've blinded me forthwith, knew nothing of the trifles and pleasures that bemuse the race of men, and now, now..."
Graceful moved with ever so slight a motion as to have escaped any notice whatever, yet so rare was any movement on her part that the stockmen were as startled as if her own head had fallen with that of their comrade on the floor below. She bent her ear downward to hear what might follow...
to be continued...

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