"Ask a Dog"
| Thursday, October 05, 2006 |
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I, a dog, blogspot
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A story of mine has been published at this worthy site by my good friend and longtime romance fan, Neil Shay.
By the way Neil I hope you noticed that Sally's story is complete. Like T. S. Eliot's world, it ended 'not with a bang but a whimper.' The text, incidentally, that the male wanted to have put on his wedding invitations. |
posted by Zack @ 10/05/2006 08:34:00 PM   |
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| Tuesday, October 03, 2006 |
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Epilogue
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In Which We Get a Restraining Order on the Plot, Which Appears as the Ghost of Its Former Self-
In view of the greater crime that was committed during the trial- that of killing and eating a fellow fruit- the minister concluded that Nobilette was the innocent puppet of a gang that had always been out to get the banana, and her sentence was commuted to breakfast in bed. There were many protests, but the minister could not hear them. He had a wad of chewing gum in his ear.
This was a great blow to the Seminarian. He had been willing to sacrifice Nobilette: but she lived on, at the expense of truth. And whenever he looked at her, sideways, he was struck with pain – for the Sambhur, and the crocodile. For the Great, Grey Green, Greasy Limpopo River. For Tinkerbell, and Wendy. For a pond in a wood he could never go to. And this made him want to use his hatchet badly. So he tried very hard not to look at her.
When she got out of bed, Nobilette found Rip waiting for her—running his hardened hand through his dark, waving hair beside the fallen tavern. His horse stood breathing out smoke and slaughter, waiting impatiently for Rip’s every move. He did not have to wait long, relatively speaking. For after unleashing the full effect of himself with hand in hair, Rip slowly unleashed the effect of himself lowering hand to side, and took a measured step forward. In doing so, he bumped into Nobilette, whose face was shimmering in the morning mist.
“Excuse me,” he intoned. “I didn’t know it was you: I thought it was the bug light.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Nobilette’s voice was lighthearted, but she could not conceal her underlying heaviness.
“Only when they are in my way,” Rip answered darkly.
“Oh.” Said Nobilette. That was all she could think of.
Rip walked over to the fallen tavern, and waved a reckless arm at the planks. "I staked everything I had on this – pile of boards. I pinned my whole future to this building, to stand or fall with it. And it fell. Yes, it fell…
“It fell” he repeated "And so did I,” he added, whirling around. “I fell for you.”
“Me?” breathed Nobilette.
“Yes, you. I never thought it would happen, but you walked right through those doors—those doors, there—you can see them buried under that post and some of the planks—you were standing next to me at the time, if I recall correctly.”
Nobilette looked awkwardly at the fading moon.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you all this,” he gave a little sideways smile to the right. Then he remembered that it was better-looking on the left, and switched sides. “But it doesn’t matter now. It’s all part of the past, and the past is full of things I couldn’t speak about, no matter how hard I tried…”
Nobilette gulped “What things?” she asked, naively.
“I just said I couldn’t speak about them, didn’t I?” he gave her a disgusted look, then softened: “But let’s not quarrel. In a few short seconds, I’m going to get on that horse— not that horse you see in the distance, but the big black, over there—and leave forever. And I can’t ask you to go with me-”
His voice caught.
“No, I couldn't do that: you-” He seemed to be struggling for words. “You’re just too heavy.” He broke entirely down. Then, after a few moments' silence, he continued.
“I just couldn’t do that to the horse!”
Nobilette waited while his shoulders heaved, casting strange shudders over the ruined tavern. At length he swallowed, and turned towards her, almost eagerly in the lifting darkness.
“But-- but I can ask for your little packet of needles and thread.”
***
Shortly after, she received a letter from Snort. “Ah am sorry, madame,” he began, “But I find mah associations with you have gone past the point of furtherin’ the plot. As long as it was a matter of marryin’ in the first pages of the book so that the rest of the details could be set forth in the time honahed tradishun we were on, as it were, well blazed ground. But this sort of behaviour, in which you wait till the last page, givin’ me no chance to excite the reader in the usual mannah, is a stench in the nostrils. Moreover your eyes remind me of washin’ the dirty laundry, and that will never do in a life partner. If Ah may, your idea of romance appeayahs, from your covert activitees, to be somethin' of a wild fairy fancy, and ah am not looking for fairy fancy. The real romances are all sordid. Ah, forgive me. Solid, is what Ah meant to say. You mistake, if you think religion and romance have anything to do with the Nevah-nevah land. For whah would women write about heroes like the one in Donovan’s Otter, if they could still believe in Petah Pan? But you will find all this out soon enough. Ah wish you well.”
THE END |
| posted by Zack @ 10/03/2006 10:32:00 AM |
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