The lion began:
“A man stood on the top of a high precipice, on a rock that crowned a snow topped mountain. Its slippery coldness betrayed his foothold and his nails ripped in resisting the fall; and his skin was torn, grazed and sliced in the skid on the way back down.
"Yet his heart had been plucked and taken to an eagle hen’s lay - strident, nesting, resting on a bed of feathers and poop.”
“I believe I have heard this one before” Francis interjected.
The Lion continued, ignoring what he had said.
“Although his arms were seized with pain, and his legs ached beyond belief; this tragic climber struggled back to the summit in search of his heart that had been stolen from him. It was, as it were, that the very moment he ascended the final step to reach into the feathery nest, his lean betrayed him and he fell once again to the bottom.”
“Poor soul”, muttered Francis.
“Yes yes,” agreed the Lion, who then continued:
“Once again the heart called to the man below: and its magnetism drew him up, coaxing him every time he stopped.
"Just a little farther, just a little farther … and after what felt like many years, the heartless man once more came to the eagle’s nest - this time to find that his heart was gone. A silhouette of a bird could be seen in the distant sky, and the climber could feel his own heart moving fast away from him.
He looked down at the town beneath - the buildings and roads all in miniature - the streams and the rivers like silver ribbons glittering as they wrapped their way around the landscape beneath.
“What now?” asked Francis.
“What now indeed?” said the Lion agreeably. He stopped as though that were a suitable ending as any.
“Go on,” prompted Francis.
“There is no more to be said,” said the Lion.
Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
“A man stood on the top of a high precipice, on a rock that crowned a snow topped mountain. Its slippery coldness betrayed his foothold and his nails ripped in resisting the fall; and his skin was torn, grazed and sliced in the skid on the way back down.
"Yet his heart had been plucked and taken to an eagle hen’s lay - strident, nesting, resting on a bed of feathers and poop.”
“I believe I have heard this one before” Francis interjected.
The Lion continued, ignoring what he had said.
“Although his arms were seized with pain, and his legs ached beyond belief; this tragic climber struggled back to the summit in search of his heart that had been stolen from him. It was, as it were, that the very moment he ascended the final step to reach into the feathery nest, his lean betrayed him and he fell once again to the bottom.”
“Poor soul”, muttered Francis.
“Yes yes,” agreed the Lion, who then continued:
“Once again the heart called to the man below: and its magnetism drew him up, coaxing him every time he stopped.
"Just a little farther, just a little farther … and after what felt like many years, the heartless man once more came to the eagle’s nest - this time to find that his heart was gone. A silhouette of a bird could be seen in the distant sky, and the climber could feel his own heart moving fast away from him.
He looked down at the town beneath - the buildings and roads all in miniature - the streams and the rivers like silver ribbons glittering as they wrapped their way around the landscape beneath.
“What now?” asked Francis.
“What now indeed?” said the Lion agreeably. He stopped as though that were a suitable ending as any.
“Go on,” prompted Francis.
“There is no more to be said,” said the Lion.
Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
No comments:
Post a Comment