The riverboat trip had been cold and uneventful. Though the damn intercom had played "The Blue Danube" over and over again. Talk about false advertising. Though the song, "The sort of greyish poopy brown Danube" probably wouldn't be a breakaway pop hit.

( Melk )

It was one in the morning, and Peter was working by candlelight. He'd skipped dinner in his haste to finish this. Liz could yell at him later. Too much. Too little time. Must read more. Must get it all down before....

( Number Four )

Peter stared at the large red "Number Two" he'd written across the top of a fresh piece of paper. His eyes unfocused and he tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. Too much to think about. Too many failures to count. He reached over to the diary, labelled 1999. He opened it, and steeled himself for what he was about to read. The memories he ( Read more... )

Father Peter signed the last of the reports he had left to do for the Abbey school. He felt his stomach rumble. He'd been neglecting food in favour of getting his work done. But now it was finished. He hoped he could talk one of the cooks out of some leftovers ( Read more... )

Father Peter Kemp sighed as he looked over the paperwork that was destined to keep him busy for several days. He was supposed to be grading work from the Abbey School as well. No matter. Somehow, it would all get done in the end ( Read more... )