Stage An Elephant Hunt Before The Game
I was a harum-scarum, reckless sort of lad, but I was honest and plain-dealing, too. Then I wilted under the weight of the great depression, until my gaze fell upon the young spitfire, Latchka. I knew I had to put on a show. I could see the lights and fires of the rebels camp, but I kept well down low. When I came to, I was trussed up like a chicken. I was treated like a dog, and I dreamed of revenge. The wind blew. By a miracle, I still lived, and what of Latchka?
The smell of boiled wool and the memory of a crawling chimpanzee reminded me of home. The heroic acts of thirteen brave soldiers, men who labored together in the trenches and the mire, seemed to inspire me, comfort me. A dream a vision of sweet love, of the beauty of Latchka ... floated and danced in my head, deliriously, dangerously tempting me to hope for ...
Reality. The ants, streaming across the sands. The bird, pecking at the bug, poke it down, lift it up and toss it on the gravel. Crunch it on the rocks again and again. Lift toss press poke. The insect tries of get away, but one by one, its legs are broken off and mangled. Like the hopes and dreams of thousands of my countrymen.
The Cardinal arrived, pompous and flatulent, his air of importance echoed by the totality of his fawning entourage. The bare sight of me was like a bullet through his guilty heart. Or a hankerchief, embroidered with floral patterns of hate. I cursed him through clenched teeth as the whip lashed across my bare back. Or my neighbors toe. I don't quite remember. And then, it dawned on me, clearly, brilliant as the sun rising over Mt. Korabit on a winter's day ... that you, the reader, for some reason have gotten this far ... for nothing. What courage!
The smell of boiled wool and the memory of a crawling chimpanzee reminded me of home. The heroic acts of thirteen brave soldiers, men who labored together in the trenches and the mire, seemed to inspire me, comfort me. A dream a vision of sweet love, of the beauty of Latchka ... floated and danced in my head, deliriously, dangerously tempting me to hope for ...
Reality. The ants, streaming across the sands. The bird, pecking at the bug, poke it down, lift it up and toss it on the gravel. Crunch it on the rocks again and again. Lift toss press poke. The insect tries of get away, but one by one, its legs are broken off and mangled. Like the hopes and dreams of thousands of my countrymen.
The Cardinal arrived, pompous and flatulent, his air of importance echoed by the totality of his fawning entourage. The bare sight of me was like a bullet through his guilty heart. Or a hankerchief, embroidered with floral patterns of hate. I cursed him through clenched teeth as the whip lashed across my bare back. Or my neighbors toe. I don't quite remember. And then, it dawned on me, clearly, brilliant as the sun rising over Mt. Korabit on a winter's day ... that you, the reader, for some reason have gotten this far ... for nothing. What courage!