Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Paragraphs Of Power ~ 3 Way Tie for 1st place...VOTE OFF...

 Okay...it happened again, we have a three way tie for first place. I have reopened the vote, and only the three tied entries are up. This vote will be open for 24 hours only.

This month we had a wonderful 72 entries in The Paragraphs of Power contest. To say I am delighted by that is a massive understatement. The task of selecting the finalists was extremely difficult as the quality of entries was simply outstanding.

This is a blind vote, one person one vote. The entries are posted in no particular order, each with a number and the title of the work. As always there can be only One winner. In the event of a tie for first place occurring I will extend the voting period for a further 24 hours with only the tied entries up for a vote.

Voting is now open...the vote will cease at midnight on June1st. The winner will be announced on June 2nd. Good luck.

 #3…"Death of a Legate".
OCCITANIA, Mass of St. HILAIRE, Anno Domini 1207

It is time.

Those that wish make it seem they know such things do say it is the simplest and most natural task, a gesture: to kill a man.

This man lived yet and moved. He crawled in the mud though the meat under his skull could be seen and the blood soaked each shoulder crimson. The cutter cursed his luck that a dying man might see his face, it was a dark thing. He slid and tumbled down the muddy slope, twisting his ankle in the fall. The victim's attire, now soiled and bloody, still held the cut of their quality. It was the finest wool from the mountains near Rome; such wool that gave a kiss to the skin and hung lightly even in the rain.

The cutter paused a moment in his essay to catch the victim. It was sure this man soon would be dead but that a Legate of Rome might spy him afore he brought the mace down again brought a shiver to his spine.

The Legate did not cry out or groan but hissed air and spittle through his teeth as he continued his crawl. It did not seem to be the movement of a man, not even that of a trapped boar but, from the puss and gory head, down the spine to the strangely dangling and impotent feet, this Papal Legate slithered to the river as a serpent might. 

A strange thing to see for the movement was odd and angled, mechanical as a device.

When, at last, the Legate's limbs stiffened into smaller and smaller efforts, the cutter limped to his side and brought the lead mace down with all his might.

“It is time,” the cutter whispered to the river.

#6…Extenuating Circumstances.

There is heaviness about a body held in place by death. The natural lightness of being passes with the soul, delivering the husk to the pull of gravity in such a way that even the deepest sleep has never before managed. Each time the binding is the same; no two beginnings ever are.

Aramus felt the tug, the ripple that pulsed from deep within and told him change was near. For many days he’d felt the familiar tingle flowing through his awareness. He was a billowing, formless breath of purest essence that even desiccation could not diminish.

Long ago fire rendered him to smoke and existential thought, removing the elements of his last purloined husk. Now the ground called to him again.

The cycle would renew. This he understood with an acceptance as natural as life itself. Like an arrow shot from the sky, he swooped downwards towards the battered man lying by the highway.

One slow agonal breath followed another until the last one paused, waiting on the fill that was no longer coming. This stillness signaled both a beginning and an end.

Aramus gloried in the mind meld while his essence filled the shell of the dying man. Looking up through new eyes he watched the sun with a still clouded vision.

“I’m dying.”

It was a simple thought not his own that first crossed the chasm between their minds. Peering into the unknown, the shattered man sighed, though the sound came out a broken groan.

“I know.” Aramus offered the only solace he could.

“I thought it would hurt more.”

This truth was easy. “No. Death is a letting go.”

“Should I be afraid?”


#9  Justice is Served.
 The only real plan in my mind on that fateful day had been that one of them was to die, but which one? Each would be given a chance – more than they had ever given me.

I would listen to them, then they would listen to me. This time there was no doubt in my mind, I knew they would listen. A gun pointed towards you has a habit of making someone do as you tell them. Whatever they said to me, how they behaved and what they did would seal their fate. Well the day had come and gone. They had each spoken, listened and then pleaded all in that order and at the end of it I had made my decision. Now I was in this place about to talk about it all and I was to hold nothing back. They wanted the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth – so help me God!

I was led into the room where a woman sat waiting for me. She was behind a table which was secured to the floor as were the two chairs in the room.  She said nothing as I was taken to the chair and told to sit down by the one who had brought me here.
“Sit down and don’t misbehave. You cause any trouble and you’ll be out of here with no second chances”.

Doing as I was told, I shuffled into the only empty chair and tried to make myself comfortable. From the second I stepped into the room, the woman had stared at me intently watching my every movement; any thoughts going through her mind about me, why she was there or the job she was to do were carefully hidden from me or anyone else in the room.

1 comment:

  1. I've never run into another Suze, before. Though we do spell it a bit differently. :)


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