|
Rejection Letter
By Edward Livingston-Blade
____________________
Deep in narrow winding
catacombs damp with the sweat of underground places, Roderick the hero crept
forward with sword cocked behind him and one cautious hand extended into the
dark. Something breathed up ahead, and Roderick hoped to see it before it
saw him—but his torch was left in a chimera's belly and he was getting by
largely by his fingers.
A disturbance before him—the steady breathing stopped and there was a
shuffling sound. He realized he'd disturbed the sleep of something. A
spark... a flame... a glow... a lantern raised at the end of a hairy arm as
thick as both Roderick's thighs. "Who's there?" half-growled a
gutteral voice in the retreating gloom. The light chased back shadows until
Roderick could clearly see the ogre—and the ogre could clearly see him.
Split and jagged teeth, rotting and black, and a lower jaw that jutted out like
a bird-perch—its tiny eyes were fully dilated in the subterranean night.
"Oho," it grumbled with a sound like mountains scraping together. "What
poor sport that is, little bite, trying to sneak up on a man while he's
sleeping."
"You're no man, monster," Roderick said and drove forward sword first.
The lantern hit the ground, glass shattering, rolling, casting crazy shadows,
but didn't snuff. Once more mostly blind, Roderick and the ogre conducted
their battle with the fumbling ill-grace of a pair of 14 year old virgins hot
for each other under the blankets.
With a deadweight thud like a bale of wet hay on a flagstone floor the pair
landed prone in the little circle of broken light next to the cot where the
lantern had rolled. Roderick clung adamantly to the hilt of his sword and
twisted, teeth bared and grinding, the blade driven through the ogre's skull
from under its chin to out its forehead. It cursed something that would've
been unprintable—fortunately its jaws were pinned shut—and died.
Roderick planted a foot in the ogre's face and wrenched his blade loose, stood
and wiped the worst of the gore from his tunic. He wasn't
particularly distressed. It had been that kind of day. And he had
light again—he picked up the broken lantern, shook loose the last of the
shattered glass, kicked the ogre's arm out of his way and stalked out the
opposite doorway hoping for few drafts.
In a dozen yards the tunnel curved and opened into an underground amphitheater
illuminated by a hundred bonfires. Roderick shadowed his eyes in the sudden
brightness.
All across the great expanse were camped knights and adventurers,
blood-spattered and impatient-looking, waiting for... what? Tunnel mouths
like the one he'd emerged from yawned all around, and even as he watched, a
ragged scoundrel with a rapier and a feathered hat stumbled into the light. The
thief looked around, and toward the center of the cavern his eyes began to rise.
Roderick followed his gaze to see what he had not before.
A great irregular minaret of stone rose needle-like near the cavern's center. It
must have been hollow... on a balcony near its top stood a princess with
cascading golden tresses and skin like blue-veined marble. She looked out
over the huddled crowd without seeming to look actually at it.
Roderick felt a tugging at his sleeve and looked down into the upturned face of
a hunched-over, shabby monk. "Sir, your name is Roderick, isn't
it?"
Roderick, stunned by it all, nodded dumbly.
"Yes, sir, I thought you were. I have your letter here already. We've
been
waiting." The monk shoved a folded page into his hands and disappeared
back
into the crowd.
In a confused haze Roderick, moving golem-like, unfolded the letter and read:
Dear Mr. Roderick
Thank you for your submission; I appreciate your effort to rescue me.
I liked what you did with the ogre but it only works as an action sequence and
doesn't reveal the kind of character depth I am looking for. Thus you have
not been selected to be my prince. Thank you for coming by and for your
interest in saving me.
Best,
The Princess
____________________
Mr. Livingston-Blade quit a very cushy job as a
local area network administrator for the state of California, giving up a truly
absurd pay rate in order to work on a swords-and-sorcery novel full-time. Thirty
months later the end is still not in sight and therapy has proven only
moderately successful. The project's home is at www.milosworld.org...
there's no actual narrative there yet because Mr. Livingston-Blade still hopes
to make some money off this silly idea but has shifted focus to writing a
smattering of shorter pieces so in the future, anything is possible...
|
