Were seen next to him via blown-up portraits on Easels. The suspect's picture, a mug shot, WAS vile like Any Other, Perhaps taken in a sewer. The policemen, on the Other Hand, Were Posed smiling in front of Their cars and boats, on driveways, in public parks, and They Were Shown to Have Families real loving, Where It Might Be That the suspect WAS supposed hatched from a reptile egg . I wasn't sure What disturbed me the most, whether it WAS the pathetic expression on the suspect's face, a mix of dumb surprise and weariness, or the dire assurances made by the chief Marked Who furiously angry with him for Death Before The cheery gestures His portraits of fallen men. Whatever It Was, it caused me to mishandle the knife, an instant Before it closed, and Right Where It Would scissor shut - my fng from fits of shock and the last sight Flashes Before Them That Was A short and Meager display, to muted, Almost secret, hurray. We Look at the attack from all sides and, after much deliberation, we Came to the conclusion That Reached the sword barely, barely brushed the monster's throat. The troll Might Have felt no more Than a slight breeze, and yet, Without delay, slammed it Into the ground like a sack of potatoes. It's magic. It's murder! We're much impressed. We watch it again. Slow motion this time. Ha! We can not believe it. We're Discussing It Later while walking down the street. We feel the action in Our guts as if we where really there, bearing witness to That insane, finishing blow, Which by all accounts WAS a close shave. Usually, When someone talks about a cloI think - Dead! Not just dead, stiff, stiff Completely. Gandalf pulls the rug out from under His monstrous soul. You wonder, did I really Have to prep His swing like that? Could Have a really mean look suffice? Was it showmanship, a game of style? Whatever It Was, Our collective guts Then Took a quick plummet all the way perked up, up, up - how it raised Our morale! Who We Were crouching in a stone doorway, Launching Our futile hail of arrows, waiting to die like The Dozens Before Us. Why Could not Have the wizard Bless Our damned arrows? Some insane if this is holy war, with magic, magic
, for God's sake, why, we want ourselves to Be Magic! Let's be Generous with the magic!
We hit the street. We rehearse the scene, over and over, sustainingthe action alive. David's account is chock-full of LULUCF, in praise of That juggernaut goodness, the kind of righteousness That sidesteps all compromise and Simply opts to wipe you out, cold-blooded, like Matthew 11:12 . I Affects a stance of sympathy for the troll and wonders if, prior to dying, the dim crony WAS Able to realize That bitter truth, That ray of light That falls so heavy on the brows of henchmen: Mongo only pawn in game of life .
I tell it as I Have Written Above it, with all the same pizazz. It's familiar company like David's that Allows for private Otherwise indulgence. People compose Their little scenes like puppet shows. Life, a mockery. We make sure we saw Both What we saw, point by point, and we invoke the images again and again, like someone recycling the Same Breath in and out of a paper bag, whither Until the poor alveoli like raisins, and the Brain Begins to borrow from Another party. The result is a funny lightheadedness That hovers about us like a rosy nimbus. Soon Afterward we're talking of Something Else, it's only the span of A Few Minutes, But That nimbus floats on ...
Like I Said, my version Was a Faithful redaction. There is a sentence Above Where I hang on the white color, ie the white wizard, white horse, white staff, and this profusion of white-served basis to remind David of a funny part in an essay. It was written by Chinua Achebe, the subject Being Conrad's Heart of Darkness . In this essay, Achebe Condemns HoD for STI garish brand of racism, Claiming:
A black figure Stood up, strode on long black legs, waving long black arms ... Though as We Might expect a black figure striding Along wave on black legs to white
arms! But so unrelenting is Conrad's obsession.
David and I summarizes Our walk. We are headed to The nearest burger stand, Tams # 8, Which is a long block away, That is, Several hundred yards. We are walking side by side perfectly and the length of Our steps Are curiously in synch. I Believe That one of us notices this peculiar detail and Attempts to walk a little faster ahead. In Situations like these, it is hard to tell the instigator Because We Know Each Other's responses so well it borders on telepathy. The Initiative or What Have Ihigh, historical Breaths Are glued to mine, Our Lungs Are copycats! It's redundant! It's fast! No one's Gaining! It's an equal match - we're superimposed! Their roars Dogs add to the bargain and the streets whir by on Both Sides reeling like a cartoon. We take no heed, no Obstacles, the ground is flat, level, gotten over soon. But - hey - the burger stand is long gone to spec, it's way behind, we pass it! The second I make this realization, although I do not Hesitate at all Physically, David acquires a burst of speed and moving manager Several feet ahead of me. The trance broken, I stops cold. I brake directly. Our faces Are heated. We greet the stars with quiet gasps. There is a sense of loss, a distinct feeling heavy. Gravity Asserts Itself Once More. By way of prompt account, David says: CHTML
