Sunday October 16th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the enclosure.

Chopped and hauled firewood for the first time this fall with Max this afternoon. The fireplace is currently home to a lovely fire while outside a chilly rain is falling.

I am not mentally prepared for this. It's only mid-October. We've still got ten days until my birthday, for crying out loud!

Anyway. Hopefully the sun will come for a visit at least a few times this week. That would be nice.

Mine:

"Errrrrr... kish. The crane is in position. Crew is standing by. Lower hook... now. Keep it coming. Keep it coming. A little more... a little more... and stop!"

"Honey?"

"Package secured... bring her up! That's it... okay, swing it to the left. A bit more. Perfect! All right, lower away!"

"Honey."

"Here we go, the elephant is being lowered into the baby enclosure. It spins slowly as it nears the wide-eyed baby. Oh lord, he looks excited! I can't watch! Oh no, the baby has the elephant in his jaws! It's a bloodbath! The carnage is stomach turning! It's like the elephant is in a butcher shop run by a violent lunatic!"

"Honey, I thought we had agreed that you wouldn't talk like that in front of the baby."

"Oh come on, Maria! Look at him laugh! He loves it!"

"No more playing like that or I'm taking the blue elephant chew toy away from the both of you."

2 Comments:

Greg said...

Firewood, fire in the hearth, chilly rain outside -- this sounds idyllic! We should swap: I'll appreciate autumn and the encroaching winter, and you can sit in Maltese heat and feel like it's summer still! I think, re-reading these words, that what I really love is the contrast: a roaring fire inside contrasted with chill cold outside is what makes me happy :)
You made me laugh with that tale today when I reached the end and realised that the baby wasn't some enormous monster! The description is perfect, I can picture the scene well. Except, and I have no idea why, I feel like "Maria" ought to be "Kat"... ;-)

The enclosure
Ernest sat back, and picked his glass of water up. He swirled it as though it were his bitters-and-tonic, and then set it back down again. "It might not be me," he said. "Derby is not that uncommon a name."
"We - that is, the Abbot - feel it means you. I would ask you to listen to these parts of the confession and then consider."
"Only parts?" David drummed his fingers on the table. "I think Ernest can be entrusted with the whole thing! Context is important."
Ernest laid a hand on David's arm. "This is very true," he said. "But context is not always available: consider a murder-suicide investigation. We can guess at what has gone through the murderer's mind, but we can never know."
"Unless they confess." David's glance at Father Ignatz was sharp.
"Well, I-"
"Actually, perhaps we could have the philosophical discussion when we arrive at the hotel tonight? I fear I can add nothing to the conversation, so I would be better engaged considering the confession." Ernest's quiet words brought the tension back down again.
"Of course, Ernest," said David, looking down at his own glass of water.
Father Ignatz took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. As he spoke he began to glow very faintly, not enough to attract attention from the rest of the dining car but enough to make the shadows on their table flicker as though they were alive.
"A letter arrived addressed to the gentleman confessing. It was pushed under the door to his lodging, which luckily had a large gap between the bottom of the door and the floorboards, because the letter was bulky. It had been delivered during the night while he was sleeping, but he had no idea of the time for he had been pixellated when he had finally retired. He found it by the expedient of stepping on it while on his way to... be ill. After he had returned from the bathroom he opened it and found inside a sheet of paper and two enclosures: a picture of Lord Campion cut from The Sabre and a number of stock certificates. The letter was typed, which the gentleman believed was a precaution to avoid recognition of handwriting, and talked casually about the weather, geographical features and reminisced about an Italian vacation the gentleman had never taken. As he re-read it, wondering if this should have been delivered to him, certain words letters on the page took on significance to him, and he found a second message within the note that requested that he take an action... no that's wrong. That he take an inaction. He believed, at the time of his death, that this inaction contributed directly to Lord Campion's death."

Marc said...

Greg - I'm down for that trade. Just let me know when my plane ticket is in the mail :P

Yes, well, Maria would be Kat if she'd actually heard me playing with Miles like that on the day I wrote mine :D

Some great details in yours, with the description of Father Ignatz glowing while recounting the confession being easily my favorite part.

And thank you, as always, for continuing this tale :)