He came, beaten and bloodied, crawling out of the woods by my house, dressed in dented, old fashioned armour, an old sword which seemed oddly familiar draped across his back.
“Praise God!” He cried upon seeing me, “Finally, ’tis journey’s end! I‘ve quested god knows how many years, to give you…”
He coughed then, then coughed, then coughed up blood, and then he fell to his knees, then to the ground, where he lay silent.
I called an ambulance, but by the time it arrived he was gone.
Sometimes I wonder who he was.
I hope his message wasn’t important…
....on an unrelated note, no updates for a few days, since i'll be in Vegas. Hopefully i'll get up something new Saturday.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Quest Not Taken
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