A Last Walk
Dette er en omskreven version af en engelsk stil jeg skrev i Gym.
A Last Walk
As darkness took over the starless night, and shadows filled the wet and seemingly empty cobblestone streets, a dark spectre of a man could be seen, making his way through the dimmed glow from several windows, facing the lonely alley. His stride was that of a man sure of his place in this world, of a man content with his life so far. But something in his step betrayed this first impression. Something only appearing if you looked more closely, looked beyond the outer shell. Something so evasive, but still there nonetheless. This twitch, this uncertainty of character, whispered words of secrets best forgotten.
A dark wide brimmed top-hat hid his facial features from prying eyes, and his broad shoulders was covered by a waist-long, ebony-black cloak fastened on his left shoulder by a platinum brooch covered in mystic markings. Rings of silver and gold adorned his white, wrinkled fingers, and easily betrayed his social status. On closer inspection, one of the rings revealed a small replica of a human skull with sapphires embedded as fiery eyes. In his right hand he clutched a walking stick, though it seemed, as if he didn’t need it at all.
This was no ordinary walking stick. Black strings wounded around the ivory stick, as black tentacles would around a helpless virgins white skin. The constant thump of the silvery tip touching the cobbled road, made hidden onlookers cower, as if they had heard the footsteps of doom.
And doom was indeed strangely connected to this man.
But who was he, and why did he walk the streets of Lagos alone, when this was the last thing, a sane man would ever do.
A flicker of light from a nearby window, revealed eyes resembling orbs of the deepest sea, embedded in a weathered beard-covered face. The face of a renowned citizen and highly respected servant of the Order St. Mattias.
The face of minister Thasterty.
Thasterty was a famous man, often celebrated for his devotion to St. Mattias. He was widely known for his awe inspiring, and eye opening sermons, where he preached the word of St. Mattias, so every man, plain and noble, would be lifted to a higher level of enlightenment. Some people had even mentioned his name in context to a new messiah.
But why was this holy man walking these filthy streets on such a god forsaken hour?
It was obvious by his quickened stride that he was going somewhere this night. This wasn’t just an evening stroll in the deserted streets of Lagos, this was important. A sharp turn of his shining black boots, took him onto a broader street, where, at the end of it, could be seen a large cathedral stretching it’s majestic, winding spires towards the dark and cloud covered sky. Nothing else of importance lined the street, so it was easy to predict his goal, and a sign on the road, made it even more obvious, as it read: Evening sermon, performed by Minister Thasterty.
But this man didn’t seem like, he was going to preach righteousness to anyone. It seemed he was more fit to speak of things not mentioned in the presence of decent folk.
As he came closer to the cathedral, he slowed his pace, and soon he was no longer walking. An eyrie silence fell on the city as the thumping stopped. It felt as if the slightest breath would make the world fall apart. In this silence stood the dark brooding character of minister Thasterty.
He was no longer wearing his black hat, and his grey hair fell on his shoulders, as he spun his head around in every direction.
When he was certain that none other that himself was within his line of sight, he lifted his walking stick up in front of him and began speaking aloud as if to the stick.
“It has come too far. This was not how it was supposed to be like. I can see now that I was tricked and lured into eternal decay. I see more clearly now, than I have ever done before. I know, you’re just another tool of the pestering lord I once served, but you’ve followed me through the majority of my life, and I’ve found that you have always been more than precious to me”. The walking stick began to writhe itself around in Thastertys hand, as if trying to escape his grasp. Not paying any attention to the possessed cane, Thasterty continued with his confession. ”So this will be the night, I betray my dark master, this is the night, where I will speak of the sinister designs I have worked upon the heads of the public mass. This is the night, where I allow the gods to punish my awful deeds”. With this, Thasterty flicked his wrist, and the walking stick was again as inanimate as before. Solemnly he took a moment to collect himself, before he stepped forward into the house of St. Mattias, the house of his maker, and the house he had so disgraced with his blasphemous deeds. This had been Thastertys last walk in Lagos.
A Last Walk
As darkness took over the starless night, and shadows filled the wet and seemingly empty cobblestone streets, a dark spectre of a man could be seen, making his way through the dimmed glow from several windows, facing the lonely alley. His stride was that of a man sure of his place in this world, of a man content with his life so far. But something in his step betrayed this first impression. Something only appearing if you looked more closely, looked beyond the outer shell. Something so evasive, but still there nonetheless. This twitch, this uncertainty of character, whispered words of secrets best forgotten.
A dark wide brimmed top-hat hid his facial features from prying eyes, and his broad shoulders was covered by a waist-long, ebony-black cloak fastened on his left shoulder by a platinum brooch covered in mystic markings. Rings of silver and gold adorned his white, wrinkled fingers, and easily betrayed his social status. On closer inspection, one of the rings revealed a small replica of a human skull with sapphires embedded as fiery eyes. In his right hand he clutched a walking stick, though it seemed, as if he didn’t need it at all.
This was no ordinary walking stick. Black strings wounded around the ivory stick, as black tentacles would around a helpless virgins white skin. The constant thump of the silvery tip touching the cobbled road, made hidden onlookers cower, as if they had heard the footsteps of doom.
And doom was indeed strangely connected to this man.
But who was he, and why did he walk the streets of Lagos alone, when this was the last thing, a sane man would ever do.
A flicker of light from a nearby window, revealed eyes resembling orbs of the deepest sea, embedded in a weathered beard-covered face. The face of a renowned citizen and highly respected servant of the Order St. Mattias.
The face of minister Thasterty.
Thasterty was a famous man, often celebrated for his devotion to St. Mattias. He was widely known for his awe inspiring, and eye opening sermons, where he preached the word of St. Mattias, so every man, plain and noble, would be lifted to a higher level of enlightenment. Some people had even mentioned his name in context to a new messiah.
But why was this holy man walking these filthy streets on such a god forsaken hour?
It was obvious by his quickened stride that he was going somewhere this night. This wasn’t just an evening stroll in the deserted streets of Lagos, this was important. A sharp turn of his shining black boots, took him onto a broader street, where, at the end of it, could be seen a large cathedral stretching it’s majestic, winding spires towards the dark and cloud covered sky. Nothing else of importance lined the street, so it was easy to predict his goal, and a sign on the road, made it even more obvious, as it read: Evening sermon, performed by Minister Thasterty.
But this man didn’t seem like, he was going to preach righteousness to anyone. It seemed he was more fit to speak of things not mentioned in the presence of decent folk.
As he came closer to the cathedral, he slowed his pace, and soon he was no longer walking. An eyrie silence fell on the city as the thumping stopped. It felt as if the slightest breath would make the world fall apart. In this silence stood the dark brooding character of minister Thasterty.
He was no longer wearing his black hat, and his grey hair fell on his shoulders, as he spun his head around in every direction.
When he was certain that none other that himself was within his line of sight, he lifted his walking stick up in front of him and began speaking aloud as if to the stick.
“It has come too far. This was not how it was supposed to be like. I can see now that I was tricked and lured into eternal decay. I see more clearly now, than I have ever done before. I know, you’re just another tool of the pestering lord I once served, but you’ve followed me through the majority of my life, and I’ve found that you have always been more than precious to me”. The walking stick began to writhe itself around in Thastertys hand, as if trying to escape his grasp. Not paying any attention to the possessed cane, Thasterty continued with his confession. ”So this will be the night, I betray my dark master, this is the night, where I will speak of the sinister designs I have worked upon the heads of the public mass. This is the night, where I allow the gods to punish my awful deeds”. With this, Thasterty flicked his wrist, and the walking stick was again as inanimate as before. Solemnly he took a moment to collect himself, before he stepped forward into the house of St. Mattias, the house of his maker, and the house he had so disgraced with his blasphemous deeds. This had been Thastertys last walk in Lagos.
posted by Rune at 10/10/2006 04:23:00 PM
1 comments
