Not. Too. Shabby.
Join Date: Apr 2005
Location: Jacksonville, FL
Part II of new novel (Opening)
Trying something new... writing loaded like Ernest and Hunter. Thoughts?
“It’s said that life is a gift; that it’s too short… or it’s said life is a curse and that the road of life is long,” he said slowly, dragging out the last word. He dismissed either notion with a slight wave of his hand. “Of course these schools of thought are dependent on whatever fool philosopher, idealist, pessimist, poet, prophet, or other charlatan happens to be in favor.” He paused, slowly tapping his index finger against the heavy, oaken desk top, before releasing a long drawn out sigh. “Perhaps you can understand how you’ve become a personal source of vexation to me, Cagliostro?” Thoughtfully styled from trousers to tunic, matched by his neatly trimmed beard, and undercut by dull, brown and weary eyes, he slowly turned to level his gaze at the self-proposed “Master Alchemist”. “You see, Cagliostro, this world preserves a delicate balance of self-absorption. It’s this that grants us our,” he growled the word, “freedom. Sleight of hand on a massive scale… the poor tend crops, slave at the smith, die by the sword… for what? Sense of duty? Fear?” He paused, slowly uncorking a bottle of red wine, drawing the bottle to sharp nostrils which flared with his steady inhale. “No, Cagliostro,” he smiled, shaking his head slowly. “This ‘work ethic’… this ‘sense of duty’… it stems from inherit human weakness. Man can be pushed to slavery, so long as he is permitted scant hours of freedom and a sense of ‘culture’ at the day’s end, no matter the conditions that bureaucracy may place to rape his land and pride throughout the day.” The lips of the bottle ‘glugged’ as he poured himself a full glass, offering nothing to Cagliostro. “…And these ‘ruling elite’,” he mused with a smile. “These fools so blinded by their ‘divine right’ that they dare not glance outside their sycophant advisors’ opinions.” The smile that creased his face broadened ever so slightly, a rare flash streaking his boring eyes. He took a long drink. “Sleight of hand, indeed.” A groan of satisfaction escaped his lips as his tongue sought any refuse. “But, I digress. I’m wasting these insightful words on you, Cagliostro. A man who has witnessed, experienced, and taken full advantage of these secrets. You are my dilemma, Cagliostro. I despise your originality, inventiveness, and cruelty… yet, I respect it at the same time.” He slowly drew a chair from underneath the home laboratory desk, and sat, leveling his gaze at the “magician”. “So, tell me, what am I to do with you, Cagliostro?”