Chapter 2 - Nocturne,the root trader, A stray strawberry
Submitted July 13, 2011 Updated July 16, 2011 Status Complete | She Lives and is found in rebirth and the realm of dreams.
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Chapter 2 - Nocturne,the root trader, A stray strawberry
Chapter 2 - Nocturne,the root trader, A stray strawberry
will806095@bellsouth.net
Ron Koppelberger[br]
A Stray Strawberry[br]
[/u]
An antique possession, hunters delighting in the welcomed myth of unrestrained temptations. A bartered bewilderment in dovetail yesterdays and sated thirsty dawns, in the reflection of a polished metal trigger. They rumbled and grumbled in belching declarations of fraternity and in vision of unfurled freedom. They had placed the net in the center of the beasts run. Clandestined, entwined with a rush of wild strawberries and briar scrub the trap availed the promise of a grand trophy. [br]
Glistening marshland bog wavered in waves of mist and ethereal smoke around them. Khaki shorn boot laced encampments of scandal and bloodlust followed the tides the hunters swam in. They hid unshackled and in clever contempt for the beast and its wild domain. They embraced the crush of primitive power and hoarded anger, anger that drove them to make an example of the hunt. An arrow in the heart of the beast! one of them whispered. Devised by measures of desolate glee they waited in blind hatred for their prey. Absconder! another one whispered. Strength! one of them muttered.[br]
In sure order the beast obliged the hunt and an age of seconds and still hours halted as the beast[br]
[br]
tore the first ones head off with razor sharp claws and gnashing teeth. Strength! he had [br]
[br]
muttered. The second one screamed and flailed as the beast eviscerated him in a flash of [br]
[br]
knifelike fangs. Absconder! he had whispered. The third one stood his ground shaking and [br]
[br]
waving a sharp blade. The beast contemplated this moment and disappeared after gulping up a [br]
[br]
few stray strawberries. The third had whispered the word, Harmony. in rebuke and fear, the [br]
[br]
arrow forgotten and the beast placated.[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
The Root Trader[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
[br]
The ground tugged at Louisiana Paleos supply of independence and mounted concern. The crop slapped at the stallions hindquarters leaving tiny welts of conveyed direction. The sleepy waters of Wabble Morass pulled at the hooves of the horse, Trembling, prepared for the worst Louisiana feared the payment of the root trader. [br]
He had untangled the trail that the morass had presented and near the end of the quest he had found the day, hour and age of sublime barter with the root trader. A tiny wood and plank thatched house sat like a beacon for those who ventured the Wabble wash, the intervening morass. Knot holes let the fires of candles within show through the tattered walls of the cottage. He had stifled the urge to scream as the root trader had shuffled through the front door of the ramshackle construction. The house had shifted nervously as the jabbering fortune of boogey barter and dabbling reputation moved in slow halting breaths of swamp fire toward him. [br]
A bit o Arrow Root fer ye sir' he questioned. Arrow root on tha powers of love fer yer flame' he chuckled as he held a small leather pouch outward in tempting offer. [br]
Louisiana pushed the image of the root trader from his mind as the horse became entrenched in the morass, wallowing and floundering in frothy fear. The trader was covered in leaking pustules his face, or rather his nose, the place where it should have been was a vacuous set of holes bubbling crimson droplets with each of his wheezing exhalations. Louisiana gagged for a moment as he returned his attentions to the leather pouch. Arrow root for his love, the magic of the root trader, but at what cost. [br]
The mark of Louisianas hand was swelling and leaking water like fluid. The root trader had scratched him in a giggling frenzy of chattering, gibbering ferocity. Louisiana had grabbed the pouch from the root trader, slapping the horses flanks wildly in fear. He endeavored to free the stallion from the bog as imagined the trail back to safety, back to his love, back to life and away from the root trader. The matter of pest house madness created suspicious fingers of pain and unbound vicious welts in his hand as the root traders scratch became a myriad of leaking cuts and spider web wounds. The Wabble root trader had tried to stop the stallion and Louisiana from leaving with a cattail frond and a screeching yell. The hose nothing but truth and a ferocious fear had trampled the root trader into the damp earth. [br]
Louisiana thought about the crunch of his frail bones and the gasping curse he had spoken. Heap o sleep and scratchy glue, let the death of Arrow Root be on you! [br]
The horse became dense shrub; the scratches became sprouting leaves and roots as Louisiana[br]
[br]
evolved, revolved and resolved the traders curse. An ancient oak grew from the seedlings of [br]
[br]
the curse and the spot became the center of the morass as a marker for the trader and the curse. [br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
Nocturne[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
The concord of jumping jacks and panting suspirations filled the darkness of the bedroom like an inflicted illusion tempered to the strident nocturnal eternity of another night in a shroud. The blackout had come on the eve of an illusory dream. He dreamed and in blinding fear of the darkness. He shivered by silhouette of shadow, fearing for his life. [br]
The flashlight had burned out hours earlier, and the tiny wax angel had fluttered for exactly one hour and twenty-six minutes before sputtering to a pinpoint of orange light. One, two, three, four a demon desire at your front door, five, six, seven, eight, dont forget to lock your front gate, a monster for your mines and a beast in double time. He hummed and sang as he did a series of jumping jacks, sit-ups and pushups in the deep dark confines of the bedroom. Chambers of shadowy hell he thought, convened of a suggested seizure, velvet thorns of silhouette and terror. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and screamed in terror, YYYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE! Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes bulged like blazon orbs of secret fiendish vision. He gasped and listened. Whispers, whispers of ghoulish purpose. YYYYYIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE! he screamed again. Venerated in eternal restless death , the creeping rudiments of wild psalms in forbidding benediction to the wicked professor, the evil amore of charcoal killers in bloodlust fervency and sated narratives in black. [br]
His arms flailed and he pinwheeled onto the couch, screaming like a wounded dog. YIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEooooooowowowowowo! he lay shivering in a fumbling clumsy lump as he hugged the cushions. Shielding his eyes he whimpered. Suddenly the front door rattled as commissioners of possible Boogey beasts knocked. Hey, you ok in there' the muffled voice questioned. Employed by terrors he ran to the door and threw it open. Dead vacuous eyes of fire glared at him in winged demonic sashay. Framed by the knotted pine doorframe the demon sunk its claws in a miasma of rank bouquet into the tender flesh of his shoulders. YYYYYIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!he screamed as the neighbors wife grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently. Collapsing in a heap at her feet he died. Later when the light shone through their secret, they would discover the bodies of his wife and two teenage sons in one of the bedrooms. [br]
After killing them he had apparently gone insane, yet in retrospect they had no explanation for[br]
[br]
the claw marks and burns covering all of their bodies.[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
A Stray Strawberry[br]
[/u]
An antique possession, hunters delighting in the welcomed myth of unrestrained temptations. A bartered bewilderment in dovetail yesterdays and sated thirsty dawns, in the reflection of a polished metal trigger. They rumbled and grumbled in belching declarations of fraternity and in vision of unfurled freedom. They had placed the net in the center of the beasts run. Clandestined, entwined with a rush of wild strawberries and briar scrub the trap availed the promise of a grand trophy. [br]
Glistening marshland bog wavered in waves of mist and ethereal smoke around them. Khaki shorn boot laced encampments of scandal and bloodlust followed the tides the hunters swam in. They hid unshackled and in clever contempt for the beast and its wild domain. They embraced the crush of primitive power and hoarded anger, anger that drove them to make an example of the hunt. An arrow in the heart of the beast! one of them whispered. Devised by measures of desolate glee they waited in blind hatred for their prey. Absconder! another one whispered. Strength! one of them muttered.[br]
In sure order the beast obliged the hunt and an age of seconds and still hours halted as the beast[br]
[br]
tore the first ones head off with razor sharp claws and gnashing teeth. Strength! he had [br]
[br]
muttered. The second one screamed and flailed as the beast eviscerated him in a flash of [br]
[br]
knifelike fangs. Absconder! he had whispered. The third one stood his ground shaking and [br]
[br]
waving a sharp blade. The beast contemplated this moment and disappeared after gulping up a [br]
[br]
few stray strawberries. The third had whispered the word, Harmony. in rebuke and fear, the [br]
[br]
arrow forgotten and the beast placated.[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
The Root Trader[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
[br]
The ground tugged at Louisiana Paleos supply of independence and mounted concern. The crop slapped at the stallions hindquarters leaving tiny welts of conveyed direction. The sleepy waters of Wabble Morass pulled at the hooves of the horse, Trembling, prepared for the worst Louisiana feared the payment of the root trader. [br]
He had untangled the trail that the morass had presented and near the end of the quest he had found the day, hour and age of sublime barter with the root trader. A tiny wood and plank thatched house sat like a beacon for those who ventured the Wabble wash, the intervening morass. Knot holes let the fires of candles within show through the tattered walls of the cottage. He had stifled the urge to scream as the root trader had shuffled through the front door of the ramshackle construction. The house had shifted nervously as the jabbering fortune of boogey barter and dabbling reputation moved in slow halting breaths of swamp fire toward him. [br]
A bit o Arrow Root fer ye sir' he questioned. Arrow root on tha powers of love fer yer flame' he chuckled as he held a small leather pouch outward in tempting offer. [br]
Louisiana pushed the image of the root trader from his mind as the horse became entrenched in the morass, wallowing and floundering in frothy fear. The trader was covered in leaking pustules his face, or rather his nose, the place where it should have been was a vacuous set of holes bubbling crimson droplets with each of his wheezing exhalations. Louisiana gagged for a moment as he returned his attentions to the leather pouch. Arrow root for his love, the magic of the root trader, but at what cost. [br]
The mark of Louisianas hand was swelling and leaking water like fluid. The root trader had scratched him in a giggling frenzy of chattering, gibbering ferocity. Louisiana had grabbed the pouch from the root trader, slapping the horses flanks wildly in fear. He endeavored to free the stallion from the bog as imagined the trail back to safety, back to his love, back to life and away from the root trader. The matter of pest house madness created suspicious fingers of pain and unbound vicious welts in his hand as the root traders scratch became a myriad of leaking cuts and spider web wounds. The Wabble root trader had tried to stop the stallion and Louisiana from leaving with a cattail frond and a screeching yell. The hose nothing but truth and a ferocious fear had trampled the root trader into the damp earth. [br]
Louisiana thought about the crunch of his frail bones and the gasping curse he had spoken. Heap o sleep and scratchy glue, let the death of Arrow Root be on you! [br]
The horse became dense shrub; the scratches became sprouting leaves and roots as Louisiana[br]
[br]
evolved, revolved and resolved the traders curse. An ancient oak grew from the seedlings of [br]
[br]
the curse and the spot became the center of the morass as a marker for the trader and the curse. [br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
Nocturne[br]
Ron Koppelberger[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
The concord of jumping jacks and panting suspirations filled the darkness of the bedroom like an inflicted illusion tempered to the strident nocturnal eternity of another night in a shroud. The blackout had come on the eve of an illusory dream. He dreamed and in blinding fear of the darkness. He shivered by silhouette of shadow, fearing for his life. [br]
The flashlight had burned out hours earlier, and the tiny wax angel had fluttered for exactly one hour and twenty-six minutes before sputtering to a pinpoint of orange light. One, two, three, four a demon desire at your front door, five, six, seven, eight, dont forget to lock your front gate, a monster for your mines and a beast in double time. He hummed and sang as he did a series of jumping jacks, sit-ups and pushups in the deep dark confines of the bedroom. Chambers of shadowy hell he thought, convened of a suggested seizure, velvet thorns of silhouette and terror. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and screamed in terror, YYYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE! Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes bulged like blazon orbs of secret fiendish vision. He gasped and listened. Whispers, whispers of ghoulish purpose. YYYYYIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE! he screamed again. Venerated in eternal restless death , the creeping rudiments of wild psalms in forbidding benediction to the wicked professor, the evil amore of charcoal killers in bloodlust fervency and sated narratives in black. [br]
His arms flailed and he pinwheeled onto the couch, screaming like a wounded dog. YIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEooooooowowowowowo! he lay shivering in a fumbling clumsy lump as he hugged the cushions. Shielding his eyes he whimpered. Suddenly the front door rattled as commissioners of possible Boogey beasts knocked. Hey, you ok in there' the muffled voice questioned. Employed by terrors he ran to the door and threw it open. Dead vacuous eyes of fire glared at him in winged demonic sashay. Framed by the knotted pine doorframe the demon sunk its claws in a miasma of rank bouquet into the tender flesh of his shoulders. YYYYYIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!he screamed as the neighbors wife grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently. Collapsing in a heap at her feet he died. Later when the light shone through their secret, they would discover the bodies of his wife and two teenage sons in one of the bedrooms. [br]
After killing them he had apparently gone insane, yet in retrospect they had no explanation for[br]
[br]
the claw marks and burns covering all of their bodies.[br]
[br]
[br]
[br]
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