Chapter Four
I awaken to find myself stretched out over my Master’s fiery pit.
From his burning, ruby encrusted throne, He speaks my sentence. Though He speaks softly, little more than a low growl, His words penetrate my being like brands of steel.
Gesturing with a slight flick of His wrists, heavy bands materialize over my face, clamping my screams of pain deep within myself.
“Look at the outcome of your planning!” He roars. “I sent you out to ruin and destroy, not to entertain! Even now, our hated lovers ready themselves to enjoy the actions of those who should have been feasted on by carrion, rather than performing for fame. You have corrupted that which was already corrupted by design, springing beauty up where only death and decay should exist! For this, you shall be made to suffer, aching for the fiery lake to end your pain!”
As He spoke, fire and smoke built about Him, until all was seemingly consumed by chaotic madness; pain beyond endurance.
As I start to black out, I am snapped back to consciousness.
“I think not!” Master yells. “You will not escape your punishment that easily! I have much in store for you. You shall entertain our legion, as your artisans entertain those above. The worm shall not die, and the fire shall not quench.”
Screaming, all thought is consumed in the tortures I have so gloriously earned…
Chapter Five
I stumble across this horrendous landscape. Having entertained Master long enough, He has banished me to the hated forest of my transgression.
Staggering, I grasp a broom left behind in this shell of what once was a church. Once a house of worship; now a rotting corpse. Such suits my fancy.
Barely existing, I whisper to myself: “Now the hungry lion roars, and the wolf behowls the moon; whilst the heavy plowman snores, all with weary task fordone.”
Strength failing, I fall back against the decaying ruins of a wall, only to slide down and lie prone on the stone floor.
“Now the wasted brands do glow, whilst the screech owl, screeching loud, puts the wretch that lies in woe in remembrance of a shroud.”
Noises stir out amongst the gravestones of this temple’s body burials.
“Now it is the time of night, that the graves, all gaping wide, every one lets forth his sprite, in the churchway paths to glide; and we fairies, that do run by the triple Hecate’s team, from the presence of the sun, following darkness like a dream, now are frolic.”
Snatching at a rodent scurrying across a pile of debris nearby, I grip my victim in one now-emaciated paw. Its fear feeds me.
“Not a mouse shall disturb this hallowed house; I am sent, with broom, before, to sweep the dust behind the door.” Thus sated, my memories fade away with my consciousness.
Epilogue
“Well, I promised you a story, and a story you have had. It may not have turned out precisely the way I would have chosen, yet, but perhaps you have been entertained.”
“If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended: that you have but slumb’red here, while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearned luck now to scape the serpent’s tongue, we will make amends ere long; else the Puck a liar call: so, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.”
February 6, 2002
About the author:
Scott Williams has always loved reading. Loving writing came along much later!
In 2004 Scott earned a degree in Medieval Literature from U.C. Berkeley. He currently lives in Martinez, California, with his wife and two children, where he serves as an Associate Pastor of a local church.
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