Monday, February 28, 2005
There's another old story put up for consumption in Gabbles. And this one doesn't have much re-doing - actually, none at all. It's called The Fairy Bower, and my pick para is:
I open the door softly, and step in. The netting on the bed makes it look like some strangely ornate shrine. My room is bare, save the treasure that lies asleep within her fairy-bower, oblivious to this incessant dampness that torments me. My windows are bare too, and the dull milky shine of the night sky pours unabated into the room. I stoop to place the bottle of water on the floor, at the foot of the bed, and amble over to the tall windows. They look on over the neighbor's compound, dotted with tall palm fronds that I can't make out in the dark. As far as I can see, there's only rough tangled undergrowth looking equally forbidding before me - somehow, I get the feeling of being this savage witch-doctor of eons ago in some grim and mysterious part of the world. These are my secrets lying before me, shrouded in the deepest, blackest veils that not even the clearest beam can pierce through. Perhaps not even a stone's throw away, the forlorn night-lights of some other houses down the block shine in the gloom - in this atmosphere, I find it so easy to forget that I walked down there just this morning and picturize instead far-away watch-towers and their messages of ill-tidings come swiftly forth. An aboriginal atmosphere in a supernatural frame of mind.
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