By TheGreatMasturbator

Old prose.

He was tied to a pyre of well seasoned oak after being convicted
of cross-dressing. His naked body shook from the cold and
the braided scales bowed at his flesh, while the gag muted his soprano.

He was not pleased with his audience, who danced with torches and keroscene.
The actions of his compatriots vexed him and he sought enlightenment,
"How have I ," the suction provoked by the vowel i caused him to choke
and after a silence ... he continued, "wronged you?"

The hums of his plea could not be heard over the celebration and more significantly,
through the cloth that sealed his mouth. It was useless he thought
where is the crime in compassion where is the crime in hope I tried to bring peace
did I not go through the proper channels is this a crime of etiquette quite the punishment
for using the incorrect fork what of the rites of knowledge the rites of salvation
death seems an impractical prize for failure is bronze or silver anymore hopeful
is the incentive worth the trial...
He continued to think, about many things: tightropes, apes and trees. He thought about
the morning of his inquisition, which he found more exclamatory than interrogative,
and wondered if Socrates had not damned him.

ask questions ask questions what a thing to say you yes you were put to death but it was with poison
you pug faced bonzo at least you had some wine O wine what I would not do for a taste some wine and some flesh searing burning flesh damn you this is not athens I would like to be a sophist like my compatriots no questions no questions no tightrope no abyss just the darkness the cool darkness no light no sun and if there were light I would stay with the shadows in the cool away from the warmth the sticky sweaty devil the inferno of hell burning burn burn the devil burn the devil in saints clothing

Their chanting ended in the evening, their shadows were left dancing on the ground, the flame extinguished itself and the remains were left for erosion.


Created: Jul 16, 2009


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