August 31, 2004

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Reading time

People are using blogs in more innovative ways and in re-creating older ways of doing things. Again via the Showcase I found the first part of a serialised story. The rest of the story forms a category and I'm only part way through but it's a good read so far. Another example of good writing shining on the blogosphere and interestingly recreating the fashion for serialised books ala late 19th century newspapers.

I've posted part of the first chapter to get you started.

Winter, the year of our Lord 1672, and I find myself looking down upon a small village nestled in the hills of the English countryside. A light dusting of snow lies across the rooftops and surrounding countryside. The muddy, rutted road is frozen hard, underlying the snow are treacherous ice patches to feet and hooves alike. The wind has a harsh, bitter edge and I pull the brim of my hat down and wrap my cloak tighter. Behind me I can hear the donkey that carries my tools and Harold calming his horse. “Here master?” he asks.


“This is the place.” I say, looking down once more at the thin trails of smoke coming from the chimneys. I have lost count of the number of these villages I have visited these last 5 years and how, come summer or winter, they all look the same too my hardened eyes. I know what I must do. Without a word I put my heels to my horse’s sides and begin the ride into the village, Harold following wordlessly.


This is my first visit to a village in over a month. I know the villagers will greet me with reverence and fear for they have called upon my services as a last resort. As I ride toward the centre I see the furtive glances, the crosses made upon chests, the hurrying of children from my sight as if even the merest glance from my eyes will condemn them. It does not bother me now. I am here to perform God’s work and the innocent have nothing to fear. A Higher Power than I will judge them – of this I am certain. I see squalor and decay wherever I look and I know for certain that these are desperate people, that I may be their only hope for something, but what? I have never understood what people see in what I do. I serve God in the best way I know how but these people seek only to serve the demon of revenge.


Slowly I ride towards the inn in the centre of town seeking somewhere to rest before meeting the mayor of this place. I am sure he expects me to come straight to the town hall but all this will be done in my time, not his. I am used to people waiting – waiting increases the anxiety and in their anger or haste they show me things I might not see otherwise. It is important I am sure – or at least I can show I am sure because that is what they want from me the most, the one thing man is not capable of. Infallibility.

posted by Simon on 08.31.04 at 06:28 PM in the




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